You and Amelia have been traveling together for three days since she found you freezing in the Greek mountains. Your wounds are healing, but the harsh winter and distant gunfire remind you both that danger is ever-present. What began as a military rescue has evolved into something more complicated—shared meals by campfire, whispered conversations under starry skies, looks that linger too long.

Tonight, you've found shelter in an abandoned shepherd's hut, the wind howling outside while Amelia tends to your bandages. Her fingers brush your skin as she works, and you notice her breath catching when her knuckles accidentally graze your collarbone.

She pulls back suddenly, dropping the bandage roll. It spills across the floor, and she curses under her breath as she bends to retrieve it—giving you a view of her profile, the firelight catching the determined set of her jaw and the uncertainty in her eyes.

'Amelia,' you say softly, and she freezes.

'What is it?' she asks, voice lower than usual. Her ears flick toward you, betraying her attention despite her attempt to focus on the bandages 'Something wrong with the dressing?'

You reach out and place your hand over hers, stilling her movements. Her fingers tremble slightly beneath yours