Lindarion shifted slightly. Adjusted the fire. Not bigger. Just a little closer to the center so the others could keep some of the heat.
The movement sent a faint crackle through the shelter. Not loud. Just enough to remind the mountain they were still here.
Lira was the only one still awake.
He didn't look at her directly, but he didn't need to.
She hadn't moved since she sat. Still half-facing the entrance. Still listening to something the rest of them couldn't hear.
He rolled his shoulders back once, quietly. The soreness was starting to turn into stiffness. He could stretch it out later.
The silence sat between them like another person.
Not uncomfortable. Not tense.
He could feel her glance after a while. Quick. Sharp. Like checking the edge of a knife.
"I thought you were tired," she said.
Her voice was low. Not quite a whisper. But soft enough that it didn't risk waking anyone.
Lindarion didn't answer at first. He flexed his fingers once. The flame flickered in his hand. Then he let it die. Not out of exhaustion. Just courtesy. The heat had spread enough.
"I am," he said finally.
He rested his back against the wall. Let his eyes trace the curve of the cave ceiling. Stone and snow. Nothing else.
"Hard to sleep when it's quiet ."
She didn't comment right away.
Then, "You're not used to silence?"
"I'm used to people pretending it."
She gave a quiet exhale. Not quite amusement. Not quite agreement.
He looked at her finally.
Lira's face didn't look tired. But her shoulders did. Like she'd been carrying too much for too long and hadn't figured out how to set it down.
"How long since you slept?" he asked.
She thought about it. Then shrugged. "A while."
Lira turned her head slightly, eyes still half on the entrance.
"You know how some animals never sleep all the way? One eye open, ears up. Waiting for the wrong sound."
"I got used to it," she said. "The waiting."
"That sounds like a habit. Not a choice."
The fire's absence made the air sharper. The warmth still lingered, but it had edges now.
Lindarion pulled his knees up slightly. Crossed his arms over them.
He glanced at the others again.
Ren's head had tilted further. She looked like she might slip off her makeshift seat if she turned too fast.
Meren was completely out. His breathing was loud enough to count as proof of life. No one would ever accuse him of being quiet in any part of his existence.
It was oddly comforting.
Lira still hadn't blinked in a while.
"Why are you still awake?" she asked after a moment.
He gave a half-shrug. "I said I'd take first watch."
She tilted her head, not mockingly. "And you take that seriously?"
Her expression didn't change. But something in her posture eased.
"You remind me of someone," she said.
She didn't elaborate.
The quiet stretched again. Not awkward. Just long.
"Do you think it'll snow harder?" he asked, mostly to say something.
Lira shifted her leg, crossing it the other way. Her eyes flicked toward the slope beyond the entrance.
"We'll be stuck if it keeps up. The next ridge isn't flat."
He leaned back again. Let his head rest fully against the wall this time.
"We're good at that now, aren't we."
This time, she didn't answer.
But she didn't look away.
Lira shifted again. Her boots scuffed softly against the stone. Not restless. Just adjusting. The kind of movement that said she'd sat through too many nights , with too many people who eventually stopped talking.
Lindarion let the silence stretch a little longer. Not because he liked it. Just because it felt honest. Everyone else was asleep. There was no need to pretend.
He rubbed his thumb against the curve of his knuckle.
"Do you always keep your distance?" he asked.
Lira didn't move her gaze from the entrance.
She blinked once. Her jaw tightened. Just for a second.
"Most people make noise when they get close," she said. "I prefer quiet."
"Even if it means being alone?"
"It's better than being surrounded and still feeling that way."
That landed harder than he expected. He didn't answer right away.
His fingers curled around the edge of his coat sleeve.
"I didn't ask to be surrounded," he said. "I didn't ask for any of this."
Lira finally looked at him.
There was no pity in her expression. Just understanding. Or something close to it.
"No one does," she said. "But we live in it anyway."
Lindarion looked back down at his hands. They didn't shake. Not anymore.
"I thought it'd be easier, after I entered the academy." he said quietly.
She nodded once. Slowly. Like that was the answer she'd expected.
They sat like that for a while. Two figures tucked into a hollow, surrounded by snow and silence, not quite strangers and not yet anything else.
The fire was gone. But the warmth lingered.
"People like to think strength means walking ahead of everyone," Lindarion said. "Being the ones who don't fall."
"And what do you think?"
"I think it's about knowing when to wait. Even if you can keep going."
Lira's eyes didn't leave him. He felt the weight of them. Not judgment. Not challenge. Just… weight.
"You're young to think that way."
"I've had time to learn."
She nodded again. Then leaned back, resting one shoulder against the rock.
The wind outside hadn't picked up again. But the snow was falling thicker. It curled across the mouth of the hollow in slow, looping patterns, like it didn't know if it was welcome.
Lindarion shifted a little. Tucked his legs beneath him.
"Do you miss it?" he asked.
"Where you came from."
Lira didn't answer immediately.
Her mouth opened. Then closed. Then finally, after a long pause, "No. But I miss who I was supposed to be as a kid."
He watched her carefully now. Not because he was waiting for more. Just to see if she regretted saying it.
And somehow, that made the air feel heavier.
"You think it's still possible?" he asked.
Lira tilted her head back against the wall. Her eyes were on the ceiling now, following some invisible thought through the cracks.
"Maybe," she said. "But it wouldn't be the same."
They didn't say anything else for a while.
The sounds of sleeping breath filled the hollow. Meren shifted in his sleep, mumbling something about soup. Ren gave a faint snore, then stilled.
Lira's voice came quieter now.
"You're better at this than you think."
He almost smiled. Just for a second.
Then he looked back toward the mouth of the hollow. The snow was still falling.
But he didn't feel cold anymore.