Sofia's POV
He carefully placed Refugia back in her nest of blankets, his large hand resting for a moment on her tiny, sleeping head. He then returned his attention to me, his gaze sweeping over my face as if searching for something. "Okay, let's get you finished up," he said, his voice returning to its usual low, commanding tone.
He picked up the clay pot, and without asking this time, he took my ankle in his hands. His touch was firm and steady, a world away from the tentative touch from before. "I'm going to wrap this to keep it from swelling more," he explained, picking up a strip of cloth. "It's not a proper bandage, but it's what we have."
"What... what about the plan?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. The question was a desperate attempt to talk about anything other than the feel of his hands on my skin.
He worked in silence for a moment, his brow furrowed in concentration. "The plan changes," he said finally, his voice a low rumble. "We can't leave at dawn. Not with your ankle like this. It's a two to three-week injury. We stay."
A wave of panic washed over me, but it was quickly replaced by a quiet sense of relief. We were staying. The journey was on hold. The dangerous unknown was postponed.
"But the food..." I started, but he cut me off.
"I'll have to go further out. Be more careful," he said, the words heavy with the new burden of risk. "I'll do shorter trips, stay closer to the cave mouth. We'll ration what we have left. We'll make it work."
He finished wrapping my ankle, securing the cloth with a tight knot. He then sat back, his gaze fixed on my face once more. The firelight cast his features in a warm glow, but his eyes held the same cool, steady resolve I had come to depend on.
"Do you understand?" he asked, his voice soft but firm. "We're not leaving. Not until you're healed."
I nodded. I watched him, this man who had so easily become the center of my world, and for the first time, I felt a flicker of hope that had nothing to do with finding a safe community. The fortress was no longer the cave, or even our shared purpose. It was us. And for now, that was enough.
"Stay here. I'll be right back," he said, his gaze lingering on my face for a moment. My expression must have been a mix of pain and relief, a storm I couldn't navigate but desperately wanted to weather with him. He pushed himself to his feet, the quiet of the cave suddenly a heavy presence. The new reality of our situation settled over me. We weren't leaving. The journey was on hold. The fragile safety of this place was all we had.
He moved to the back of the cave, retrieving a small clay pot and a piece of dried meat. His hands worked on instinct, preparing a meal while my mind raced. The risk had just doubled. Staying meant more patrols, longer hunts, and a constant, gnawing fear of being found. But he wouldn't leave me, wouldn't leave us; that was no longer an option.
He returned to the fire, kneeling before the flames. He cut the dried meat into thin strips, offering me a piece. "Eat," he said, his voice softer than he had intended. "You need your strength."
I took the meat, and we ate in silence. It wasn't an awkward quiet, but a shared one, a silence that had grown between us over time, a language of its own.
"Thank you," I said, my voice shaky. "For… all of this."
He looked at me, the firelight dancing in my eyes. "There's nothing to thank me for. It's what we have to do."
"No," I insisted, shaking my head. "You could have left me. You could have left us." My words were a sharp stab of truth. "You're taking on more risk because of me."
"And you would have done the same for me," he said, the words coming easily.
He finished his portion, wiping his hands before turning his full attention back to me. "Does your ankle hurt?" he asked, a fresh wave of concern washing over me.
I shook my head, a small lie. He saw it in the way my jaw was clenched. "Not as much now. The wrapping helps."
He nodded, his gaze dropping to my bandaged ankle. I knew he needed to keep a close eye on it, to ensure it didn't get infected. He reached out, his hand hovering over my ankle, wanting to check the tension of the cloth, to offer some small comfort, but he stopped himself. The moment was already too charged.
The tension between us was a living thing, a palpable heat that had nothing to do with the fire. I saw the questions in his eyes, the words he couldn't say. I felt the same.
I watched him as I settled into my blankets, my eyes on him until I finally closed them. He didn't lie down, but instead, he took his place near the cave entrance, a silent sentinel. The fire cast his shadow against the cave wall, a distorted, larger-than-life figure. He was my fortress now, my sanctuary. And in this desolate, broken world, that was enough.
The cave was silent save for the soft sound of Refugia's breathing and the low crackle of the fire. I watched him for a long time, making sure he had fallen into a deep, pain-numbed sleep before I allowed myself to move. The exhaustion was a heavy weight on my shoulders, a physical manifestation of the mental toll the day had taken. He was no longer just protecting himself; he was protecting us.
He banked the fire, ensuring it would last, then moved to the other side of the small cavern, lying down with his back to us. My mind replayed the day's events. The sound of my cry, the sight of me crumpled on the ground, the quiet terror in my eyes when I finally looked at him. He had to go further out now, to hunt more carefully, to ration our meager supplies. The new burden of responsibility was a heavy cloak, but it was one he wore willingly.
I thought about my question—"What about the plan?"—and his answer: "The plan changes." It was a simple statement, but it held the weight of everything. Our lives, once a straight line toward a distant hope, had become a tangled knot. We were tied to this cave, tied to each other, for better or worse.
I saw him reach for the small, cold lump of clay he kept in his pocket. He rolled it between his fingers, feeling the rough texture, the coldness a stark contrast to the warmth of the fire. It was a reminder of the world outside, of the harshness and the danger, but also of the quiet moments of peace, the small, bright things that made survival worthwhile. Now, those small bright things were a sleeping child and a woman with a broken ankle who looked at him with a mix of fear and trust.
A quiet sense of protectiveness, fierce and consuming, settled over me. He had to keep us safe. I would do whatever it took. The world had ended, but a new one was beginning, right here in this cave, with the low glow of the fire and the shared silence of three people who were no longer alone. The fortress wasn't the cave walls, or the distance from danger. It was the two of us, bound by a promise to make it work.