The footprints haunted Iris long after they'd vanished into the trees.
The cabin that once felt like a cocoon now seemed fragile, every creak of the wood, every sigh of the wind a reminder that someone had been there—someone watching.
That night, Luna barely slept. Iris woke more than once to see her lover standing at the window, silver hair haloed by moonlight, hand resting on the knife she kept tucked at her side.
"Come back to bed," Iris whispered once, reaching for her.
Luna glanced over her shoulder. Her expression softened at the sight of Iris's outstretched hand. Slowly, reluctantly, she slipped back under the covers, pulling Iris close. But even in sleep, her muscles remained taut, as though the forest pressed against her bones.
Iris lay awake, tracing circles on Luna's chest, heart torn between fear and fierce love. If the shadows wanted them, they would have to face not just Luna's strength but hers as well.
Morning brought no answers, only the same heavy quiet that seemed to throb around the cabin.
Luna checked the perimeter with a soldier's efficiency, studying broken branches, disturbed soil, subtle signs Iris would have missed. When she returned, her expression was unreadable.
"Well?" Iris asked, gripping her coffee mug too tightly.
"They were close. Maybe scouting. Not yet ready to strike." Luna's gaze swept the cabin's single room. "But they will."
Iris swallowed. "Then what do we do?"
Luna hesitated, then set her hand on Iris's shoulder. "We live. We don't let them take more from us than they already have. If they come, we fight. But until then—" she leaned closer, her forehead brushing Iris's— "we love."
That afternoon, Luna insisted they go down to the river one last time.
"Why?" Iris asked, tightening her coat.
"Because when the world burns," Luna said simply, "you'll need memories to cling to. And I want you to have the brightest ones."
So they went. The air was crisp, the sky heavy with rolling clouds. Iris carried her sketchbook, Luna carried nothing but her steady presence. They found a patch of sun-warmed stones by the water's edge and sat side by side.
Iris sketched Luna's profile as she skipped stones across the river. "You're terrible at that," Iris teased as another stone plopped instead of gliding.
"I'm improving," Luna countered, though the faint smile tugging her lips betrayed her amusement.
Iris leaned against her shoulder, showing her the sketch. "See? Perfect. I've captured your warrior's scowl."
Luna glanced at the page and laughed softly—a rare sound, low and warm. "That's unfair. I don't scowl that much."
"You do. Constantly." Iris kissed her cheek. "But I love it. It means you're thinking, protecting, planning. It means you care."
For a while, they said nothing more, only watched the current carry leaves downstream. It felt like a stolen date, one carved from stolen time, and Iris clung to every detail—the cold breeze, the warmth of Luna's hand, the way sunlight glanced off the water.
That evening, when they returned to the cabin, the tension that had hung all day snapped into something else entirely.
Maybe it was the looming threat. Maybe it was the way Luna kept watching her as though memorizing her. Whatever it was, Iris pulled Luna into a kiss the moment the door closed.
Luna responded instantly, lifting her into her arms, pressing her back against the wall. The kiss deepened—urgent, desperate, yet tender at the edges.
"Iris," Luna murmured between breaths, "every moment with you feels like defiance."
"Then let's defy them," Iris whispered back, tugging her closer.
Their love that night was not soft—it was fierce, as though each touch was a vow, each kiss a shield. They moved with both urgency and reverence, clinging to each other like the world might end at dawn.
After, tangled in blankets, their breaths still ragged, Iris rested her head on Luna's chest.
"If they come tomorrow," Iris said quietly, "I'll stand with you."
"You'll stay hidden," Luna corrected firmly.
Iris lifted her head, eyes flashing. "No. You can't ask me to stand by while you bleed for me. I won't."
For a moment, they stared at each other—Luna fierce, Iris unyielding. Then, slowly, Luna cupped her face, brushing her thumb along her cheek.
"You're stubborn," Luna whispered.
"Always," Iris said, softening into a smile. "And I'm yours."
The first sign came two nights later.
Iris woke to the sound of rustling outside—a deliberate crunch of leaves, too heavy for an animal. She sat up, heart hammering.
"Luna," she whispered.
Luna was already awake, knife in hand, eyes sharp in the darkness. She pressed a finger to her lips, motioning for Iris to stay back. Slowly, silently, she crept toward the door.
Iris clutched the blanket, watching with bated breath. The sound grew louder, circling the cabin. A faint knock echoed against the wall—not at the door, but on the side, a mocking tap-tap-tap.
Luna flung the door open and darted out, vanishing into the night.
"Iris, stay inside!" she hissed.
Iris froze, torn between obedience and the urge to follow. She gripped the knife Luna had left her, forcing her breath steady.
Through the window, she glimpsed shadows moving—figures between the trees, fast, silent. She heard grunts, the clash of bodies, Luna's sharp exhale as she struck.
Her heart screamed at her to run to her, but she forced herself to wait—because Luna trusted her to hold this ground.
Minutes stretched like hours. Then, silence.
The door burst open, and Luna stumbled in, blood streaking her arm, eyes blazing.
"They're testing us," she said, locking the door behind her. "Next time, it won't just be a warning."
Iris guided Luna to the bed, hands shaking as she cleaned the cut along her arm. It wasn't deep, but the sight of blood made something primal twist in her chest.
"You scared me," Iris whispered, dabbing at the wound with trembling fingers.
Luna caught her wrist gently. "I'm still here."
"I can't lose you." Iris's voice broke, tears threatening.
Luna leaned forward, kissed her—soft, grounding. "Then don't. Hold on to me. No matter what happens."
Iris nodded, forcing the tears back. She wrapped the bandage tightly, then kissed the skin above it. "You protect me. Let me protect you too."
Luna's gaze softened, and for once, she didn't argue.
The next morning, the forest was too quiet. The kind of quiet that comes before violence.
Luna stood by the window, watching the trees. "They'll come in force soon. We can't stay."
Iris set her hand over Luna's. "Where will we go?"
Luna turned, eyes dark with both resolve and regret. "Farther than they'll follow. But leaving means risk. The roads. The towns. Every step will be watched."
"Then we take the risk," Iris said, voice steady. "Together."
Luna looked at her for a long moment, then pulled her into a fierce embrace. "Together," she echoed.
Outside, the forest waited. Shadows stirred. The world they had built in the cabin—of laughter, of love, of whispered promises—was ending.
But Iris knew this much: whatever storm came next, she would not face it alone.