Silas always took the late watch.
Not because anyone asked him to—but because night revealed things daylight forgave. Shadows moved differently after dark. Intent sharpened. Truth stopped hiding behind noise.
He stood at the edge of camp, boots planted firmly in the earth, eyes scanning the tree line with the patience of someone who did not mistake stillness for safety. The fire behind him burned low, steady, its warmth reaching only so far.
He knew she was awake before she spoke.
"You don't sleep much, do you?"
Her voice came softly from behind him, careful not to startle.
Silas didn't turn right away. "Enough."
She stepped closer, stopping a few paces back. He could feel her there—not through sound, not through the bond, but through something subtler. Presence. Awareness.
"Mind if I sit?" she asked.
"No," he replied. "Stay where you can see the trees."
