"Are you sure?" Dylan asked once again after some time, his voice low but carrying a weight that Lena could almost feel brushing against her skin. She didn't answer right away, her eyes still fixed on the flames licking the hearth, her expression unreadable.
The fire crackled, throwing flickers of orange light across her face. Dylan leaned forward, searching her profile for a trace of truth, for something that would convince him she wasn't just repeating the same words to keep him from worrying.
Finally, Lena looked up at him. Her eyes met his—soft, tired, but steady. She reached out, tangling her fingers with his, her hand warm despite how cold her voice sounded.
"I'm okay now, Dy," she assured him, her lips curving into the faintest smile.
