Lachlan scrubbed a hand through his hair and found a grin that was more relief than joy. "You look like hell," he offered. "We were not sure anyone else would ever knock again."
"I try to keep life interesting." Noah lifted both hands a little, palms open, a gesture with no weight. "I brought things. Trade, if you like. Or gifts, if that's easier."
Zubair's gaze did not leave Noah's face. "Open the pack."
"Here?" Noah lifted his brows. "On your rug?"
"Here," Zubair repeated.
Noah crouched. He unbuckled straps and peeled the top back. Cans rolled against each other with a soft metal clink. A coil of insulated wire sat beside a zip bag of screws. A folded tarp lay tight against a bundle of cloth wrapped around a small tin stove.
He backed away a step and lifted his hands again. "Tools. Food. Heat."
