The night was heavy and quiet.
Only the sound of rain tapping softly against the old roof filled the silence inside the hut. The fire in the corner had burned low, its glow painting the walls in shades of amber and shadow.
Silver lay on the wooden bed, her skin damp with sweat. Her breath came shallow and warm, every exhale trembling against the cold air. The fever hadn't broken. It clung to her stubbornly, rising and falling all night. She tightened her grip on Dasheill cloth she used as her blanket, wincing from pain every now and then.
Dasheill sat beside her, his posture straight despite the exhaustion lining his shoulders.
He refused to sleep. Not even for a moment.
Every creak of the wooden walls, every whisper of wind outside, his eyes would flick toward the door. The rain finally calmed outside but his guard was up.
Silver stirred faintly. Her voice almost a whisper. "...Duke?"
He turned immediately. "I'm here."
