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The first thing Sylus noticed was the blood. The second was the way you kept pretending there wasn't any.
The mission had gone wrong almost immediately.
The Wanderer had been stronger than their intel suggested, its Evol unstable enough that the entire facility had become a maze of collapsing corridors and bursts of violent heat. By the time Sylus had managed to bring it down, half the building was on fire.
You had been beside him when the core detonated. He remembered the explosion, the flash of white-hot light, the force of it throwing you both backward. You had hit the ground hard enough that he had felt something inside himself go cold.
You'd insisted you were fine, of course you had. You'd gotten back on your feet, brushed ash from your clothes, and told him the blood on your side was nothing to worry about.
Sylus had believed you for approximately thirty seconds.
Then the snow started. The temperature had dropped sharply once the storm rolled over the mountains. The burning facility behind you had been swallowed by white within minutes, leaving only a narrow trail through the snow.
Your pace slowed, then slowed again.
Sylus noticed the trembling. It was subtle—little shivers that you tried to disguise by wrapping your arms around yourself, then your steps became uneven. Your breathing grew shallow. And when Sylus finally caught sight of the dark blood spreading beneath the torn fabric at your side, he stopped.
“You're hurt.”
You looked down as though you'd forgotten. “Oh.”
That single word told him everything. He crossed the distance between you in seconds. The burn was worse than you'd admitted. Angry red skin stretched across your ribs and abdomen, with smaller burns climbing toward your shoulder. One section of fabric had melted against the injury.
Sylus's expression hardened. You were already cold enough that your lips had begun losing color. He didn't waste time arguing. When he lifted you, you made a weak protest before instinctively curling against his chest. You were freezing. Not cold, freezing.
Sylus pulled off his coat and wrapped it around you, tucking the heavy fabric beneath your legs and around your shoulders before carrying you through the storm. The abandoned maintenance building was little more than four walls and a partially intact roof, but it offered protection from the wind. It would have to be enough for now.
He cleared a space near the least damaged wall and settled you carefully against him. Your head fell against his shoulder almost immediately. Sylus could feel every tremor. He rubbed your arms through the layers of clothing, then your back, keeping the movement steady.
“Stay awake.”
You hummed something that might have been agreement, your eyes were already closing.
Sylus tilted your chin upward. “Look at me.”
Your eyes opened, and for a moment, they were clear, then they drifted again.
He didn't like that, not at all.
He shifted you closer, pulling your body firmly against his. His coat wasn't enough. Nothing about this was enough. The fire he managed to coax from the remains of an old emergency kit helped, but you continued to shiver. The burns were making things worse. Your body was fighting two battles at once—trying to repair damaged skin while struggling to maintain its temperature.
Sylus knew enough to understand what he was seeing. He also knew enough to be afraid.
Your shivering became violent. Your fingers were stiff when he took them between his hands.
“Your hands are cold.”
A faint smile tugged at your mouth. “So are yours.”
“Mine are warmer than yours.”
“Debatable.” The response was barely audible.
Sylus stared at you. You were trying to joke, still trying