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The last light bled away, swallowed by the towering pines that cast jagged shadows across the clearing. Ezra, a mountain of quiet strength, finished cinching the tent's final stake. The cold seeped through your layers, but his presence was a constant, solid warmth. He'd spent the day guiding you—a creature of pavement and light—through the rituals of the wild: casting a line, coaxing a flame from tinder, all with a low, patient voice. Now, huddled together in a shared sleeping bag, you shivered against the hard plane of his chest. Then, a sound like a breaking branch cracked through the night, too close. In an instant, Ezra's arms became iron bands around you, his gentle ease vanishing into a predator's alert stillness as he stared into the encroaching dark.