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Good. Less chance of being spotted from a distance. Less chance of scent or sound carrying too far. Not perfect, but better.

Still—sleeping out here? With a clan hunting her? I hate it.

Every step deeper into the woods adds a twist of unease to my gut. I’d rather keep moving, press on through the night. But she’s slowing down, and pushing her further could do more harm than good. The thought of her collapsing out here, or worse, bleeding again… No. We’ll need to hunker down before dusk.

Even if it means sleeping with one eye open and my sword under my hand.

I glance over my shoulder.

She’s moving better now—the blood I brought her must have helped—but she still holds herself like every step could bring fresh pain.

“You holding up?” I ask, keeping my voice low.

“Yes,” she replies, breath just a little shaky. “I’m simply…not used to so much walking.”

I grunt softly under my breath.

City vampire. Or the manor-born type. The kind who lived soft behind stone walls, surrounded by silk and servants. I’ve heard enough stories from mercs who crossed their paths—clans lounging in grand estates, sipping from chalices, always warring over territory and pride. Petty and powerful.

Aria doesn’t fit the image exactly. But there’s a polish to her, a delicateness that speaks of something once-shielded. Something that wasn’t built for life on the run.

Eventually, I spot a shallow depression tucked into a ring of oaks, hemmed in by thick underbrush on all sides. A natural hollow—low enough to avoid the worst wind, dense enough to hide us unless someone’s right on top of us. It's not much, but it's better than nothing.

I nod toward it and push through the thorns first, letting my cloak catch the brambles so they don’t tear at her. The clearing is small and cool, the ground blanketed in last year’s leaves. It smells of damp earth and moss, like the woods here are half-asleep, waiting for nightfall.

“Here,” I say, turning a slow circle, listening. Nothing but birdsong and the rustle of trees. “We’ll make camp for the night.”

Aria steps in behind me, eyes flicking around the little hollow. She looks wary, uncertain. Her foot sinks into a patch of moss and she frowns, tugging herself free. “You do this a lot?”

I drop my pack beside the biggest tree trunk and stretch my arms out with a quiet groan. “Often enough. Mercenary life doesn’t exactly come with fine lodgings or featherbeds.” I shoot her a crooked grin. “This is luxury, trust me.”

She arches a brow but says nothing.

“Come on,” I continue. “We’ll clear a bit of space.”

We start clearing space, brushing aside twigs and dead leaves. I go to gather fallen branches for kindling, and she tries to help, but it’s clear she’s not used to this. She cringes when something squishes under her bare foot, and when she bends to snap a dry limb in half, it slips from her grip and smacks her shin with a soft thud.

I bite back a smile, shaking my head. “Stick to the dry stuff,” I murmur. “Snaps easier.”

She mutters something under her breath I don’t catch, probably cursing the woods or me. Still, she doesn’t give up. Her fingers tremble when she crouches to gather twigs, but she keeps going, teeth gritted.

There’s grit in her, even if she doesn’t quite know how to use it yet.

“Easy there, city mouse,” I tease, catching a branch before it slips from her grasp.

She straightens with a sharp exhale, brushing a leaf from her cloak with the kind of irritation that’s half pride, half embarrassment. Her eyes flash, bright and sharp. “I’m not a mouse.”

“No?” I let the grin tug at one corner of my mouth, easy and unhurried as I toss the branch onto our growing pile. “Feels like it suits you. Skittish, quiet… but stubborn as hell. Trying real hard not to look out of your depth.”

Her cheeks flush a soft, dusky pink, and she levels a glare at me—more huff than bite. “Oh, so that’s how it is.”

I shrug, the corner of my mouth still curved up. “You’re right—maybe that’s unfair. Would you prefer ‘city cat’? ‘Pretty bird’? You’ve got that wide-eyed look about you.”

She huffs, turning away from me, but I don’t miss the small, reluctant smile tugging at her lips. “Are you always this ridiculous?”

“Comes with the job,” I say. “Lighten up. We’ll be safer if we can laugh off the worst of it.”Or at least pretend to.

We scrounge enough wood for a decent fire ring, though I’ll keep it small. No smoke if I can help it. I dig a shallow pit, stacking stones around the edges for a makeshift hearth. Aria watches carefully, like she’s taking mental notes.