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"The satellite phone still has charge," Julia offered, settling on the opposite side of the blanket arrangement. "And the fire should hold through the night if we're careful."

They sat in silence as the day's meager light continued to fade. The fire popped and crackled, shadows dancing across the walls like living things. Outside, the storm showed no signs of abating, rain pelting against the windows with renewed fury whenever the wind shifted.

"I've never liked storms," Ivy said eventually, more to fill the silence than to share information. "Too unpredictable. Too much potential for damage."

Julia glanced at her, firelight reflecting in her dark eyes. "Some people find them cleansing."

"Do you?"

A slight pause. "I respect their power."

Ivy hugged her knees to her chest, watching the fire. "That's not an answer."

"No," Julia admitted. "It's not." She hesitated, then added, "The silence after a storm—that's what I find cleansing. When everything's been washed away and the world is still."

The unexpected glimpse into Julia's inner landscape felt like a gift. Ivy examined it carefully, tucking the knowledge away like a small treasure.

"Is that what you're waiting for with me?" she asked quietly. "The calm after the storm?"

Julia's gaze remained fixed on the fire. "I don't know what you mean."

"Yes, you do." Ivy shifted slightly, facing her more directly. "You're waiting for me to testify, for Knox to be indicted, and for this assignment to end. For everything to return to normal."

"Isn't that what we both want?"

The question hung in the air between them, weighted with implications neither seemed ready to articulate. The fire crackled in the silence, a log shifting to send sparks up the chimney.

"What I want," Ivy said finally, "is to understand why you're so determined to deny what happened between us."

"I'm not denying anything." Julia's voice dropped lower, almost lost beneath the storm's constant roar. "I'm doing my job."

"Your job doesn't require emotional amputation."

Julia's jaw tightened. "In this case, it might." She finally turned to meet Ivy's gaze directly. "If I start thinking about you in terms of what I want rather than what you need to stay alive, I create a vulnerability. A blind spot. A moment of hesitation that could get you killed."

The raw honesty in her voice caught Ivy off guard. This wasn't the professional distance of Detective Scott but something more personal.

"Julia—"

"I've seen it happen," Julia continued, as if stopping would mean never starting again. "My first year as a detective. Another officer got emotionally involved with a witness. Made a mistake. The witness died." She looked back to the fire. "I won't let that happen to you."

The confession settled between them, reshaping Ivy's understanding of Julia's rigid boundaries. Not just protocol, not just professionalism, but genuine fear.

"I'm sorry," Ivy said softly.

"Don't be. It's a reminder I needed."

The cabin had grown darker, their world contracting to the small circle of warmth and light created by the fire. The storm seemed more distant now, its fury less relevant than the quiet revelations unfolding between them.

Ivy felt the cold seeping in wherever her body wasn't directly warmed by the fire. She shivered involuntarily.

"You should get closer to the fire," Julia said, noticing immediately.

"So should you."

They both moved inward, the circle of blankets suddenly feeling much smaller. Their shoulders brushed, the contact sending a jolt of awareness through Ivy.

"Better?" Julia asked, her voice rougher than it had been moments before.