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“Floaty.” She smiles, a drowsy, unguarded expression I’ve never seen on her before. “But cold. Always cold.”

“I’ll turn up the heater.”

“No.” She reaches out to catch my wrist before I can move away. Her fingers are ice against my skin. “Can you... would you just...”

She trails off, suddenly uncertain.

“What?”

“Hold me? Just for a little bit.” She looks embarrassed even asking. “I’m so tired of being cold.”

I should say no, should make some excuse about keeping watch or needing to finish my work. But I don’t.

“Move over,” I say, and she shifts on the narrow cot to make space.

I lie down beside her, awkwardly at first, tryingto keep some distance despite the limited space. But she immediately turns toward me, seeking warmth, and I curl my arm around her almost by instinct. She tucks her head against my chest, her cold hands finding their way between us.

“Better?” I ask, sounding strange to my own ears.

“Mmm.” She nods against my shirt. “You’re like a furnace.”

“So I’ve been told.”

We lie there in silence for a while, just breathing. I can feel her gradually warming, her body relaxing against mine. Her hair smells like citrus and something sweeter. It’s not unpleasant.

“Sorry,” she murmurs after a bit. “This is probably weird for you.”

“It’s fine.” And strangely, it is.

“The herbs make me say things I normally wouldn’t.” She sounds more alert now, more herself. “Do things I wouldn’t.”

“Like ask strange men to hold you?”

She laughs softly. “You’re not that strange.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I know enough.”

Her hand moves slightly against my chest, not quite a caress but no longer just seeking warmth either. I should stop this now. Should get up and go back to my pruning. But I don’t move.

“What do you know?” I ask.

“I know you could have left me to deal with Liam alone, but you didn’t.” Her voice is quiet in the dimgreenhouse. “I know you’re careful with your plants. Patient. I know you and Flint have a story… a toxic one but you still have a pull to him.”

“That’s not much.”

“It’s enough for now.”

She shifts again, tilting her face up to look at me. In the low light, her eyes are darker, not their usual pale blue. This close, I can see a small scar near her temple, usually hidden by her hair.

“What happened there?” I ask, barely touching the mark with my fingertip.

“IV stand. Fell over once during a treatment. Cut me.”

Her candor surprises me. “Does it hurt? Your condition, I mean.”

“Sometimes. Mostly it’s just... exhausting. Being tired all the time. Being cold.” She studies my face. “What about you? What hurts you?”