The war raged outside, a storm of blood and fire, but at this moment, inside the small confines of their tent, there was only warmth. Only the sound of soft breathing. Only the quiet rustle of fabric as Felix pulled Helena closer, his arms wrapping around her like a shield against the chaos of the world beyond.
Helena sighed, resting her head against his chest, her fingers tracing slow patterns along his bare skin. "It's strange, isn't it?" she murmured. "That we can find peace in the middle of all this?"
Felix chuckled, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple. "Maybe that's why it matters so much. Because we don't know how long we have."
She lifted her head, looking into his eyes—eyes that had always been her refuge. There was something soft in his gaze, something unspoken. She had seen him fight, had seen the fire in him when he stood on the battlefield, ruthless and unyielding. But here, with her, that fire burned differently.
It was warmth. It was devotion.
