Abram sat alone in his study, a low fire crackling in the hearth.
The parchments on his table were filled with his notes, troop positions, and the dwindling count of their supplies.
It was times like these that made him crave alcohol but he had more self control than that. Not a single drop will make it into his body. Not while they were being sieged.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to massage away the exhaustion that was present in every line of his face.
The door creaked open, and he didn't look up. He already knew who it was. Maria.
"Abram." She said, her voice low. He recognized that tone.
He sighed, setting down the quill that he'd even forgotten was in his hands. "You should be resting." He said. "Bellamy almost got you."
"We both know I won't rest. Not until I say what I came to say."
He looked up, his eyes tired. "Then speak."
Maria stepped closer, her hands clenched. "Let me fight. In the next battle. Let me stand beside you, beside our sons."
