The fire crackled softly, casting long shadows on the wooden floor. Ronan sat cross-legged, sharpening the edge of his greatsword with slow, methodical strokes. The rhythmic rasp of stone against silver echoed in the quiet.
He didn't flinch when he heard her footsteps. He'd sensed her the moment she stood up.
Still, he didn't expect what came next.
Brynn stepped behind him and, without a word, wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
He froze.
Her touch was gentle—but grounding. Like she was trying to hold him in place before his thoughts could drift too far into darkness.
"I thought you might've left," she said softly, cheek resting against the back of his neck. "Didn't hear you come in."
"I don't sleep much," he murmured. "Not well, anyway."
She tightened her arms slightly, warmth seeping through his shirt and down into his chest. "You don't have to keep carrying it all alone, you know."
He didn't respond.
Not at first.
Because part of him wanted to lean into her warmth.
And part of him feared he'd break something precious if he did.
"…I don't know how to stop," he said quietly.
Brynn didn't let go. "Then let someone help you hold it."
For a long moment, they stayed like that—the fire crackling, the sword forgotten in his lap.
And for the first time in days, the silence wasn't heavy.
Ronan gently set the sharpening stone aside and turned within her arms.
Brynn looked up at him, her eyes soft, questioning—but she didn't pull away.
His expression was unreadable for a moment, caught between tension and something almost vulnerable. Then he spoke, voice low:
"Thanks… for staying."
She gave a small nod, her hands slipping from his shoulders as he stepped back.
Without another word, Ronan crossed the room. His boots thudded softly against the floor as he made his way to the bed. He sat on the edge, rolling his shoulders once before lying back with a sigh—one that carried more than just physical weariness.
The fire's glow flickered across the room, dancing shadows on the ceiling as he stared up at it in silence.
Brynn stood there a moment longer, watching him.
Then, quietly, she walked over and pulled the blanket up around his shoulders.
She didn't say anything else.
And for once… neither did he.
The warmth of the fire, the weight of exhaustion, and the silence between them lulled Ronan toward sleep.
His breathing slowed. The tension in his muscles eased.
And just as his eyes finally closed, he felt the bed shift beside him.
Brynn was quiet—almost hesitant—as she climbed onto the mattress. She moved slowly, carefully, as if afraid she'd wake him. But she didn't stop.
Ronan didn't open his eyes, but he felt her presence—close, comforting, real.
She lay beside him, her back turned slightly, though not far enough to feel like distance.
For the first time in a long while, the darkness in his mind didn't feel so loud.
As the fire's glow dimmed to embers, Ronan drifted off fully… the rhythm of Brynn's breathing near his own.
And for just a few hours, the monster inside stayed quiet.