Her knees trembled beneath her, but she refused to bend. She held her son with both arms locked around him, as though loosening her grip would mean admitting that she might lose him. When she spoke, her voice carried the dull steadiness of someone who had already run out of choices. My son is burning with fever. Wade said nothing.
He won't live to see sunrise unless he gets water, shade, and somewhere to rest. She did not beg. She did not fall to her knees. She did not soften the truth to make it easier for him to hear. She simply said what she believed would happen.
Then she added the words that made Wade's jaw tighten. If you save him, she continued in the same controlled voice, I will give myself to you. Anger flared through Wade so quickly that he felt heat rise beneath his skin. But none of it was aimed at her. It was aimed at a world harsh enough to force a mother into believing she had to speak such words just to keep her child alive.
Wade understood desperation. He understood what survival could reduce people to. Trades, prices, debts, consequences. The woman did not openly show her pain, but he could hear it beneath every word, and somehow that restraint struck him harder than screaming ever could have. He did not answer.
He did not trust himself to speak without letting too much show in his voice. Instead, Wade stepped away from the fence and walked toward the cabin with slow, deliberate strides. He pushed the door open, left it that way, then moved aside far enough for her to enter. It was the closest thing to an invitation he was willing to give. Seiya hesitated only long enough to shift Taza higher in her arms before stepping across the threshold.
Wade lit the small oil lamp on the table. And the yellow glow spread across the rough wooden walls of the cabin. He pulled a folded blanket near the stove and laid it out in the warmest corner of the room. Then he filled a tin cup with water from the kettle cooling beside the hearth. He had no idea how long Seiya had gone without drinking.
Her lips were cracked. Her hands shook from exhaustion, but every ounce of her attention remained fixed on the boy as she lowered him carefully onto the blanket. She brushed her fingers across his forehead, searching for some reaction, a flinch, a sound, any sign that he could still hear her. Taza gave none. Wade dropped to one knee beside them and laid a damp cloth against the boy's skin.
The heat beneath his hand told him immediately that there was no time to waste. He lifted Taza just enough to help him swallow a small mouthful of water, careful not to demand too much from a body already fighting with everything it had left. Seiya watched every movement. Wade still did not know her name, but her attention was fierce enough to feel like a blade held close. She looked ready to stop him the instant she believed he might hurt her son.
At the same time, she looked as though one moment of lowered guard might send her collapsing to the floor. Her arms trembled every time the boy moved. Her eyes followed Wade constantly. There was no obvious fear in them, but there was no trust either. Wade spoke only when he had to.
Keep him upright. Seiya obeyed immediately. When Taza managed to swallow a little more water, a faint tremor ran through her arms. It was the first trace of relief Wade had seen in her since she arrived. Seiya's gaze kept shifting between her son and Wade, as if she were trying to understand why a man would help without first naming his price.