She studied him whenever she thought he wasn't looking, guilt flickering behind her guarded expression. But she couldn't stop her body from reacting the way it did. The moment darkness fell, her breath shortened, her muscles tightened, and sleep became a battlefield she could not win alone. On the third night, the worst panic hit. Ayoka woke with a strangled cry, hands clawing at the blanket, chest heaving.
Elias moved instantly, kneeling beside her. She grabbed the front of his shirt with both hands and didn't let go. Her entire body shook as if she expected someone to drag her away the moment she blinked. Elias spoke softly, the way one would calm a frightened animal. Not gentle in tone, but steady and sure.
"You're safe. Look around. No one's here. Just me." Her eyes darted wildly before finally locking on his.
Something in his calm expression broke through the panic. She started breathing again, shallow but controlled. Her grip loosened, and she lowered her forehead to his shoulder. Not out of affection, but because she couldn't hold herself upright. Elias didn't wrap his arms around her.
He didn't pull her close. He simply held steady, allowing her to use him as support until her body stopped shaking. It took a long time. By morning, both of them were worn thin. Elias's eyes were bloodshot.
Ayoka's legs shook when she tried to stand. Their unspoken reliance on one another had grown stronger than either expected. As Elias prepared to fetch water, Ayoka finally spoke without being asked. "I'm not used to kindness," she said quietly. "I don't know how to accept it without fear."
Elias paused, understanding the truth behind her restless nights. "You don't need to be used to it," he replied. "You just need to stay alive." She looked at him for a long time, long enough to show that the strange, fragile bond between them was no longer a misunderstanding or accidental comfort. It was becoming something real, something chosen in silence.
But neither of them said it out loud. Not yet. The nights would continue. The need for safety would continue. And so would the slow, careful unraveling of their guarded lives.
The third night left Elias running on little more than instinct. By the fourth morning, the strain showed in every part of him. His shoulders sagged. His eyes were red from broken sleep. And a stiffness in his movements made even simple tasks slow and clumsy.
When he stepped out of the barn at dawn, the cold air hit him harder than usual, carrying a faint pressure in his chest that told him he was pushing past his limit. Ayoka watched him quietly from where she sat wrapped in the blanket. She kept her gaze lowered most of the time, but she didn't miss much. Not his unsteady steps. Not the way he rubbed his temples.
Not the rare moment when he pressed a hand to his lower back from sleeping on the hard floor. She held her knees close and said nothing, unsure how to speak the guilt growing inside her. She hadn't meant to depend on him this much, but fear had its own laws, and sleep had become a dangerous place she couldn't enter alone. Elias didn't blame her, but the exhaustion worked its way into his mind. He found himself losing focus when chopping wood, nearly slicing into his hand.
He had to stop and breathe, shaking his head to clear the dizziness. He wasn't the kind of man to complain, but he could no longer ignore the toll of waking to her panicked gasps night after night. Inside the barn, Ayoka tried to stand but struggled to keep her balance. She braced her hand against the wall, breathing through the pain in her ankle. Elias stepped toward her instinctively, but she raised her hand, signaling she wanted to manage on her own.
She didn't want to add more weight to the growing strain she saw in him. "You're not ready to walk far," Elias said. "I can try," she replied softly. "I'm stronger today." Her voice carried both determination and apology.
Elias didn't argue. She needed to feel control again. He nodded and stepped back. Ayoka tested her leg with careful steps, each one slow and deliberate. It was painful, but she didn't hide it.
Elias noticed the way she gritted her teeth, but said nothing. She needed dignity as much as she needed safety. After a few minutes, her strength failed. She grabbed the door frame to steady herself. Elias stepped forward, hands ready to catch her, but she shook her head.
"I'm fine." "You're not," he said, his tone not unkind, just factual. Ayoka lowered herself back onto the blankets. Her shoulders sank with frustration, but beneath the frustration was something else, fear that she was becoming a burden he'd eventually resent. When Elias returned with fresh water, Ayoka spoke without looking at him.
"You don't sleep," she said quietly. "Each night you sit awake for me." Elias didn't deny it. He poured water into a cup and handed it to her. "You call for me," he answered.
"I'm not going to ignore that." She took the cup, but her hands trembled. "I don't want to harm you." "You're not," Elias said, though he knew the truth was more complicated. Her need wasn't harming him, but the sleeplessness was.
His body ached, his mind drifted during simple tasks, and he knew another few nights like the last ones might break more than just his routine. He sat down across from her, elbows resting on his knees. "You have nightmares," he said. "Bad ones. They wake you up fighting for air."
Ayoka looked away, jaw tense. "I try to control it." "You don't have to. It's not your fault." She glanced at him then, surprised by the sincerity in his voice.
"You don't know why they sent me away." He held her gaze. "Then tell me." Ayoka ran her thumb along the rim of the cup. "There was conflict inside the band, arguments about land, supplies, leadership.
I spoke against the wrong men. I questioned their choices." Her voice grew tighter. "They blamed me for what happened later, said I brought trouble, said I failed the band." Elias listened without blinking.
He didn't look satisfied or shocked, just attentive. "They pushed me away during the night," she continued. "I wasn't allowed to defend myself. I wasn't allowed to stay or return." Elias nodded slowly.
"They shouldn't have thrown you out, not like that." Ayoka exhaled shakily. "You don't know their anger." "I don't need to," he replied. "I know fear when I see it."
Something softened in her expression. She looked at him fully now, noticing the dark circles under his eyes, the strain in his jaw, the weight in his shoulders. "You help me," she whispered. "But it costs you." Elias leaned back against the wall, stretching out his legs with a stiff sigh.
"I've been tired before. This is nothing new." But Ayoka understood. Exhaustion wasn't new, but exhaustion for someone else was. He wasn't used to caring for another person.
He wasn't ready for the vulnerability that came with it. That night, the fragile pattern continued, but with a slight shift. Ayoka awoke again, breath sharp and shallow. Her hand reached out instinctively and stopped halfway. She hesitated, aware of how hard the nights had been on him.
Elias heard her anyway. He was already sitting up, rubbing his eyes, pushing himself to his feet. "You need me?" he asked. Ayoka looked torn between need and guilt. "I don't want to make you weaker."