Semua Bab Shared Desires: Bab 91 - Bab 100

It’s not that I mind taking care of them—truth is, there’s something about the way they both, so different in how they move through the world, surrender to my hands when they’re sick that makes me feel as if I have absolute control—but the real test of patience comes from having them both shut in the same room for more than twenty-four hours, feverish, restless, and with an almost instinctive need to argue about everything, from who has the thicker blanket to who coughs with more elegance.I carry the tray with tea and fruit to the foot of the bed, and I can already hear the murmur that precedes the storm: Demon, his voice hoarse, claiming that the only sensible option for the afternoon is an action movie, the kind that sounds like it was written by someone with an unhealthy addiction to explosions; and John, lying back with his hair still damp from the bath I forced him to take, insisting that what we need is an animal documentary, narrated by a British voice and backed by calming mu

It’s not that the outside air feels purer only in contrast to the confinement—it’s that the first gulp of cold hits my lungs with a delicious violence, as if winter itself were reminding me that I’m still alive, that I can still feel something not tied to the steam of hot mugs, heavy blankets, and the smell of fever that had clung to the room for days.They come out behind me, still moving slowly, but with that new glint in their eyes that isn’t just because their body temperatures have finally returned to normal, but because they know—the worst part has passed. And though they won’t say it aloud, they both know I was there through every uncomfortable minute, every heavy sigh, every sweaty dawn.“Smells different,” John says, as if we hadn’t all been in the same cabin since he came back. “Cleaner.”“Smells like we can breathe without it hurting,” Demon replies, adjusting his coat and walking until he’s level with me, hands buried deep in his pockets, his posture relaxed but carrying t

The night spreads over the cabin like a thick shroud, and the cold seeping in from the forest seems to slip through every crack, as if it wants to remind us that out there the world is hostile, and the warmth we have now is fragile, almost borrowed. I’m at the table, leafing through a book I left open since the afternoon without really reading, when a fleeting flash—something that doesn’t match the slow rhythm of snow and darkness—cuts my breath short. It’s not just any reflection, because the light doesn’t come from inside, but from outside, from a low, distant point, as if someone moved a flashlight or a shard of glass caught the moonlight and threw it straight at my window.I get up without making a sound, instinct and caution telling me not to draw attention before I’m sure, but Demon appears behind me in a second, and I don’t need to speak; he can read it in my face.“What did you see?” His voice is a soft blade, cutting just enough that I don’t dare lie.“A flash,” I answer, kee

The morning breaks so silent that even the creak of wood expanding from the stove’s heat feels like an intruding noise, and when I open the door to let in a little cold air, the first thing I see is not snow, or footprints, or forest, but a white envelope, perfectly placed in the center of the step, as if someone had set it there with deliberate precision—and that same intention makes me hesitate before touching it. It bears no name, no sender, no mark of any kind, only that light weight that doesn’t reassure, but rather announces something I don’t want to discover, yet know I can’t ignore.I pick it up slowly, and the rough texture of the paper reminds me of old letters, the kind sent with more than just words inside, and for a moment I expect to find a folded sheet, perhaps a message written in haste. But when I tear the edge and slide out the contents, the only thing that falls into my hand is a black-and-white photograph, sharp—too sharp to have been taken from far away—and what c

The night is too dense to be called quiet—not because the wind has stilled, but because even the forest seems to be holding its breath, as if it knows something we don’t yet. I notice it first in the way Demon, who had been sitting by the window, leans forward, shoulders rigid and eyes fixed on a point I can’t quite make out. I move closer, following his gaze, and then I see it: a hooded figure, barely outlined against the edge of the forest, motionless—so still it could be mistaken for just another shadow if not for the faint glint of moonlight reflecting off what seems to be a shard of metal or glass in its hand.There’s no time to argue or wonder if it’s a trap; Demon is already on his feet, pushing the door open with that sudden force born of both instinct and anger. I follow without thinking, feeling the snow give way under my boots while the freezing air slaps my face like a warning. John is right behind us, faster than I expected, and for a moment I can’t tell if it’s because h