Semua Bab Shared Desires: Bab 101 - Bab 110

The night moves forward as if time had stretched itself on purpose, forcing us to listen to every creak of the wood, every whisper of wind brushing the roof, every soft tap of freshly fallen snow against the windows. I end up on watch with John, not because I asked for it, but because Demon—after arguing with him about shifts and patrol routes—decided to lock himself in the room to “check something,” in that tone of voice that is a closed door in itself. And here we are, sitting near the fireplace, the fire burning down to deep embers that cast a reddish light over his face—one that doesn’t look healthy but isn’t illness either, something more unsettling, closer to a fever that rises from within, from the chest, from an impulse he doesn’t voice but that hovers between us like the slow smoke that drifts upward and dissolves.John looks at me now and then, not with the easy smile of other days, but with a quieter focus, as if he wants to memorize me in silence. When he speaks, his voice

The silence up here at night is always so dense it feels like it swallows everything, which is why the sound of the shot—sharp and dry—feels like a flash of lightning tearing through my chest before my mind even has time to react; a brief echo that dies in the darkness but leaves behind an invisible trail that sinks its claws into the back of my neck. No doubt: it came from close by.Demon, standing by the window with the rifle slung over his shoulder, snaps his head around with feline speed and looks at me; there’s no need for words—his expression alone is enough for me to spring to my feet, feeling the bite of the cold wood under my bare soles. The brush of fabric against my naked skin reminds me that just minutes ago I was asleep, wrapped in a blanket that now feels like some distant relic.“Up,” Demon says, his voice low but laced with urgency. “That wasn’t an animal.”John emerges from the dim hallway, hair mussed, a short gun in his hand, barefoot, his breathing still ragged fro

The morning begins with that dense cold that clings to the skin and forces you to move or be frozen in place, and maybe because of that—or because the threat lurking out there feels more real than any of our fights—we find ourselves standing at the cabin’s door, armed not only with our usual weapons but also with ropes, stakes, and improvised traps that Demon and John put together during the night, almost without speaking, but without getting in each other’s way either, as if urgency had somehow sanded down, at least for now, the sharpest edges of their clashes.The forest greets us with that watchful silence that has always made me think the trees keep secrets they share with no one, and we move forward slowly, the sound of our boots sinking into damp earth mixing with the crunch of branches under our weight. Demon leads the way, measuring each step; John covers the rear, and I move in the middle, feeling that, for the first time in days, there isn’t a tense space between them but ra

The night is so still that even the fire in the hearth seems to hold itself back, as if afraid to break the silence, and I wake without knowing why—just that strange pressure in my chest, like something unseen had called me. There’s no wind, no creaks out of place… and yet, there’s a different weight in the air. I sit up, let my feet slip out from under the blanket, and walk barefoot to the window. The glass is cold against my skin when I bring my hand close, but what makes me hold my breath isn’t the temperature—it’s the fresh smear of condensation, an irregular circle, as if someone had pressed their face to the outside and breathed onto the glass.The cold runs straight down my spine, even though the room is warm, and the first thing I do is turn, scanning the shadows for their shapes.“Demon… John…” My voice is a whisper I don’t want to lose, but also don’t want heard beyond these walls.Demon reacts first; his shadow moves with an almost animal reflex, stepping out of his corner

The night is so dense it feels as though the forest is breathing alongside us; the silence is alive, throbbing, as if the snow muffled not only sound but time itself. I’m on the sofa, blanket over my legs, feeling the slow warmth of the fireplace spreading through the room, when a dry, brief noise—like a muffled thud—cuts the calm clean in two. It’s unlike anything we’ve heard before: not the natural crack of a branch under the weight of snow, but a metallic snap, recognizable, coming from outside, near the boundary where we set the traps.Demon lifts his head instantly; he was at the table, sharpening a knife with the patience of a surgeon, but now his gaze sharpens with that light that blends alertness and resolve. John, who had been silently reviewing some maps, drops his pen, springs to his feet, and without a word the three of us are standing, moving toward the door with an almost instinctive coordination.“Trap two,” Demon murmurs, and there’s no need to ask which—everyone knows