Xavier sat on a fallen log, twenty meters from Ashley's tent. The night air bit at his exposed skin, but he didn't move closer to the fire. This exact spot was where the King's Gaze fell silent, as if Ashley's dead zone extended even in her sleep.
He exhaled, watching his breath form clouds in the frigid air. The silence in his head was worth the cold—no alien presence analyzing every thought, no calculating voice suggesting the most efficient way to kill his companions if they became threats.
Just... quiet.
The camp lay still. Margaret and Naomi had retired hours ago, their tents dark against the moonlit snow. Only Calypso's still glowed faintly from within, her shadow occasionally visible against the canvas as she moved about.
Xavier checked his watch. Two more hours until Naomi relieved him. Two more hours of blessed silence.
A twig snapped behind him. Xavier's hand dropped to his dagger, but he relaxed when Calypso emerged from between the trees, carrying two steaming mugs.
