POV: Aphrodite
The cold settles into my bones as the night deepens. What started as uncomfortable has transformed into something brutal and unrelenting. Even sitting close to the fire, I can see my breath misting in the air, crystallizing before fading into nothing.
Draco sits across from me, his movements methodical as he feeds wood to the flames at regular intervals. We haven't spoken since taking watch together. Just existed in this comfortable silence, both of us too lost in our own thoughts to make conversation necessary.
But the silence feels different than it used to. Not tense with unspoken accusations. Not heavy with complicated history. Just quiet in a way that doesn't demand filling.
I pull my cloak tighter around my shoulders, but it's not enough. The cold is the kind that finds every gap in fabric, every vulnerable spot, and exploits it without mercy. My fingers are numb despite being tucked into my sleeves.
