"I am trembling with fear

But I know that you will disappear

Just as I awake

Whisper in my ear

Well, I believe

Somewhere in the past

Something was between

You and I, my dear

And it remains

With me to this day

No matter what I do

This scar will never fade

So let's make trouble in the dream world

Hijack heaven with another memory now

I make the most of the turning tide

It just split what's left of the burning silence

Don't wait, 'cause this could be the last time

You turn up in the reveries of my mind

I wake up to a suicide frenzy

Loaded dreams still leave me empty"

The Apparition - Sleep Token

Chapter 21: Frost and Fire

The sky was heavy with grey clouds, the sharp chill of December biting at Isabelle's cheeks as she adjusted the scarf around her neck. Their breaths hung in the air, visible in the icy stillness, as the sound of crunching snow under boots echoed faintly through the empty streets. Daryl walked a few paces ahead, his crossbow slung over his back, scanning the surrounding buildings with his usual wariness.

The silence wasn't unusual—it had become second nature in the months since they'd returned to Isabelle's apartment. It'd been three months since Laurent and Ash had left for America. They had anticipated some form of retaliation from the Pouvoir soldiers after the chaos, but nothing had come. The latest word from Montmartre's sources suggested that the Pouvoir Du Vivant had crumbled.

Whatever was left of the Guerriers had scattered, some moving north to England. It had made their plans to head toward the port there obsolete, leaving them with no clear path forward. Fallou, ever resourceful, had continued to send messages through the Union of Hope network, but so far, any lead on a way back to America had proven a dead end.

Carol and Codron followed close behind them, their footsteps falling in rhythm. The group had fallen into a practiced silence, each of them alert to the faintest sound or movement. They'd been scavenging for hours, moving methodically through the desolate streets in search of supplies. Paris might have been quiet lately, but none of them were willing to let their guard down.

"I think this place is picked clean," Carol said softly, her voice breaking the silence as she glanced at the crumbling storefronts.

"Maybe," Daryl grunted without turning around. His sharp eyes swept over a small alleyway, his instincts tugging at him to double-check. "Ain't hurt to look."

Isabelle stepped closer to him, peering into the alley.

"We've been over this area twice already," Codron muttered, his tone dry. "Unless you think the rats have started hoarding canned goods, we're wasting time."

Daryl shot him a look but said nothing, continuing down the street toward a boarded-up corner store. Isabelle lingered for a moment before following, her footsteps crunching over the icy ground.

Inside, the store was dark, the windows covered in graffiti and grime. Daryl used the butt of his crossbow to nudge open the door, the faint creak echoing in the stillness. The shelves were mostly bare, their contents looted long ago, but he moved inside anyway, his steps careful and deliberate.

"C'mon," he said gruffly, gesturing for the others to follow. "Let's make it quick."

Isabelle moved toward what used to be the pharmacy aisle, scanning the shelves for anything overlooked. Carol joined her, her hands brushing away a layer of dust as she checked a broken cabinet.

"Nothing," Carol murmured, her tone resigned. "Just like the last place."

Isabelle crouched down, pulling open a drawer near the floor. To her surprise, she found a small pack of bandages tucked inside, the plastic slightly torn but the contents intact. She held it up, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Not much, but it's something."

Carol smirked. "Better than nothing."

Meanwhile, Codron rummaged through the back of the store, his muttering audible as he shifted through debris. Daryl stayed near the entrance, his eyes and ears attuned to the street outside.

As the group finished combing through the store, their findings were meager—just the bandages Isabelle had found, a dented can of soup, and a half-empty bottle of rubbing alcohol Carol pulled from behind the counter.

"We done here?" Codron asked, brushing dust off his hands as he walked toward the door.

Daryl gave the street one last scan before nodding. "Yeah. Let's get back."

The group stepped out into the cold once more, the fading daylight casting long shadows over the empty streets. They moved in a loose formation, Daryl in the lead and Codron trailing slightly behind, his breath visible in the icy air. The tension among them eased slightly now that they were heading back, the promise of shelter and warmth pulling them forward.

As they neared Isabelle's apartment building, a figure emerged from the end of the street, walking toward them with a purposeful stride. Daryl slowed his steps, his hand instinctively brushing the crossbow slung over his shoulder. The others followed suit, their footsteps crunching to a halt behind him.

"Who is it?" Carol asked quietly, her voice wary.

Daryl studied the person for a moment before his shoulders relaxed slightly. "It's Fallou."

The figure drew closer, and Fallou's familiar grin came into view. His brightly colored scarf stood out against the muted grays of the street, and his breath puffed out in white clouds as he waved.

"Bonsoir, mes amis!" Fallou greeted warmly, his voice carrying down the quiet street.

"Fallou," Isabelle greeted with a small smile, relief softening her expression. "What brings you here?"

He stopped a few paces away, his breath clouding in the cold air. "News," he said, his voice calm but purposeful. "And an invitation."

"What kind of news?" Daryl asked, stepping to the side as Isabelle stepped into the loose circle beside him.

Fallou's grin shifted into something more serious. "Word's come through the network about a potential lead. There's talk of a base in Spain—some kind of supply hub. And more importantly, there's a rumor of a boat that might still be making trips to America."

The group stilled at his words, the weight of them settling over the quiet street. Isabelle's breath caught, her heart quickening. "A boat?" she asked softly. "Do you know for certain?"

Fallou shook his head. "Not yet. It's just a lead for now, but it's more promising than anything we've had in months. I'll keep you updated as soon as we learn more."

Daryl gave a short nod, his expression thoughtful. "Appreciate that."

Fallou's gaze shifted, his smile returning as he looked at the group. "Now for the second part of my visit. Montmartre is hosting a Christmas celebration in a few days—a feast, music, wine, good company. It's been a tough year, and we could all use a night to come together. "

"Christmas?" Carol repeated, her voice tinged with a mix of surprise and nostalgia. It was a word that hadn't carried much meaning in years—not since the world had fallen apart.

Fallou nodded, his smile widening. "Yes, Christmas. Or at least what we can manage of it. We'll have food—real food—music, and enough wine to forget the cold for a little while. It's not much, but it's a way to remind ourselves that even now, there's still joy to be found."

Carol tilted her head, her expression softening. "A Christmas party," she said, almost to herself. "I haven't thought about Christmas in… well, years."

Isabelle glanced toward Daryl, who stood silent but attentive, his hand resting on the strap of his crossbow. Her voice was quiet when she spoke. "That sounds nice."

Daryl's gaze flicked to her, then back to Fallou. His brow furrowed slightly, but after a moment, he gave a small nod. "Sure."

Fallou's smile widened and he clapped Daryl on the shoulder, the sound sharp in the cold air. "Bien! C'est réglé, alors! ("Good! It's settled, then!") Wear your warmest coats; it gets colder up on the rooftop."

As he spoke, he shifted the pack on his shoulder and gave them a knowing look. "And I brought you a few things from Montmartre. Just some extras—food, blankets. It's not much, but it should help."

Isabelle's face softened with gratitude. "Thank you, Fallou. You didn't have to."

He waved a dismissive hand, his grin playful. "It's Christmas, mon amie. If we don't look out for each other now, then when?"

Carol stepped forward, her eyes flicking to the pack. "Let's get you inside. At least for some tea. You look like you've been out in this cold all day."

Fallou raised his brows, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "I wouldn't say no to tea. My fingers are starting to feel like ice."

"C'mon," Daryl said, gesturing toward the door as he adjusted his crossbow on his back. He led the way into the building, holding the door open for the others as they shuffled inside.

The warmth of the apartment was a stark contrast to the biting cold outside. Isabelle moved quickly, unwrapping her scarf and setting it aside before heading to the kitchen.

"Take a seat," Carol said, motioning to the table as she grabbed an extra chair. Fallou eased into the chair with a contented sigh, flexing his fingers to bring warmth back to them. His pack landed on the floor with a soft thud, and he stretched his legs out slightly, his ever-present grin softening as he glanced around the room. "It's nice in here. Cozy." he remarked, his tone casual but sincere as he started unpacking his bag and stacking its contents on the table.

"It does the job," Isabelle said, her smile faint as she grabbed a kettle and moved toward the fireplace. She knelt down, carefully balancing the kettle on the metal grate over the flames. The firelight danced on her features, casting a warm glow against the room's otherwise muted tones.

Steam began to rise from the kettle as the fire's heat worked its way through the metal. Isabelle carefully removed it using a rag and poured the steaming water into the waiting teapot. The scent of tea leaves bloomed, mingling with the faint warmth of the room. She carried the pot and a few mismatched mugs to the table, her movements quiet but deliberate.

"Merci," Fallou said as she poured a cup for him. He wrapped his hands around the mug, his fingers reddened from the cold. "You're too kind, Isabelle."

She gave a small shake of her head, brushing off the compliment. "After everything you've done for us, it's the least we can do."

Carol reached for the tea next, taking a slow sip as her eyes drifted to the jar of preserves Fallou had packed. She held it up, a hint of surprise in her expression. "Strawberry?"

Fallou chuckled. "Made by one of the families at Montmartre. They insisted I bring some for you."

The conversation turned lighter as they drank, Fallou sharing snippets of life at Montmartre and the preparations for the Christmas celebration. His words painted a vivid picture: tables laden with food, the laughter of children, the sound of music filling the cold air. It was a glimpse of something they hadn't dared to hope for—an evening that felt normal, even joyful.

Daryl remained quiet, his presence steady as always. He finally reached for his mug, taking a slow sip as his gaze lingered on the others. Isabelle caught his eye briefly, a small, fleeting smile passing between them before she looked away.

As the teapot emptied and the conversation quieted, Fallou stood, his hands resting on the back of his chair. "I should head back before the snow gets heavier," he said, pulling his scarf tighter around his neck. "But remember—two nights from now, Montmartre. And bring your best spirits. We'll need them."

Daryl gave him a small nod. "We'll be there."

Fallou smiled one last time, his expression softening as he glanced at each of them. "Good. See you then!"

He hoisted his pack onto his shoulder and made his way to the door, pausing only to wave before disappearing into the cold night. For a moment, the apartment remained still, the echoes of Fallou's departure hanging in the air like a faint warmth.

Isabelle moved quietly to the window, her fingertips brushing against the frost-laced glass as she watched his figure disappear into the snowy street below.

"He's got a way of bringing a little light with him, doesn't he?" Carol said softly, standing to gather the empty mugs from the table.

Isabelle nodded, her gaze lingering on the street even as her breath fogged the glass. "It's easy to forget what joy feels like... until someone reminds you."

Daryl, still by the door, shrugged off his jacket and gloves. "Ain't been a lot of reminders lately," he said, tossing his gloves onto the table.

"Which is why this might not be such a bad idea," Carol replied, carrying the mugs to the counter. She turned to face him, her expression teasing. "Come on, Daryl, even you can't argue with real food and wine. Unless you're still an asshole when you drink."

Daryl gave a small grunt, the corners of his lips twitching ever so slightly.

Codron, who had settled into the chair Fallou had vacated, leaned back and stretched his legs. "Daryl? An asshole?" He said sarcastically, his tone laced with mock disbelief.

Daryl shot Codron a pointed look, but the corner of his mouth quirked upward in reluctant amusement. "Hey… careful. You're startin' to sound like Carol."

Carol, drying the mugs with a rag, smirked over her shoulder. "That's because I'm always right, and deep down, you know it."

"Deep down," Daryl muttered, shaking his head as he pushed off from the wall and crossed the room to lean against the table.

Codron chuckled, folding his arms behind his head. "Well, I'm in. A little wine, some music, real food—hell, I'll take any excuse to pretend the world isn't a disaster for a night."

"Agreed," Isabelle said softly, turning back from the window and reclaiming her seat on the couch near the fire. She rubbed her hands together, the warmth seeping into her chilled skin. Her gaze flicked briefly to Daryl. "It'll be good for all of us."

Daryl's expression softened just slightly, and he nodded. "Guess it wouldn't hurt."

Carol arched a brow, her lips twitching with amusement. "Well, look at that. He's almost enthusiastic."

"Don't push it," Daryl said, but the faint smirk on his face betrayed him.

Codron sat forward, gesturing toward the preserves Fallou had left on the table. "And if all else fails, we've got strawberry jam. What more could we need?"

The room warmed with the quiet camaraderie that had grown between them over the months. Codron had decided to stick around after everything had settled down. It was something that was never discussed, but they all seemed to silently agree that it made sense. With his life upended by Genet and the fall of the Pouvoir, he had nowhere else to go. Over time, he'd become an unexpected but valued part of their group.

His dry humor and sharp wit often lightened the tension, and while his approach to survival sometimes clashed with Daryl's, there was an unspoken understanding between them.

Now, seated near the fire, he seemed at ease, leaning back in his chair and stretching his legs. Carol sat across from him, stirring the last of her tea, her expression soft as she watched the firelight flicker. Isabelle kicked her boots off and tucked her legs underneath her as she still sipped her tea.

"So," Codron started, leaning forward with a mock-serious expression, "who's betting Daryl has one sip of wine and then goes right back to his brooding corner?"

Carol snorted, her hand stilling over the mug she was drying. "Oh, I'll take that bet. But I'll give him at least two sips. It is Christmas, after all."

Daryl, who had been leaning against the table with his arms crossed, raised a brow at them.

"You two done?" His tone was gruff, but there was no real bite to it. He walked over and sat beside Isabelle on the couch, his usual guarded expression softening slightly as she stretched her legs over his lap. She ruffled the back of his hair, her touch light and playful, and the corner of his mouth twitched as though he was fighting the urge to smile.

"Not even remotely." Carol laughed as she started to move the other supplies Fallou had brought to them.

"I want to know about this base he was talking about. In Spain." Daryl said, working his lip between his teeth.

Carol paused as she stacked the preserves on the counter, her brow furrowing slightly. "It's not much to go on yet. Just a rumor, right?"

Codron shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "Yeah, but it's better than nothing. A base like that could mean supplies, maybe even real transportation. If it's true, it's worth checking out."

Isabelle shifted her weight on the couch, her legs still draped over Daryl's lap. "Fallou wouldn't have brought it up if he didn't think there was a chance." Her voice was calm, but there was a flicker of hope in her eyes.

Daryl glanced at her, his hand resting absently on her knee as he spoke. "That's a hell of a trip if it's just another dead end."

"True," Carol agreed, returning to her seat near the fire. She wrapped her hands around her mug, her expression thoughtful. "But we don't exactly have options knocking on the door, either."

Isabelle leaned her cheek against the couch, her gaze drifting toward the firelight. "We'll wait and see what Fallou hears. If it's something solid, we can make a plan."

Daryl grunted in agreement, his hand still resting on her leg as his thumb traced absent circles against the fabric of her pants. Isabelle's eyes drifted to his fingers as they moved in their unconscious, rhythmic circles against her leg. His touch was steady, soothing, and she couldn't help but notice the contrast between the roughness of his calloused fingers and the gentle motion.

Her gaze lingered for a moment longer before she glanced back at his face. Daryl's expression was thoughtful, his eyes fixed on the fire but his mind clearly elsewhere. His brow was furrowed, his lips pressed into a line as though he were turning over unspoken worries. The quiet intensity of his presence always drew her in, a steady anchor in a world that often felt adrift.

Isabelle shifted slightly, her movement drawing his attention. Daryl glanced down at her, his thumb momentarily pausing before resuming its gentle motion. Their eyes met, and for a fleeting moment, the weight of the world outside seemed to fade.

"You okay?" She asked, her voice low.

He nodded, chewing on his bottom lip. "Just thinking."

Isabelle's gaze lingered on him, her expression unreadable. "Don't get too lost in your head," she said softly, her tone carrying a hint of warmth.

Daryl huffed a quiet breath, almost a laugh, and shook his head. The corners of Isabelle's lips lifted as she leaned a little closer, her cheek brushing against the back of the couch. The silence between them was comfortable, the kind that didn't need filling.

Carol's voice eventually broke the quiet. "We'll figure it out, whatever comes next. We always do."

Daryl's thumb stilled for a moment before he nodded, his gaze flicking to Carol. "Yeah. We will."

The warmth in the room, both from the fire and the shared sense of solidarity, seemed to wrap around them, holding back the cold of the December night outside.

The room was dark, Isabelle's soft, steady breathing beside him should have been enough to anchor him, but Daryl's mind was still trapped in the fragments of a dream he couldn't shake.

It had been a whirlwind of half-formed images and sounds, each more suffocating than the last. A cold, stark room. The scrape of a chair against concrete. The echo of his own heartbeat, loud and erratic in his ears. And threading through it all, faint at first but growing louder, that damn song— we got a front row seat. Oh, to a life that can't be beat . Right here on easy street.

The cheerful, mocking melody clawed its way into his chest, tightening like a vice. He had felt trapped again, pinned beneath invisible chains, as though the walls themselves were closing in. The grin of some unseen face lingered just out of view, taunting him as the song blared on repeat.

When his eyes snapped open, the echo of the song still lingered, fading like smoke in the quiet of the room. His chest heaved, his breath coming short and shallow as he stared up at the dark ceiling. For a moment, it felt like the walls of Isabelle's apartment might close in too, but then reality began to seep back in, slow but steady.

He was here. Not there. He was safe, wasn't he?

He sat up in the bed, the need to put his feet on the floor pressing against him like an instinct he couldn't ignore. The cool air of the room met his skin as he swung his legs over the side, his bare feet brushing against the worn rug. He rubbed his hands over his face, trying to chase away the last remnants of the dream.

The echo of the song was still there, faint but persistent, like the tail end of a bad joke that refused to fade. His breathing slowed as he gripped the edge of the bed, his fingers curling tightly against the wood.

Daryl glanced over his shoulder, his gaze landing on her. She hadn't stirred, her body still curled beneath the blankets, her hair falling loosely across the pillow. He leaned forward, pressing his elbows onto his knees and letting his head hang for a moment. The urge to move, to do something, was gnawing at him.

He reached down, massaging the back of his neck, the tension there as stubborn as the memories the dream had dragged up. His jaw tightened as the edges of the dream began to resurface—the cold room, the song, the feeling of being stripped of control. He shoved it down, hard, forcing his focus back to the present.

Isabelle stirred behind him, her movement drawing his attention. She didn't wake, but the faint rustle of the blankets as she shifted closer to where he had been laying was enough to ease some of the weight in his chest. He watched her for a moment longer before letting out a slow breath and pushing himself to his feet.

The fire needed tending anyway, and he could use the excuse to move. He needed water.

Daryl padded quietly out of the room and down the hallway, his steps light against the creaking wood floor. The cool air brushed against his skin, the fire having died down. His gaze flicked to the small pitcher on the table, and he reached for it, pouring a measure of water into a mismatched cup. The coolness of the ceramic against his palm steadied him as he lifted it to his lips, taking a long drink.

Codron was asleep under a blanket on the couch, his back turned to him. He quietly walked over and grabbed another log from beside the hearth and added it to the fire.

The fresh log crackled softly as it caught, the flames licking eagerly at the dry wood. The firelight grew, casting dancing shadows across the room and bringing a faint warmth back to the space. Daryl leaned back on his heels, his hand resting on the edge of the hearth. His gaze was distant, fixed on the flames but seeing something far away. The remnants of the song that had haunted his dream finally faded, leaving behind a hollow silence. He ran his hand through his hair, letting out a slow breath as he forced himself back to his feet.

When he reentered the room, Isabelle was still asleep, her arm stretched across the spot where she expected him to be.

Daryl hesitated in the doorway, his hand resting lightly on the frame as he took in the sight of her. The faint glow from the fire outside the room filtered in just enough to illuminate the soft rise and fall of her breathing. Her hair spilled across the pillow, framing her face, and her hand rested lightly on the empty space he'd left behind, fingers curled loosely in the blankets.

He moved carefully, sitting down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. He leaned forward again, scrubbing his face with his palms. He felt her shift before he heard her quiet voice break the silence. Her voice heavy with sleep. "Daryl?" he felt her hand brush his arm. "What's wrong?"

Daryl still and then lowered his hands from his face, glancing back at her. In the dim light, her eyes were only half open, her expression soft with lingering sleep and concern.

"Nothin', just couldn't sleep." he said gruffly, his voice low. She pushed herself up slightly, propping up on one elbow, her hair tumbling over her shoulder. She studied his face for a second, trying to read him. "Just a dream, I'm ok." he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. Though part of him felt like he was trying to convince himself just as much as he was her. His hand ran through his hair, lingering at the back of his neck.

Isabelle frowned slightly, the concern flickering in her eyes. She sat up further, the blanket slipping from her shoulders as she shifted closer. Without a word, she scooted behind him, her warmth pressing against his back as she wrapped her arms around him. Her hands rested lightly on his chest, and her fingers began tracing soothing circles against his shirt.

Her face nestled against his back, her breath warm against his skin. Daryl closed his eyes, letting out a slow, steadying breath. Her touch was steady, grounding, and for a moment, the haunting remnants of the dream seemed to loosen their grip. One of his hands moved instinctively to rest over hers, his calloused fingers brushing against her smaller ones.

Daryl didn't speak, but he leaned back ever so slightly, his body relaxing into her hold. For the first time since waking, the tension in his shoulders eased, the weight of his thoughts beginning to fade under the steady warmth of her presence.

Daryl sat still as Isabelle held him, her arms wrapped around him and her face resting against his back. The room was silent except for the faint crackle of the fire in the next room, the quiet hum of life in the stillness. Her fingers continued their gentle motion over his chest.

For a moment, neither of them moved, letting the warmth between them settle. Isabelle's breathing slowed against his back, steady and calm, as though she were willing her presence to ease whatever storm was raging inside him. Daryl's hand still rested lightly over hers, his thumb tracing small, absent circles against her knuckles.

Then, her hands shifted, sliding up his chest and then down again. She sat up a little straighter, her cheek brushing against his shoulder as her fingers moved to the hem of his tank top. Daryl stiffened slightly, his breathing hitching, but he didn't stop her. Slowly, she began to lift the fabric, her hands brushing against the muscles in his sides as she pushed it upward.

Daryl never took his shirt off. Even in the months they'd been sharing a bed together, the least he ever wore was his tank top. Though she'd seen his back before, adored with all of his scars, it hadn't been since the Abbey. He always tried his best to keep his scars hidden.

"Isa—" he started, his voice hoarse, but the words caught in his throat. Isabelle didn't say anything, her movements careful, almost reverent. When the shirt cleared his head, she set it aside, her hands returning to him, tracing the broad planes of his shoulders and the scars etched into his skin.

Daryl stayed frozen, his gaze fixed forward, but he didn't pull away. Her touch was featherlight as her fingertips followed the jagged lines of old wounds, each one a story he never wanted to tell. The warmth of her lips against his back startled him, soft and deliberate as she pressed them to one of the scars.

His chest tightened as her lips moved again, kissing another mark, then another, each touch filled with a tenderness that seemed to melt the barriers he'd carefully built over the years. Isabelle's hands moved slowly, her touch reverent and unhurried as she traced each scar with her fingertips. Her lips followed, brushing softly against his skin like a whisper of affection that spoke louder than words ever could.

Daryl's breathing deepened, his shoulders rising and falling under her touch. He wanted to tell her to stop, to pull away from this vulnerability, but the words refused to come. Instead, he sat there, letting her see him in a way that felt both terrifying and comforting.

"You don't have to hide from me," Isabelle murmured against his skin, her voice barely audible but carrying an unwavering strength. Her hands traveled to the curve of his shoulders, her touch firm but gentle. "Not from me."

Daryl closed his eyes, swallowing hard.

Isabelle leaned forward, her lips brushing against the nape of his neck in a touch so light it sent a shiver down his spine. "These scars… they're a part of you," she said softly, her cheek resting against his shoulder.

Daryl's jaw tightened, and for a moment, he couldn't speak. Even if he could, his mind couldn't formulate the words that he wanted to say.

Her words settled over him like a weight and a balm at the same time. Daryl closed his eyes, letting the tension seep out of him bit by bit. He turned his head slightly, enough to catch a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye. Her face was calm, open, and full of something he wasn't sure he'd ever let himself believe he deserved.

She leaned in, pressing a kiss to his temple before resting her head against his shoulder. "Come on, come back to bed." She said, her breath playing across his skin.

Isabelle gave him a small, encouraging smile as she shifted, making room for him to lay back down. Daryl hesitated for a moment longer, but when Isabelle shifted onto her back, he felt her hand lightly tug at his wrist again, guiding him. He followed her unspoken invitation, leaning into the warmth she offered. Carefully, he scooted closer, lowering himself until his head rested on her chest.

Her arms came around him instinctively, one hand slipping into his hair and the other resting on his back. She moved slowly, her fingers threading through the soft strands of his hair with a steady rhythm, soothing in its simplicity. Her other hand traced gentle patterns along the curve of his shoulder blades, her touch light and grounding.

Daryl closed his eyes, his body relaxing against hers as the tension that had gripped him began to ease. The steady beat of her heart under his ear was a quiet reminder of the present, steady and real, anchoring him to the moment.

Her fingers continued their tender motions, each pass through his hair and over his back unraveling another thread of the weight he carried.

Daryl's hand rested lightly on her side, his grip loose but holding onto her as though she were the lifeline he hadn't known he needed. "Didn't mean to wake you," he muttered, his voice thick with exhaustion and something deeper.

"You didn't," Isabelle replied, her tone gentle. "Even if you did, I don't mind."

Her hand slipped from his hair to rest lightly on his cheek, her thumb brushing against his temple. She leaned down slightly, placing a soft kiss on the top of his head, the warmth of her lips lingering against his skin. She felt the subtle shift in his breathing, the way his arm tightened around her in response, pulling her closer.

"Get some sleep," she murmured against his hair, her voice low and soothing.

Daryl didn't reply, but his grip on her didn't loosen, and the faint tension in his shoulders began to ease. Isabelle's fingers resumed their slow, comforting motion, threading through his hair and tracing light, reassuring patterns over his back. The steady rhythm of her touch and the quiet strength of her embrace wrapped around him like a shield, holding back the weight of everything that lingered in the darkness.