Morning light seeped into the tent, nudging Crimson awake. She stretched, shaking off the night’s stiffness, and welcomed the new day with a yawn. She shrugged on her jacket and stepped out of the tent, greeted by the aroma of oatmeal and Solstace tending to a fire.
Solstace was already up, his back to her as he stirred a pot of oatmeal over the fire, lost in the simple cooking rhythm. Crimson watched, her eyes widening slightly as she took in this new, more domestic side of him she hadn’t seen before.
“Good morning, Missy,” Solstace said, his smooth baritone echoing warmly across the clearing. He didn’t turn around, but his tone had a lightness that hadn’t been there before.
Crimson tiptoed over, a mischievous glint in her eye as she crept up behind Solstace. “I didn’t know you cooked
