Night fell quietly, the fire crackling softly between them. It cast flickering shadows on Jean's tired face as she rubbed her arms. Her dress, still torn and sleeveless, did little to fight the cold. She shifted, curling slightly toward the fire but not enough to let Logan notice her discomfort.
He noticed anyway.
The fire had begun to burn low, its warmth fading. Jean's shoulders stiffened as a chill snuck under her skin. Logan watched her for a moment from where he lay, then sat up.
"Feeling cold?" he asked, voice low in the dark.
Jean didn't answer right away. She was too proud. "The fire's dying," she said instead.
Logan sighed, got up, and tossed a few sticks into the pit. Sparks jumped before the flames caught again. He turned to her. "You should've woken me up."
"I didn't want to listen to your whining."
He chuckled, shaking his head. "Still stubborn as hell."
She shrugged, eyes fixed on the flames. "Still annoying as ever."
