THIRTEEN. underneath the cloak of shadow! ｡･:*:･ﾟ✧｡･:*:･ﾟ
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The night air tastes of shadow and deceit and is almost too cold as it slides into Zoya's lungs. The invisible clouds of her breath billow out in front of her as she stands with her arms wrapped around the child, waiting for the Mandalorian to return. After they'd finished loading the supplies onto the farmers' transport, he'd requested the credits immediately. Soon, he had informed her of why, after catching her raising her eyebrows at him, communicating silently that she'd felt out of the loop.
Before he leaves, Mando pulls her off to the side. "Zoya." She looks up at him, hazel eyes glimmering in the muted light, as if specks of sunshine are caught in her irises. "I'm going to find Cara—we might need help. I'll be back."
"You always say that," she replies.
Beneath the helmet, the bounty hunter smiles softly, the edges of his mouth curving up gently. "Have I been wrong?"
She grins. "Not yet."
He falters, delaying his departure, even though he shouldn't be gone for long, as he knows Cara won't be far. Slowly, Mando turns back to face her, as he'd been about to step away. Zoya's eyes flick back up to his immediately. The same spark from earlier when they'd watched each other across the clearing relights within them.
"Zoya," he begins, not knowing what he's going to say.
A small crease appears between her brows as she gazes up at him intently. "Mando." The corner of her lips twitches as she prevents herself from smiling at him.
His hand rises, mirroring the way hers had, to rest on her shoulder, as light as a butterfly's fluttering touch, careful, unsure, hesitant to change anything, afraid of denial. "I . . ."
When he trails off, she tilts her head, more aware of his gloved fingers on her shoulder than anything else in the world, even the child tottering around their feet. "What is it?" she whispers, voice a slight breath in the forest air, barely louder than the shift of a pine needle in a cool midnight breeze or a dove alighting on a slim branch.
Underneath her gaze, his eyes search her face, though she cannot tell. A thin wind pulls between the two, slipping chilly fingers through her dark bangs, ruffling them across her forehead. He watches the movement, wanting to brush them away from where they cling to her eyelashes. Her shoulder moves slightly beneath his hand as she shifts closer.
