Exchanging Favors

As Lara stepped out of the makeshift infirmary, the cool December air wrapped around her, its cold fingers seeping through the thin fabric of her sleeves. The scent of damp earth and smoldering firewood filled her lungs, momentarily clearing the exhaustion from her mind. In the distance, the flickering glow of a bonfire cast long, dancing shadows across the camp.

Aramis stood waiting for her. His back was straight, and his posture was as composed as ever.

"The Lieutenant had work to do, so he left long ago," he said, his voice steady and deep. He extended a small bundle wrapped in dried leaves. "Here, your ration."

Lara took it and carefully unfolded the wrappings, revealing a meager meal—a coarse slice of bread, a wedge of cheese, and a few strips of dried meat.

She sighed, the simple offering reminding her of the soldiers inside the tent. How could they regain their strength with such sustenance? They needed warmth, nourishment—not stale rations.