"Hold It steady"

By the time Mira reached the bridge site, the morning mist was still clinging low over the water, curling around the weathered beams like a ghost reluctant to leave. The crew was already scattered along the bank, hammering, hauling, and shouting over the steady rush of the stream.

Mira adjusted the strap of her satchel and climbed onto the makeshift platform they'd built yesterday, her boots finding the narrow planks with care. She'd spent most of last night refining her sketches, making sure every measurement aligned with the soil survey and the constraints they'd argued about. Her wrist still ached from the effort, but she was ready.

"Morning," Elijah greeted as she passed, wiping his hands on a rag. He was leaning casually against a stack of timber, a smudge of dirt across his forearm that looked more deliberate than accidental. "You're here early. Guess you don't sleep when there's a point to prove."

Mira arched a brow. "And you do?"

"I sleep great," he said with a grin. "Mostly because I'm not trying to impress a certain stone-faced taskmaster."

Her lips twitched, but she didn't reply.

Darian was at the far end of the site, speaking with two of the crew. His posture was as precise as the lines of the new beams they'd brought in—broad shoulders squared, one hand resting on his hip while the other gestured toward the riverbank. His voice carried just enough to be heard over the noise. Measured. Even. Never raised.

When his slate-grey eyes flicked toward her, it wasn't more than a glance, but it felt like a quick weight—an acknowledgment, not a greeting.

Mira exhaled slowly. Here we go again.

She spread her sketches across the table, weighing them down with a wrench to keep the breeze from snatching them. When Darian finally approached, his boots crunching against the gravel, she didn't look up right away.

"You're cutting it close on that north support," he said, his tone neutral but firm. "If the beams aren't angled deeper, the soil will slide out during the first heavy rain."

Mira tapped the page with her pencil. "I accounted for the slope. The new reinforcements will hold as long as we use the treated lumber, not the cheaper mix they ordered last time."

He studied the drawing, jaw shifting slightly. "You're assuming we'll get the treated lumber."

"We will," she replied, lifting her gaze to meet his. "I already called the supplier this morning."

For the briefest moment, something flickered in his expression—approval, maybe, though it was gone as quickly as it came. "Good. Then make sure the measurements match the shipment. I don't want to redo the framework when it gets here."

"I triple-checked," she said, a hint of bite in her voice. "But if you'd like, I'll draft a fourth set of calculations just for you."

One corner of his mouth ticked upward—not quite a smile, but close. "Sarcasm doesn't pour concrete."

"Neither does silence," she muttered, turning back to her notes.

For the rest of the morning, they moved around each other like two magnets flipped the wrong way. Darian gave brief, calculated instructions to the crew, while Mira double-checked every measurement, occasionally redirecting someone who tried to cut a corner. Every so often, their paths crossed—always with a brief exchange, sometimes sharp, sometimes grudgingly cooperative.

By midday, the sun had burned away the mist, leaving sweat clinging to Mira's neck as she leaned over a plank to sketch a quick adjustment. Darian crouched nearby, securing a brace with steady precision.

"You're off by half an inch on that angle," he said without looking up.

"I'm compensating for the bank's slope," she countered.

He glanced up, eyes narrowing slightly, then nodded once and returned to his work. "Fine. Just don't let it bite us later."

She rolled her eyes, but there was no real sting behind it this time.

As the afternoon waned, the structure began to resemble something more than a skeleton. The framework rose sturdier than the old patchwork ever had, each beam locked into place with a sense of permanence. Even Mira had to admit—Darian's precision balanced her designs in a way she hadn't expected.

When the crew finally started packing up for the day, Elijah tossed his gloves onto a toolbox and stretched with an exaggerated groan. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you two are starting to function like a team."

Mira shot him a look. "Don't start."

Darian didn't bother responding, just hoisted a coil of rope over his shoulder and headed toward the truck.

As Mira gathered her sketches, she glanced at the bridge one last time. It wasn't done—not by a long shot—but for the first time, she could see it coming together.

And as much as Darian's steady, infuriating presence grated on her, she couldn't deny one thing:

The bridge wasn't the only thing forcing her to hold steady.