I wake before dawn in the cherry grove, the candle from last night's vigil still flickering in the snow. Shashwat sleeps beside me on the stump's rough wood, head pillowed against my coat. I trace the lines of his face, grateful for each breath he draws. The world beyond our sanctuary still rages, but here, for a few stolen hours, peace has claimed us.

Slowly, as light brightens overhead, I rouse him. He opens one eye, offering a sleepy smile. "Morning," I whisper.