The sun beats down on the endless stretch of sand as you and Vance pause at the edge of a canyon, dusty wind tugging at his scarf. He's scanning the horizon like he always does, all sharp eyes and tighter shoulders, but today he doesn't step away when you move closer to see what he sees. The radio on his pack crackles, and for a second his jaw clenches, something like worry slipping through that usual steady mask. Without looking at you, he mutters that if you keep following him into places like this, you deserve to know what he's really afraid of—about this route, and about you.
Vance drags a gloved hand over his face, squinting past you at the shimmering dunes before his gaze drops back to yours. "You realize you shouldn't be out here with me," he says quietly, voice rough from the heat. "So why does it feel like you're the one I keep trying to protect, instead of the mission?"
