Adam stirred from his sleep, a gentle presence pulling him from the depths of unconsciousness. His eyes fluttered open, vision still blurry, and he saw Isolde's silhouette outlined against the dim glow of the dying fire. Her face, pale and beautiful in the faint light, was close—close enough that he could see the flecks of silver in her pale blue eyes.
"It's time for your watch," she said softly, her voice carrying a quiet urgency. "You need to take over."
Adam blinked, his mind still sluggish with sleep. He let out a low, groggy groan, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.
"Yeah, yeah... I'm getting up."
Isolde inclined her head once, a small, almost imperceptible nod, and turned. She slipped out of the tent without another word, the canvas rustling softly behind her.
