The hinge squealed once, then quieted when the oil was applied.

Noah wiped the extra from the pin with a rag and pressed the door open and closed with a neat, patient rhythm, as if he had all the time in the world. Lachlan handed him the screwdriver without looking, eyes on the way the door finally stopped catching at the frame.

"That’s better," Lachlan said. "Been meaning to fix it for weeks."

"Meant-to is half the battle," Noah returned, easy. He tightened the last screw, then rose in one smooth line and stepped back so Zubair could test the swing himself.

Zubair pushed the door once, listened to the hinge, and said nothing. Approval, in his language.

Alexei leaned with his shoulder against the wall, watching like a cat watches a mirror. "You’re very useful," he drawled. "It’s almost suspicious." 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺

"Almost?" Noah smiled. "I can try harder."

Sera measured the exchange from the kitchen island, knife turning slow circles under a cloth.

Luci sat with his chest against her boot, his ears moving in small ticks toward each voice in the room. The tower held a day’s worth of warmth in its bones; snow slid down the outside of the windows in soft sighs.

Elias closed the last clip on a small med kit and set it on the shelf by the door. "If we’re making a list for things that need tuning," he said, "the radiator on the second floor whistles at night. The panel in the utility hall rattles in wind."

"I’ll take a look," Noah offered. "If I can find a wrench no one minds me touching."

"Ask Zubair," Sera answered without turning. "He will decide what you touch."

Noah’s smile didn’t falter. "Understood."

He did what men do when they want to be kept.

He helped.

He fetched.

He lifted things for Lachlan, listened to Elias talk about air flow and heat loss without mocking the numbers, laughed when Alexei made the kind of joke that had teeth hidden under it.

He was careful without being meek. Generous without overreaching. The kind of guest who folded blankets he hadn’t used.

Sera rinsed the knife and set it in the rack, then dried her hands and crossed to the table where Luci’s water dish sat. The pup followed like the water belonged to him only because she said so.

"Sit," she told him.

He sat. Tail steady. Eyes bright.

"Watch," she added, barely above breath.

His gaze flicked to Noah and stayed there, unwavering. Good.

Noah pretended not to notice the test and failed. He reached a hand toward the pup, palm low and open.

Luci’s upper lip lifted just enough to show his sparkling white teeth.

Noah’s hand stopped in the air, an inch too close to be innocent, an inch too far to be proof.

Lachlan cleared his throat. "He’s particular," he said, diplomatic.

"Pack law," Alexei murmured, amused. "He needs to know where you stand on the hierarchy."

Noah turned his empty hand into a concession and let it drop. "We’ll renegotiate in a week."

"Or a month," Sera said.

His eyes slid to hers and back, the smile resetting as if rewound. "Or a month."

Zubair brought the repaired door back to its frame and tested the swing again. "Lower floor," he reminded, not looking at Noah when he said it.

"Lower floor," Noah agreed, still not glancing at the stairs.

He had noted every exit in the first ten minutes of arrival.

Sera watched him make the map. He had measured the windows with his eyes, counted steps to the kitchen, tested the sound of the floor under his weight.

He didn’t ask questions he couldn’t smile through. He didn’t push when a wall said no. He put things back where he found them. He handled tools like they were friends he respected.

She understood that kind of discipline. The problem was that she didn’t trust it.

"Movie night?" Lachlan asked, breaking the cord of quiet. Hope warmed his voice like a candle. "Haven’t run one since—"

"Since we were pretending the storm would stop," Alexei finished, grinning.

Elias’s mouth tugged, reluctant and fond. "The generator needs a longer warm-up in this cold."

Zubair checked the clock without touching it. "Fuel’s fine," he said. "Two hours, not more."

Noah lifted his hands. "I can carry the fuel canisters."

"You can carry the extension cord," Zubair answered.

"Fair."

Sera didn’t say yes, she didn’t say no.

She watched the way the room took the suggestion and made it into a plan, how each man found his task without looking up for orders. It had taken months to teach the tower to do that.

The creature under her skin let out one slow breath that didn’t quite become a growl.

Noah fetched the extension cord.

He didn’t look at the stairwell when he passed it. He glanced at the mirror over the console table and watched the reflection of the stairs instead.

Luci saw it. A soft sound rolled from his chest, not enough for anyone but Sera to hear.

"Good boy," she told him. "Down."

He settled to his elbows, head on his paws, still watching.

They moved couches a fraction to angle the view of the television. Lachlan drew the curtains, then left one open enough to check the ice between scenes. Elias set the small fan on the hearth to push heat toward feet. Alexei dimmed the lamps with a theatrical flourish that earned him the absolute barest of smiles from Sera, a quick flash and gone.

Noah carried the cord, coil neat, steps even. He stopped at the edge of the room like a man who had learned not to cross lines without asking. "Where do you want this?"

"Here," Zubair pointed, and Noah knelt to thread the cord along the baseboard, taping it flat with strips Alexei tore for him.

It almost looked like a home that didn’t have a war pressed against its windows.

Sera poured tea, three cups first—Zubair, because he would refuse it and drink it anyway; Elias, because his hands stilled when the heat landed in them; Lachlan, because joy ate fuel. She filled a fourth and set it on the table near Alexei without looking at him.

Alexei’s brows lifted. He took the cup like it might bite, then tilted it in a silent salute he only did for her.

Soft around the edges, but not soft enough to leave marks.