Ellie's hand finds the small of her back, her thumb brushing soft, slow circles into Clarisse's skin. It's like a silent answer to a question Clarisse is too cautious to ask out loud, and it has her sinking into a place that feels soft, all her muscles gone loose and relaxed and heavy in the best way.

For the first time in ages, she doesn't care that they're sleeping on the floor, or that even with a fire going she knows they'll wake up in the morning with their toes numb and the smell of mildew all around them.

This is good. They'll be okay. Ellie's thumb slows and then stops moving as she drifts off, and Clarisse closes her eyes.

"Night," she murmurs into Ellie's hair, and breathes her in.