She tore a piece of her already ruined dress and dipped it into the leftover water, gently pressing it to his forehead. He stirred slightly, eyes fluttering.
"Still alive?" she murmured. "Good going, Kingsley… just keep recovering."
Logan groaned faintly in response. A good sign. Jean found herself breathing again.
She leaned back against the tree behind her and kept her gaze fixed on him, refusing to let sleep tug her under.
Hours passed. The moon rose slowly above the canopy, casting pale light over the makeshift camp. The wind was cooler now, rustling through the trees, but Jean didn't move. She couldn't.
Every time he shifted or coughed, she was alert. Ready. Her body ached, and her mind was heavy with exhaustion, but she pushed it all aside.
She watched him as if her will alone could keep him tethered to life.
And for the first time in a long time, she felt fear… not for herself, but for someone else.
