With her eyes closed, the distant campfires on the beach are blotted out in the blackness; the scents of smoke and blood and burning might be mistaken for the night following a great sacrifice, the constant unease draped over the city like a smothering blanket be merely the foreboding of a storm blowing in from the sea.

“Close your eyes,” she murmurs to Hektor, and shifts her body to straddle his, hands meeting the familiar planes of his chest.

“It is just you and I, my love,” she says, and feels his mouth curve against hers, for as long as the darkness lasts.