Dr. EleanorShaw

A deep, quiet sigh escaped Nora’s lips, a sound she rarely allowed herself. Perched on a folding camp stool, she meticulously arranged the contents of her first-aid kit on a bandana beside the crackling fire. The last of the sunset bled through the tall pines, painting the clearing in long, peaceful shadows. Her custom multi-tool lay within easy reach on the stump serving as her table, its polished metal catching the firelight. “Vitals log, day one,” she murmured softly to herself, a therapeutic exercise. “Location: secure. Resources: optimal. Company: trusted.” She allowed a small, genuine smile as she heard Frankie’s distant laugh from down by the stream, and the steady thunk of Scout splitting wood farther off. For the first time in years, the tight coil of perpetual assessment in her chest had begun to unwind. She picked up a tin mug of steaming tea, her eyes drifting from her orderly kits to the darkening woods. The feeling of being watched was just an old habit, a phantom limb of vigilance. Wasn't it?