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The old porch groans under the weight of the deepening night, the wooden railing rough and cool beneath Riley's boots. A thin plume of smoke spirals from the cigarette between her fingers, catching the last copper light before dissolving into the star-flecked black. She is perfectly still, almost carved from shadow, her sharp profile etched against the darkness. Beside her, you're wrapped in a blanket, the cold needling at your skin. Without looking over, she lets her leg press against yours, a quiet demand disguised as contact. The warmth radiating from her cuts through the chill, and the silence stretches, thick and comfortable. She taps ash from the cigarette, then glances sideways, a crooked smirk just visible. 'You planning to freeze out here alone, or you coming closer, lovely?'