The evening air had settled into a soft hush over the compound, the heat of the day easing into a balmy stillness. A warm breeze drifted through the open windows of the small dining nook making the candles flicker between two half-finished plates and a bottle of South African chenin blanc that Nyah had brought with her in a faded canvas bag. The soft light threw warm shadows on the walls, reflecting across Bette’s cheekbones and catching the tired shimmer in her eyes.

Dinner had been simple but comforting; spiced lentils, roasted squash, and chapati, with Nyah insisting on cooking. She’d moved about the kitchen effortlessly, barefoot, sleeves rolled to her elbows, humming an old Miriam Makeba tune as she chopped and stirred. Bette had watched her for a moment from the table, letting herself simply observe; Nyah’s sure movements, the confident way she carried herself, the occasional glance over her shoulder as if to check Bette was still there, still watching.

Now, with plates pushed aside and the wine nearly gone; the mood had shifted. Bette sat in silence, one elbow on the table, her fingers absently toying with her empty glass. Her shoulders slumped just slightly, worn down by another relentless day of security upgrades, staff briefings, and worried messages from Tina.

“You’re bone-tired,” Nyah said softly. She wasn’t smiling anymore.

Bette looked at her, eyes unreadable.

“I don’t mean just physically,” Nyah added, her voice lower now, as if it might get away from her if she spoke too loud. “I mean here.” She reached out, one finger grazing just over Bette’s chest, near the collar of her shirt. “You carry everything. The foundation. The animals. Your team. That little girl…”

Bette pulled in a slow breath, not moving away, but not leaning in either.

Nyah’s eyes didn’t leave her. “Do you ever let anyone carry you, Bette?”

The question landed with weight. It wasn’t flirtatious. It was intimate, raw. A challenge wrapped in compassion. Bette looked down, her thumb brushing a mark on the table’s surface. “Not often,” she said finally.

“I could,” Nyah whispered. “Just for a little while.”

Silence pooled between them. Outside, the chorus of night insects buzzed in gentle waves, the distant call of a nightjar rising and falling beyond the walls.