The wind rattled the thin windowpane, its icy fingers tapping like an impatient guest. Midnight had long since arrived, blanketing the fort in silence expect for the occasional murmur of distant boots But you’d grown used to that background hum—war didn’t exactly sleep, even when your children did. Finally the door flings open, the wind pushing it all the way back with a rattle. It's so loud the children stir in their shared bed. Thomas walks in, eyes hodded with sleep depervation
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