Katara was bent over the stew pot, her hair falling loose around her face as she stirred. Toph sat cross-legged on the ground, idly tossing a pebble between her palms. Aang was meditating a few feet away, his arrow tattoos catching the firelight.

And then there was him.

Zuko sat apart from the group, on a fallen log, his arms resting on his knees. The flames reflected in his golden eyes as he stared at you. Not at you—through you. Like you were the only solid thing in a world of smoke.