Chapter 19
Finn
The light came first. That soft, blue-edged glow that crept in before the sun committed to rising, while the world stayed hushed in the liminal space between night and day.
I woke stiff, back aching, neck kinked from the way I’d slouched sideways against the rough timber wall of the blind. My shoulder throbbed from holding tension all night, and my right leg—still nursing that ancient tendon pull from training ops outside Muscat—had officially registered its protest.
Didn’t matter. We were still breathing.
Ajax was curled in the space between me and the outer wall, blanket tucked around him where Saoirse had left it. His breathing was steady now—deep and even, chest rising and falling in a rhythm that felt like permission to exhale.
He twitched once in his sleep, ears flicking. But I didn’t spot any signs of distress.
I watched him for a moment longer than I meant to. Let my fingers drift across the curve of his shoulder—a whisper of touch, careful not to wake him. I needed that contact more than I wanted to admit.
The crackling rush in my chest hadn’t fully gone away. That thing that had nearly broken loose yesterday, when I’d thought that?—
I cut off that line of thinking. Didn’t need to go there again.
A rustle pulled my attention toward the far wall. Saoirse.
She was already awake, sitting cross-legged with her back to one of the beams, a foil blanket wrapped around her shoulders like a shield. Her hair was a halo of static-fine waves, and the light from outside painted her in silver and shadow.
She looked… still. Not peaceful, not relaxed, but focused in that way only she could be. As if she’d already catalogued every sound in the forest and was letting her thoughts work around them.
No words yet. Just the shared hush of survival and the weight of too much not said.
I didn’t want to break it, but I knew I would.
I shifted slowly, careful not to wake Ajax, and crossed the blind in a crouch to join her. The ground was cold beneath me, but I sat anyway. Close, but not too close.
Saoirse didn’t turn, but I could tell she knew I was there. The way her spine stiffened slightly, then eased. The tiny flex of her fingers on the blanket.
We sat like that for a few breaths. The kind of quiet that felt earned.
Then, because I couldn’t keep it in anymore, I said it. “Thank you.”
She glanced sideways. “For what?”
I swallowed. “You know for what.”
Saoirse looked like she was going to brush it off—shrug or joke or say it was nothing. I stopped her with a look before she could open her mouth.
“No. Really. You saved him. I—I didn’t know how to move.”
There it was. The raw edge. I’d tried to keep it tamped down, but it slipped through the cracks.
She didn’t speak right away.
“I’ve seen a lot of chaos,” I said. “Fought through worse. But yesterday…” My voice dropped. “He’s all I’ve got left of Charlie. And when I saw that knife?—”
The words stuck.
I exhaled hard. Looked out through the open slats of the blind. The forest beyond was pale and wet with dew, morning light bleeding into mist.
“You’re no’ what I expected,” I added, quieter.
That got her attention. She turned slightly, one brow lifted in that way she did when she was half-challenging, half-curious.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
I gave a crooked smile. “I meant it as a compliment.”
She studied me for a moment, her gaze heavier than it had any right to be at this hour.
“You’re not what I expected either.”
Simple. Soft. But it hit harder than it should have. Because coming from her, it didn’t sound like an accusation. It sounded like… maybe she liked this version of me better. The unarmored one.
And that? That was dangerous.
The kind of thing that made me want to reach for more.
Our eyes met, and everything else dropped away. The birdsong, the dawn mist, even the dull ache in my ribs.
It was only her. The woman I’d underestimated. Who kept showing up and showing me I was wrong about her.
There was no distance left between us that hadn’t already been closed by silence and blood and borrowed trust. And the quiet between us now wasn’t empty. It hummed.
I didn’t mean to move.
Or maybe I did. Maybe the second her words landed in my chest like something gentle and unexpected, I knew exactly what was going to happen next.
I shifted a little closer. A breath. Maybe less.
She didn’t move away. Her gaze stayed steady on mine, eyes dark and clear, and when I leaned in, she met me there without hesitation.
Our mouths touched, and the world narrowed.
Warmth. The brush of her lower lip. The faint hitch of her breath as mine slid against it. No rush or urgency. Just the quiet, perfect pull of it. Like coming home to something I hadn’t realized I’d been missing.
My pulse jumped, but not from shock. From recognition.
She tilted her head slightly, her mouth parting to deepen the kiss. Her fingers found the fabric of my sleeve, curled there like she was grounding herself. My hand rose to the back of her neck, fingertips catching in her hair and curving around her nape.
The kiss wasn’t demanding. It didn’t need to be. It held.
And in that held breath—her mouth, my hand, the space between heartbeats—I felt something sharp and bright and real, blooming behind my ribs with the kind of ache I couldn’t run from.
Because this wasn’t the beginning. This was us, already in motion, already falling.
A twig snapped.
Loud. Close. Too close.
The crack was unmistakable. A single twig, brittle and careless beneath a boot that didn’t belong.
I pulled back instantly, muscles locking tight, head tilting toward the sound. All softness vanished. The soldier in me rose without a word.
Saoirse froze, her breath caught halfway between the kiss and the new threat. Her eyes met mine, wide and sharp, and I saw the shift in of awareness slamming into place.
I held up a hand. Flat. Silent. Stay low.
Ajax stirred beside us, ears twitching, nose lifting slightly, but he didn’t make a sound. Good lad. Still with me.
The air changed. Again. Heavier now. Close and watching.
We were no longer alone.
The taste of her was still on my lips, sweet and unfinished, but survival had no patience for sweetness. It was a lesson I knew all too well.
I reached for my knife and crept toward the edge of the blind, every step measured, senses stretched to their limits. The birds had gone silent. Nothing moved. Not even the trees, as if they were listening, too.
No shapes moved between the trunks. No breaths sounded that weren’t ours. Whatever had snapped that twig was gone now. Or watching. Either way, we were back in the waiting place.
After long, long minutes, I eased back down beside her.
Neither of us spoke.
Ajax shifted again, his head resting against her ankle like an apology. Or a promise.
The kiss still echoed in the air between us—unresolved, electric. I didn’t look at her, but I could feel the hum of it, thrumming in the quiet, nestled in the space between our bodies like a live wire we both knew not to touch again. Not yet.
But it had happened. And the world had felt different while it lasted.
She didn’t reach for me. I didn’t move closer.
But we didn’t pull away either.