Chapter 23
Finn
We made camp farther off, deep in a hollow where the trees pressed tighter and the world shrank to roots, stone, and the sound of our breathing.
It wasn’t fully dark yet—Scotland never gave up the light easily in summer—but the sky had dulled to a low, unbroken gray.
The last of the sun was little more than a smear behind the ridgeline, casting no real warmth, only the kind of tired light that made the world feel older, worn thin at the edges.
The air was damp and cool and heavy with the promise of rain.
Ajax dropped heavily beside my pack, his ribs rising and falling in a steady rhythm. He was holding up. Still stubborn, still game. But I’d seen the way he moved—careful now, measuring every step like it cost him more than he was willing to show.
Saoirse knelt beside him, brushing her hand down his side with a tenderness that cut deep. She didn’t say anything about the way he favored his flank. She checked the bandages, changed the wrap with careful, practiced hands, and scratched behind his ear when she was done.
When she caught me watching, she gave a small nod. “He’s good for now.”
Good.
One less thing to break inside me tonight.
I shifted my weight, glancing toward the line of trees where the sound of running water whispered through the dusk.
“We should wash up.” I kept my voice low and easy. “Blood and sweat’ll give us away if they’ve got dogs. Or even sharp noses on two legs.” Plus, cleaning up would hopefully help us both feel a little more human.
For a second, she hesitated, something flickering across her face. The collision of exhaustion and intimacy and the cold reminder that we were still in enemy territory.
Then she nodded once. Trusting me.
We dug out clean shirts and towels from our packs, the silence between us thick but not uncomfortable, and made our way toward the stream, Ajax staying behind to guard camp with a low, contented huff.
I tugged off my boots and wool socks, rolling up the legs of my trousers before stripping off my shirt and wading into the shallows.
The water was ice cold, numbing. I welcomed it as I knelt to scrub the dirt and blood from my hands and arms. Let it chase the tremors out of my skin, the useless rage, the helplessness I hadn’t been able to shake since we spotted Isla tied up like an afterthought in that damned compound.
Behind me, I heard Saoirse move. Boots scraping against pebbles, jacket rustling as she peeled it off.
When I glanced back, she was stripped down to a sports bra that showed off the shape of her arms and the smooth tone of her torso, her spine curving as she splashed water onto her skin.
I looked away fast. Not because I wasn’t tempted to keep looking.
Because I wanted to. Too much.
Focus, Patterson.
I was half-distracted rinsing off my forearms when I felt her presence at my shoulder. Close. Closer than necessary.
“You’re bleeding.” Her voice was quiet.
I glanced down. A scrape—ugly but shallow—tracked across my upper arm. A twin to match the one she’d treated last night on my other arm. I hadn’t even felt it.
“Sit.” That voice stayed quiet, but I recognized an order when I heard one.
I waded out of the water and sat. Let her take the lead. Let her steady me in ways I didn’t know I needed.
She crouched beside me, pulling a small first aid pouch from her belt. Her fingers brushed my skin, light and clinical, but they shook once before she caught herself.
I said nothing as she worked, letting myself feel the impossible smallness of the moment: her hands on me. Her care. The exquisite gentleness of it when everything else in this world right now was sharp and brutal and wrong.
The scrape stung as she dabbed it clean, but I barely felt it.
I was too busy memorizing the way her brow furrowed in concentration. The way her teeth caught her lower lip when she worked. Her slow and shaky exhale when she finally smoothed a bandage in place.
“You’re going to be fine.”
I understood the words were more to herself than to me. I heard the fear underneath. The promise she was trying to make real with her own two hands.
For Isla. For me. For all of us.
I caught her wrist before she could pull away. Not hard.
Just… enough. She didn’t pull her hand away when the bandage was smoothed down and the job was finished. She stayed there, kneeling beside me, her fingers a small, trembling weight against my forearm.
For a long minute, neither of us moved. The stream burbled behind us. A night bird called somewhere up the ridge. Everything else—camp, compound, the monsters waiting in the trees—fell away.
“I’m scared for her.”
The quiet words cracked open something between us. Raw. Honest. Unapologetic.
“I keep thinking…” Her voice wavered. She swallowed hard. “If we lose her?—”
She stopped. Couldn’t finish. But I understood, because I knew exactly what it felt like to have one person holding up more weight inside you than you ever let anyone see.
I shifted until I could see her face in the twilight. The damp strands of hair stuck to her brow. The tight set of her jaw like she was trying to brace herself against a storm she couldn’t outrun.
And I said it the only way I knew how. The truth, hammered into something harder than fear. “We’ll get her. I swear it.” My voice and my gaze didn’t waver.
Her eyes snapped to mine, wide and stunned, like she hadn’t expected me to sound so sure.
But I was sure. Because there wasn’t another option. Because I’d made that promise the second I let her hand find mine in the dark. And if there was one thing I still knew how to do, it was keep my promises. No matter what it cost.
I didn’t think. I reached for her. My hand found the back of her head, fingers threading into the damp, tangled strands. I pulled her in slowly, giving her every chance to pull away.
She didn’t.
I pressed my forehead to hers. A simple gesture of connection. Something older than words. Something that said, I see you. I’ve got you. You’re not alone.
Her breath hitched against my throat. Then, slowly, she sagged into me.
All that brittle tension holding her upright gave way at once.
She folded into my chest like she didn’t have the strength to pretend anymore.
Like she’d been carrying too much for too long, with no one to catch her if she stumbled.
And thinking of how she’d come to Glenlaig to help with her grandfather, how she’d thrown herself into helping all her friends without ever asking for anything in return, I knew it was probably true.
She was the helper, not the one who ever asked for help in return.
I wrapped my arm around her, one firm line across her back, pulling her in, anchoring her.
Her heartbeat thudded against mine, too fast. I tightened my hold, murmuring something—nonsense, maybe. I didn’t even know what.
The rest of the world faded to a dull, distant hum. Right here, right now, there was only her. Only us. Only the way she breathed against my chest like it might be the first full breath she’d taken all day.
Eventually, she eased back, passed me my shirt, grabbing the clean one of her own.
In silence, we pulled our outer layers on again—damp sleeves sticking to chilled skin, boots sinking into the soft give of river mud. The air between us had thickened and grown heavy with knowing.
When I straightened, she was already watching me. Seeing me. The way I’d been seeing her for days without letting myself admit it.
I gave a small jerk of my chin—ready?—and she fell into step beside me without hesitation.
Every brush of her arm against mine—small, unintentional—felt seismic. Like a warning shot before the fall. The steady hum of inevitability followed us with every step. Like gravity had picked sides, and we were already falling.
I told myself to focus. To keep moving.
We hadn’t brought much. Clean shirts slung over one arm, towels half-forgotten in the rush to get back. But every time her hand grazed the fabric near mine, the ground seemed to pitch a little steeper beneath my boots.
I could hear her steady breathing. The kind of sound that filled up the hollow spaces in your chest without asking permission.
I curled my free hand into a fist, knuckles tight. I wasn’t carrying gear. Wasn’t carrying weapons. Wasn’t carrying anything to hide behind anymore. And God, it felt terrifying.
And inevitable.
I turned before I could second-guess it.
She looked up, and everything else slipped out of orbit. She watched me, wide-eyed, steady, like she was seeing all the wreckage inside me and choosing to stay, anyway.
I lifted a hand—slow, deliberate—giving her every chance to step back. To stop me. It hovered near her jaw, not touching. My throat worked around the words.
“Tell me to stop.”
She didn’t. Instead, she stepped in the barest of breaths, tipping that chin up in a gesture that was as much a challenge as a promise.
So I kissed her.
In another time or place, I might have let what was inside me for this woman burn.
Released the firestorm. But that wasn’t what either of us needed right now.
So I kept it simple. Easy. Mouth to mouth.
Pressure and presence. The kind of kiss that didn’t need to prove anything, only confirm what we already knew but hadn’t said.
Her fingers tightened against my chest, right over my heart, which was slamming as if it wanted out. She made a soft sound, not quite a gasp, not quite a sigh. I felt it more than I heard it. The shape of it against my mouth. The way her breath caught when I didn’t pull back.
God, she felt good. Steady and shaking all at once. Hands clinging like she needed something to hold her together. And maybe I did too.
I leaned in a little more and let it deepen. Not all the way. Because I knew what this was. I knew where we were, and I wasn’t going to be the one to break the line she’d chosen to cross.
She leaned into me like I’d become the center of gravity.
Her lips parted slightly, and I couldn’t stop myself from sliding just a little deeper.
I caught the sound she made when my hand skimmed the edge of her jaw, thumb brushing the curve of her cheekbone.
I could’ve gone further. God, I wanted to.
My other hand already hovered too close to her waist, too ready to slide lower, to press in.
She shifted so our bodies aligned, heat meeting heat.
But then she stilled, holding exactly where we were.
And I matched it. Matched her, pressing my forehead to hers, breathing through the ache of it. That tension curled hot at the base of my spine. Want and warning tangled together. But I didn’t push.
When we finally pulled apart, she didn’t let go. Her forehead rested against my chest, breathing me in.
Without a word, I wrapped my arms around her and held on, like she was the only solid thing left in a world that had been shaking itself apart for years.
Her fingers tightened in my shirt, and I knew in my bones that I wasn’t walking away from her.
Not now. Not ever.