Chapter 26
Saoirse
I sat cross-legged in the dirt, Ajax stretched out at my side, his breathing steady and slow. One hand ghosted over the bandage on his flank—checking it again, even though I knew I was wasting my time. The dressing was clean. No seepage, no swelling. Healing, against all odds.
I wasn’t checking for him anymore. I was checking for something to do with my hands, because sitting still felt unbearable.
The forest creaked and shifted around us, every crackle of underbrush snapping too loud in my skull.
I hadn’t slept since Finn left this morning. Not really. Dozed, maybe, in fits and starts. How could I when every rustle, every sigh of the trees jerked me back to full, brittle awareness. Every sound felt like it might be them .
Ajax lifted his head once when a raven croaked overhead, ears twitching, then slumped back down without concern.
I tried to pull comfort from that. If there were real danger, he’d be up. Alert. Instead, it was only me, brittle and frayed, breathing too fast because the man I somehow trusted most in the world right now was out there somewhere in the mist.
I rubbed the heel of my hand against the center of my chest, trying to press the ache down.
It didn’t help.
A soft scuff against the earth snapped my head up. I twisted on instinct, heart leaping painfully into my throat.
For a half breath, the forest blurred—threat everywhere, muscles braced for the worst.
And then Finn was there. Stepping out from the shadows like he’d been woven from them. His steady presence cut through the jagged edge of the fear that had been my unwelcome companion since he’d slipped away.
Our eyes met across the few meters of distance between us.
He gave a small, grounding nod that seemed to say, I’m here. I’m safe.
Relief punched through me so hard my knees nearly buckled.
It was all I could do to stay seated, to keep myself from reaching for him like some drowning thing that had finally found the shore.
Ajax stirred at my side, his tail thudding once against the ground without lifting his head. An acknowledgment, not an alarm.
He’d known it was Finn. Trusted that he’d come back.
I pressed my palm flat against my ribs, feeling the thundering start to ease.
For a moment, neither of us moved. Our eyes caught and held, and everything from last night—the weight of his mouth on mine, the feel of him tangled around me like something solid and saving—rose up between us. Unspoken. Unavoidable.
I hadn’t meant for this to happen. Hadn’t meant for him to happen.
Once, not that long ago, I’d put so much energy into disliking him. Into sharpening every glance, every word, into making sure he couldn’t get close enough to disappoint me. And now he was the only thing that made the world feel steady at all.
My fingers curled against the dirt, a futile anchor against the way something inside me kept slipping sideways.
Part of me wanted to reach for him—to close that stretch of earth like it was nothing—but something in both of us held back.
Not because we didn’t want it. Because we knew how much it would mean if we crossed that line again.
I cleared my throat, forcing my voice to work. “Ajax is holding steady.” It came out too soft, like I wasn’t really talking about the dog at all.
Finn’s mouth hitched at one corner. Not quite a smile. Something quieter. Sadder. “You too.”
The words landed heavier than they should have. Because somehow, after everything—after all the ways the world had tried to break us—I was still holding steady.
Not because I was strong enough on my own. But because somewhere along the way, without asking, he’d stepped into the spaces where I was fraying and held me there. And somehow, impossibly, I trusted him not to let go.
I sat up straighter, scrubbing a hand over my face. Ajax shifted against my leg but stayed down, his quiet presence anchoring me.
Finn settled across from me, moving like the woods still clung to him. His voice stayed low. “Camp’s active. Still locked down. Guards moving regularly. Enough to keep people from getting curious.”
I swallowed hard. “And Isla?”
His mouth flattened. He shook his head once. “Didn’t see her. Didn’t get close enough to risk it.”
The cold that had been sitting in my gut all morning bloomed wider. Not seeing her didn’t necessarily mean anything. But fear didn’t care about logic.
Finn shifted his weight, like he could feel me curling inward, trying to brace for worst-case.
Before I could open my mouth, he added, “I overheard some of them talking. Trackers went out early. They’re after protected species. Wildcats. Eagles. Trophy deer.”
I looked at him sharply. “So if they’re willing to kill endangered animals…”
“They’re no’ poachers playing survivalist,” Finn said grimly. “They’re organized. And careful.”
I gritted my teeth. “So why keep Isla alive at all?”
His answer was immediate. “Because she’s leverage. A risk to them. But no’ enough of one for them to rush.”
It made a cruel, awful sense. They hadn’t hurt her badly—yet—because they were still figuring out whether they needed to.
I stared at the dirt between my boots. “But you didn’t see her.”
“No,” he said quietly. “But if something had happened overnight, the camp would look different.”
I frowned. “How?”
“They’re still operating under normal routines, not tying up loose ends or panicking.” He met my gaze evenly. “They’re still weighing their options.”
The breath I dragged in tasted of pine sap and bile. “And we have to move before they decide she’s not worth keeping.”
Finn nodded. “Exactly.”
I dug my fingers into the dirt, grounding myself. “We have to try.” The words cracked sharper than I meant. “We can’t wait too long.”
Finn didn’t flinch. He only watched me with that steady, maddening calm. “We canna rush it either.”
I shook my head, the panic crawling higher under my skin. “She’s in there, Finn. We know what these men are capable of.”
“And that’s exactly why we have to be smart.” His voice stayed low, but there was steel underneath it now. “We pull her out without backup, without a clean exit, and we dinna just put her at risk. We put you at risk. All of us.”
I hated that he was right. Hated more that it felt like I was standing on a cliff edge, watching the ground erode under Isla’s feet, and all I could do was wait.
Finn shifted closer, enough that I could see the fine tension running through him too—the control he wasn’t letting slip.
“You trusted me last night,” he murmured. “Trust me now.”
I closed my eyes for a beat, swallowing hard. Trust wasn’t the problem. The helplessness was.
When I opened them again, he was still there. Solid. Unmoving. My anchor in all this bloody chaos.
I nodded once. “Okay. But not forever. We don’t leave her there forever.”
Something flickered in his expression then.Something raw and unguarded. “No’ a chance. We get her out. I swear it.”
And this time, I believed him without question.
I didn’t think about it. Didn’t weigh the consequences or second-guess the impulse. I let myself lean.
Finn moved instantly, like he’d been waiting for it.
His arm wrapped around me without hesitation, pulling me in against his side.
The warm, solid press of his body chased some of the jagged edges out of my chest. His hand found the back of my neck, fingers splaying lightly there.
A tether I hadn’t even known I was searching for.
I breathed him in. Earth and sweat and the faintest hint of whatever soap he’d used back at the stream. The human weight of him grounded me better than anything else could have.
We didn’t speak. For now, it was enough to sit there in the quiet, with the woods pressing close around us and the impossible task still looming ahead.
It was enough that we weren’t carrying it alone.
Eventually, Finn pulled back and met my eyes. His hand rested at the nape of my neck, thumb brushing lightly along my skin like he wasn’t quite ready to let me go.
“Tonight,” he said, voice low and certain. “After full dark.”
I nodded, my heart beating thickly against my ribs.
“I’m going to try to slip into camp. Find a radio. Get a message out.” He said it like a foregone conclusion, like failure wasn’t even an option he was willing to name. The conviction in his voice made something tighten in my chest.
“I’ll need you and Ajax close, watching my six.”
My breath hitched, but I forced myself to stay steady.
“If anything shifts—if anyone comes near—you warn me. And if it turns bad, you pull back. No heroics.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but the look in his eyes stopped me. Fierce. Protective. Trusting.
“I can do that.”
“I know you can.” His thumb swept once more along my jaw—a fleeting touch, almost unconscious—and something in me clicked into place. Somehow, that small, unshakable belief did more to settle me than any battle plan ever could.
After that, we didn’t talk. Not about what could go wrong.
Not about what it would cost if we failed.
We simply sat there, shoulder to shoulder, in the thinning mist, while the forest slowly creaked awake around us.
High above, a few birds stirred into cautious song.
The breeze shifted, cold and damp, stirring the leaves like a whisper nobody wanted to hear.
I leaned into him, content to feel his warmth through the layers between us.
Finn didn’t move away. He turned his hand so our fingers brushed. A solid, silent promise that whatever came next, neither of us would be facing it alone.