Chapter 29 Lark
Lark
Location: Temporary Safehouse — Outside Lisbon
Time: Pre-Dawn
The new place is quiet.
Not peaceful.
Not comforting.
Just… empty.
Borrowed space.
No pictures on the walls.
No history in the air.
No imprint of anyone who stayed long enough to matter.
Just a bed.
A chair.
A narrow window overlooking dark hills fading into a sky that hasn’t decided if it’s morning yet.
Everything feels suspended.
Like the world hasn’t caught up yet.
Aaron sits on the edge of the bed while I clean his shoulder.
The overhead light is soft, but it still catches the tension in his frame. The way he holds himself like if he relaxes too much, something will break.
He hasn’t said much since we got here.
Shock.
Relief.
Maybe both.
I press gently around the wound.
“You’re lucky,” I say. “Another inch and we’d be having a very different conversation.”
“I’ve had worse.”
“I know.”
And I do.
That’s the part that sits heavy. I can see all his scars while his shirt is off.
I finish taping the bandage, smoothing it into place, my fingers steady now.
Finally.
We sit there in the quiet.
Close.
Not touching.
But close enough that I can feel the heat coming off him.
Close enough that it matters.
“I shouldn’t have walked away,” he says suddenly.
The words are low.
Rough.
I look at him.
Really look at him.
“That wasn’t about me,” I say gently. “That was about your ghosts.”
He exhales slowly.
Like the truth costs him something.
“Yes.”
Silence settles again.
Soft this time.
Not sharp.
Not heavy.
Just… there.
Then—
“When I saw the room empty…”
His voice breaks off.
He swallows.
Hard.
Doesn’t finish.
He doesn’t have to.
I understand.
I move closer.
Close enough now that my knee brushes his.
I place my hand over his.
“I’m here,” I say softly. “You didn’t lose me.”
His fingers curl around mine.
Careful.
Like he’s afraid I might disappear if he holds too tight.
“Don’t do that again,” he says.
I shake my head slightly.
“I won’t.”
And I mean it.
For a moment, everything narrows.
The room.
The world.
The noise.
All of it fades until there’s just—
This.
This breath.
This space between us.
This almost.
He leans in.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Not claiming.
Not rushing.
Asking.
I don’t hesitate.
The kiss is soft at first.
Careful.
Then deeper.
Warmer.
Full of everything we didn’t say—
Fear.
Relief.
Trust.
And something that’s been building between us since the beginning.
When we part, it’s not far.
His forehead rests against mine.
His breath warm against my skin.
“Sleep,” he murmurs.
“You too.”
We don’t move right away.
Neither of us wants to break it.
But eventually—
The weight of everything catches up.
For the first time in days—
Lying here, close enough to feel him breathe—
I think…
We might actually rest.