Oh to be loved

21

The morning light filtered through the curtains of the cabin, casting a soft, golden glow across the room. For the first time in days, everything felt still, almost peaceful. Amara stirred slowly, blinking against the light as she adjusted to her surroundings. The previous night's conversation with Cillian still lingered in her mind, heavy but not unwelcome.

She wasn't entirely sure where things stood between them now, but for once, she didn't feel the pressure to define it immediately. After weeks of chaos and confusion, she allowed herself to sit in the quiet moment without overthinking every single detail. It was a rare feeling, this calm.

She glanced around the room, spotting Malik still sleeping soundly on the couch. His chest rose and fell steadily, and for that, she was grateful. His condition had been touch and go for a while, but it seemed like he was finally on the mend. His color had returned, and his breathing wasn't as labored as it had been. They had some time, at least-time to regroup, to think, to plan.

Amara sat up slowly, careful not to disturb Malik. She swung her legs over the side of the couch and padded quietly into the kitchen, where the smell of fresh coffee greeted her. Cillian stood by the stove, his back to her, focused on the task at hand. He had taken off his jacket, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, revealing strong, weathered forearms. There was something strangely domestic about the sight of him standing there in the soft morning light, making coffee like any other man might. It felt out of place and yet perfectly right.

"Morning," she said softly, not wanting to startle him.

He turned slightly at the sound of her voice, his eyes meeting hers for a brief moment before he gave her a nod. "Morning. I made some coffee. Figured you could use it."

Amara smiled, though it was small. "Thanks. I didn't realize I needed it until I smelled it."

Cillian poured her a cup and handed it to her. Their fingers brushed for the briefest of moments, sending a small jolt through her. The simplicity of the gesture-sharing coffee, exchanging a wordless moment-felt like a fragile truce between them after everything that had been said the night before.

Amara took a sip of the coffee and leaned against the counter, studying him in the quiet. His expression was calm, his face unreadable as always, but there was something softer in his eyes this morning. Maybe it was the light, or maybe it was the lingering vulnerability from their conversation, but either way, Cillian seemed... different.

"How long can we stay here?" she asked, her voice quiet.

Cillian turned back to the stove, pouring himself a cup. "A few days. Maybe a week. It's not on anyone's radar, but we can't take that for granted."

Amara nodded. She had expected as much. Safety, for them, was always temporary. There was always the looming threat of being found, no matter how careful they were. She took another sip of her coffee, savoring the warmth that spread through her.

"You didn't sleep much," Cillian remarked, his eyes cutting to her again.

Amara shook her head. "I tried, but my mind wouldn't stop racing. I kept thinking about everything that's happened."

Cillian gave a short nod, as if he understood all too well. "That's normal."

She glanced up at him, studying his face in the soft morning light. The lines of age were more pronounced, the subtle gray at his temples catching the light. Fifty-four. She still hadn't fully wrapped her head around that. But when she looked at him, she didn't just see a man who was older. She saw someone who had lived through more than she could imagine, someone who had been shaped by decades of experiences-both good and bad.

"You don't talk about your past much," she said quietly, more a statement than a question.

Cillian's jaw tightened slightly, but he didn't look away. "Not much to talk about."

"I don't believe that," she said, surprising herself with the boldness of her words. "I think there's a lot."

For a moment, Cillian said nothing. He took a long sip of his coffee, his gaze drifting toward the window, where the trees swayed gently in the breeze outside. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke.

"I've lived a long life, Amara. Some of it good, most of it... not. But the details don't matter. What matters is that I'm here now, doing what needs to be done."

His voice was low, measured, as if he was choosing his words carefully. Amara could sense that he didn't want to go into specifics, that his past was something he kept locked away for a reason. And yet, she couldn't help but wonder what had shaped him into the man he was today-the cold, calculating mobster, yes, but also the man who had protected her time and again, who had softened in ways she hadn't expected.

She wanted to ask more, but she knew pushing him wouldn't get her any answers. Cillian was a man who revealed himself in small increments, if at all.

Instead, she just nodded and took another sip of her coffee, letting the conversation lapse into a comfortable silence. The fire crackled softly in the background, and for the first time in days, the tension between them seemed to have eased.

Cillian finished his coffee and set the mug down on the counter. "We'll need to move again soon. I'll start making preparations. Until then, you should get some rest."

Amara nodded, though she wasn't sure how much rest she could actually get. There were too many thoughts swirling