Between

Between

“You still think I’m cursed?”

“You’re the only thing keeping me alive.”

The wind here didn’t bite.

It wrapped around my skin like silk — soft, warm, almost apologetic. Like the world finally realized how much it had taken from me and decided to give back… just a little.

We spent the day outside.

Not running. Not hiding. Not bleeding.

Just… living.

I wore one of the dresses hanging in the old closet of our rented cottage — yellow and cotton, the kind with little embroidered flowers near the hem. I hadn’t worn anything that light in years. I think I forgot what it was like to feel the sun on my knees.

Silas noticed.

I caught him staring when I stepped outside with two mugs of coffee.

“What?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

He blinked slowly. “You look like someone who doesn’t know how dangerous she is.”

I handed him his mug. “And you look like someone who just said something corny.”

He smirked.

I almost dropped the cup.

He doesn’t smirk. Not really. Not the real kind — the one that pulls at the corner of his mouth like he can’t stop it.

“Did you just smile at me?” I asked, pretending to be scandalized.

“No.”

“Liar.”

“You imagined it.”

“Say it again.”

He leaned forward slightly. The wooden chair creaked beneath him. “Say what?”

I grinned. “Say it again.”

He tilted his head. “You’re dangerous.”

My smile widened. “Good. Because you’re not.”

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

I sipped my coffee and shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “You used to be. But not here. Not with me.”

He was quiet for a long time.

Then, out of nowhere… he laughed.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t long. But it was real. And it cracked open something in my ribs I didn’t know I’d been holding shut.

“You just laughed,” I whispered, stunned.

Silas rubbed the back of his neck like it embarrassed him. “Shut up.”

“Say it again.”

“No.”

“Say it or I’ll start dancing.”

“Please don’t.”

“I will. In this dress. Like a sunflower. In public.”

He groaned. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“You’d be lucky,” I said.

And he looked at me — really looked — and I saw it again. That softness. That pull.

Like he couldn’t believe I was still here. Still choosing him.

I walked to where he sat, placed my mug on the table beside him, and slid into his lap without asking.

He didn’t flinch.

He just exhaled, long and quiet, like holding me finally let him breathe.

I traced the scar above his brow with my fingertip.

“You still think I’m cursed?” I asked, only half-joking.

His hands found the small of my back.

And then he said, “You’re the only thing keeping me alive.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat.

The wind shifted. A bird cried in the distance. Somewhere down the road, someone’s dog barked once and fell quiet again.

And for a moment, the world felt… still.

He kissed my shoulder. My neck. My cheek.

I tilted my face until his lips met mine — soft, sure, not desperate like before. Just… there. Present. Like maybe, finally, we weren’t just surviving each other.

When I pulled back, he didn’t open his eyes right away. He just held me.

“You could leave,” I said softly. “Right now. Run again. Disappear.”

“I don’t want to disappear,” he whispered.

I looked down at him. “Then what do you want?”

He leaned his forehead against mine. “You. In this dress. Laughing. Making coffee. Cursing me in your sleep.”

“I don’t curse in my sleep.”

“You do. It’s adorable.”

I laughed — full, real, from somewhere deep in my chest I hadn’t touched in years.

We stayed there for hours. Just us. Just this.

No De Luca. No Navarro. No fire.

Just warmth. Like maybe love could survive the war if it wore a different name.

The next morning, I decided to walk to the market alone.

Silas grumbled about it, naturally. Told me he’d go instead, that he didn’t like me out of sight for even five minutes — not here, not anywhere. But I rolled my eyes and kissed his jaw until he sighed and handed me the stupid grocery list.

“I’ll be back in twenty minutes,” I promised, slipping on my sunglasses and grabbing the worn tote bag by the door. “Try not to burn the house down while I’m gone.”

“Only if you come back,” he muttered.

I smiled.

The town was waking up — fishermen hauling buckets of fresh catch by the shore, a group of kids kicking a soccer ball barefoot down the alley, old women sweeping their storefronts with woven brooms. The sky was that soft kind of blue, where clouds looked like milk poured too fast.

It didn’t feel like a place where bad things happened.

I stopped by the flower stall first.

Not because I needed flowers, but because they were yellow and wild and smiling at me. I tucked a small bundle into my bag, then made my way toward the bread vendor. The man greeted me with a wink and passed me a loaf wrapped in paper, still warm.

Everything felt… normal.

I think that’s what made the crack in the world so sharp.

Because I didn’t notice the man at first.

Didn’t even look his way.

But something made the hairs on my arms rise — a quiet nudge in my chest like a bad chord struck too close to the bone. I turned my head casually, eyes behind tinted lenses, and scanned the people across the narrow street.

Then I saw him.

A man in a gray cap. Plain shirt. Too plain. Not shopping. Not walking.

Just standing.

Watching.

And then—

Click.

The unmistakable sound of a phone camera shutter.

He didn’t hide it.

He didn’t flinch.

Our eyes met for just a second too long.

I felt my pulse spike — the instinct I’d buried since I left the estate kicking its way back to the surface.

I turned fast and started walking. Not running. Just enough to look natural. The bag in my hand was suddenly too heavy. The street too loud.

I didn’t stop until I reached the corner and ducked into a side alley, nearly dropping the bread.

I waited.

Counted to thirty.

Waited again.

Nothing.

No footsteps. No chase.

But the crack had been made.

The moment slipped out of my hands like water.

I clutched the flowers in my bag tighter.

And I walked home.

When I reached the front steps of the cottage, Silas was already outside — gun holstered, eyes sharp, like something in his bones told him the peace was over.

He looked at my face before I said a word.

And his whole body went still.

I handed him the bag.

Then said quietly, “Someone took my photo.”

The wind shifted. His jaw locked.

I didn’t have to say anything else.

Because he already knew.

They’d found us.