Chapter 28 Chapter 28
He studied her for a moment, then rolled up the map. “When this is over—”
“If,” she interrupted. “You always say when, but we both know it’s if.”
He hesitated, then said softly, “If it ends… there’s a house I built once. North coast. No one knows it’s mine. It’s falling apart, but it has walls and a roof that leaks only when it rains sideways. You’d hate it.”
She smiled. “Maybe I’d fix it.”
He met her eyes. “Maybe I’d let you.”
Something in the air shifted — small, invisible, but enough to make her pulse skip. He looked away first, reaching for the pan before it boiled over.
“You cook,” she said. “That’s new.”
“I adapt.”
“Not well,” she teased, and he almost laughed — a quiet, uncertain sound that made her want to hear it again.
They ate in silence, bread and water stretched thin but warm. The moment felt strange — ordinary, even gentle. When he reached for the cup, his hand brushed hers. Neither of them pulled back.
“Thank you,” he said again.
“For breakfast?”
“For staying.”
She looked down at their hands, then up at him. “I didn’t stay for you.”
“No?”
“I stayed because I’m tired of running from things that scare me.”
He smiled, but there was sadness in it. “Then we’re the same.”
By midday, the sun had climbed higher, turning the mist to heat. Adrian sat by the doorway cleaning his gun, movements precise. Nina sorted through the supplies, counting what little they had left. It was almost peaceful — the kind of rhythm that belonged to a life they didn’t have.
After a while, she said, “You ever think about stopping? Just… walking until you find a place where no one knows you?”
He didn’t look up. “I used to.”
“And now?”
He clicked the chamber shut. “Now I have you asking all the same questions.”
She smiled faintly. “Does that bother you?”
“No,” he said. “It reminds me I’m still human.”
The honesty in his voice surprised her. For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then he reached out, almost absently, and brushed a lock of hair from her face. The gesture was light, uncertain, but his fingers lingered at her temple.
Her breath caught. “Careful,” she whispered. “That almost felt normal.”
“Maybe it is,” he said.
For a heartbeat, it was — the world outside forgotten, the space between them narrowing to a breath.
The sound broke the spell — a rustle outside, soft but distinct. Adrian froze. His eyes flicked toward the window, every muscle alert. He motioned for her to stay still, then reached for the pistol beside him.
Nina’s pulse jumped. “What is it?”
He didn’t answer. He moved to the door, peered through the crack. The forest beyond was still, sunlight slanting through the trees. Then he saw it — the faint glint of something metallic half-hidden behind a stump.
A mirror. Or glass. Watching.
He shut the door quietly and turned back to her. “Pack everything.”
Her stomach tightened. “How long?”
“Minutes, maybe.”
She looked at him — calm again, calculating, already erasing the softness from his voice. The man who had built boats and laughed once was gone; the survivor had returned.
As they packed, she caught his arm. “Adrian.”
He paused.
“If we make it out—” she began.
“When,” he said.
She nodded. “When we make it out… don’t disappear again. Not like before.”
He hesitated, then covered her hand with his. “I’ll try,” he said quietly. “But I’m better at surviving than staying.”
“Then learn,” she said.
Something flickered in his eyes — something that might have been hope.
Then he slung the pack over his shoulder, pushed open the door, and the light flooded in.
The forest beyond waited, green and endless. The glint of glass had vanished, but the feeling remained — the sense of being seen.
As they stepped into the sunlight, Nina looked back once. The cabin stood silent behind them, smoke from the dying fire curling into the sky. It looked almost peaceful, as if nothing had ever happened there.
But peace, she knew now, was only ever borrowed.
They headed east, into the trees.
They reached the valley by nightfall.
The trees thinned into open fields, the smell of pine giving way to soil and grapes ripening on the vines. A cluster of stone houses stood on the slope above — shuttered, quiet, half-hidden behind walls of ivy.
Adrian led her along a dirt track toward the largest one. The door creaked as he pushed it open. Inside, the air smelled of dust and last season’s wine. Shelves of empty bottles lined the walls; sunlight from a cracked window turned them the colour of amber.
He checked each room, quick and precise, then nodded. “No one’s been here for months.”
“Whose place is it?” Nina asked.
“An old contact. Before the Circle started burning bridges.”
“And if he comes back?”
Adrian smiled faintly. “Then he’ll pour us a drink before turning us in.”
They set up near the hearth. Adrian started a small fire from broken crate wood, the flames snapping to life. Nina sat across from him, hugging her knees. The warmth eased the chill from the forest, but her body still hummed with the memory of running.
He noticed. “You’re shaking.”
“I’ll stop when we stop,” she said.
He looked at her for a long moment. “You’ve stopped running before.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“Then I didn’t care what caught me.”