I didn't sleep.
I sat on the edge of the couch, arms wrapped around myself, staring at the front door like it might decide to open on its own. The house creaked softly—tick... tick—wood adjusting to the cold, or maybe just reminding me I wasn't alone. Not really.
Serafin stood near the window, silent, watchful. He hadn't taken his coat off. That alone told me everything.
"You going to explain," I said finally, "or are we just pretending tonight didn't happen?"
He didn't turn around. "What do you remember?"
The question scraped something raw inside me. "That's not fair."
"Neither is what they're doing," he replied.
I rubbed my palms against my jeans, grounding myself. "I remember the argument. Liam shouting. Me telling him to stop following me."
Serafin's shoulders tensed slightly.
"I remember the docks," I continued. "The rain. The way the lights blurred." My throat tightened. "And then... I remember running."
"You didn't see him fall?" Serafin asked.
I shook my head. "I heard it. That sound." My voice dropped to a whisper. "Crack. Like something breaking that shouldn't."
Silence swallowed the room.
"The report says he slipped," Serafin said. "Hit his head on the concrete."
"And you don't believe that."
"No."
I laughed bitterly. "Of course you don't."
He turned to face me. "Do you?"
I opened my mouth, then closed it. The answer scared me more than the question.
My phone buzzed again—bzzzzt—making both of us flinch.
Unknown Caller.
"I'm not answering," I said quickly.
"You should," Serafin replied.
"What?"
"They already know you're scared. Let them think you're angry."
"That's your strategy?" I scoffed. "Antagonize the psychos?"
"Control the conversation," he said. "It's the only leverage you have."
My hands trembled as I answered. "What."
A low breath crackled through the speaker—sssshh—followed by a familiar distortion. "You're not as broken as we hoped."
"What do you want from me?" I demanded.
A pause. Then: "You crossed a line once."
"I crossed nothing," I snapped. "I left."
"You survived," the voice corrected. "That was the mistake."
Rage flared hot and sudden. "You don't get to decide that."
A faint laugh. "We already did."
The call ended—click.
I hurled the phone onto the couch. "Fuck this."
Serafin nodded once. "We're leaving."
"What?"
"Tonight," he said. "Before they escalate."
I stood abruptly. "No. I'm done running."
"That's not bravery," he replied sharply. "That's suicide."
"You don't get to decide for me," I shot back.
"I do when your name is already on a list," he said, his voice hard now. "They're testing you. Seeing how much you remember."
"And if I stay?"
"Then they make sure you remember everything."
The words settled heavy and ugly between us.
A noise outside—gravel crunching—made us both freeze.
Serafin peered through the curtain. "Two of them."
"Doing what?"
"Waiting."
A chill crawled up my spine. "For?"
"You."
Something inside me snapped. "Then let's not disappoint them."
He turned sharply. "Caoimhe—"
"I'm done letting them control this," I said. "I didn't kill anyone. I won't let them rewrite my life."
Serafin studied me for a long moment. Then he exhaled. "Fine."
"Fine?"
"We don't run," he said. "But we don't hide either."
The wind outside howled—whoooooosh—as if agreeing.
We slipped out the back door, boots hitting damp ground—squelch—moving fast but quiet. The harbor road stretched ahead, fog thick and swirling, the sea roaring below—crash... hiss... crash.
"You trust me?" Serafin asked as we walked.
I hesitated. "I trust that you know this town."
"That's not what I asked."
I met his gaze. "Yes."
That seemed to surprise him.
Headlights flared suddenly behind us—vrooom—too close, too fast. Serafin grabbed my wrist, pulling me off the road just as the car sped past.
"They're pushing," he muttered.
"Good," I said. "So am I."
We reached the cliffs, the wind vicious now, tugging at my hair, my coat—flap, flap. Below, the sea churned black and endless.
"This is where it happened," Serafin said quietly.
I stepped closer to the edge, heart pounding. "No," I whispered. "This is where it ended."
Another phone buzz—bzzzzt—this time from Serafin's pocket.
He checked it, expression darkening. "They know."
"Know what?"
"That you're here."
Lights appeared behind us—flashlights cutting through fog—click, click—closing in.
Serafin's grip tightened on my hand. "Whatever happens next," he said, "you don't let go."
I looked out at the sea, then back at the approaching figures.
For the first time in years, I wasn't running.
And that scared me more than anything else.