Rouge raises a brow. “Just like that?”
“No,” Cillian growls. “Not ‘just like that.’ She’s the only person whose absence makes me afraid. She stays in sight. At my back. If she so much as sneezes, you shoot someone.”
Rouge nods solemnly. “Aye. Reasonable.”
I roll my eyes, but my chest softens. We clean up quietly after that. Rouge heads out to secure the perimeter. Cillian locks up. And then it’s just us.
He leads me to the master bedroom — that sweeping glass view of Dublin glowing in the dark. The city looks softer from this height. Almost gentle. Cillian drops onto the bed with a tired grunt and pulls me down beside him.
No heat. No fight. Just warmth. His fingers trace slow circles at my hip. My hand rests over his heartbeat. He presses a kiss to my forehead. Then one to my cheek. Then my jaw.
Soft. Reverent. As if he’s afraid to break the quiet. I shift closer, laying my head against his chest. His arm curls around me instantly.
“Sleep,a rún,” he murmurs. “Tomorrow will be hell.”
I nod against him. But for now—just for this breath—we’re safe. The city glitters beyond the glass. Cillian’s heartbeat steadies under my palm. And I fall asleep with his lips in my hair, holding me like I’m the only truth left in his world.
1.My boy
