"Charming."
"I've been holding a bucket under your face for three days. We're past charming."
I almost laugh. The sound comes out rough and unused, but it's real.
She pushes past me to the fridge. Opens it. Stares at the contents like they've personally offended her.
"Eggs. Bread that's probably still edible. Cheese." She closes the fridge and opens a cupboard. "Tinned soup. Tea." She pullsout the tea and sets the kettle on. "Tea first. Then toast. Nothing heavy or you'll bring it back up."
She's taken over. Moved straight past the mess of me and into something she can fix. Tea. Toast. Tasks with clear answers.
I don't know why that makes my chest tight.
The kettle clicks on. She reaches for two mugs, and I notice it now. The slight tremble in her fingers that she hides by gripping the handles tighter. Three days of no sleep. Her father in a hospital bed. A brother she's barely spoken to. A life blown apart as thoroughly as mine.
And she spent it all in a chair. For me.
"Aoife."
She doesn't turn from the kettle.
"Thank you."
Her shoulders tighten. For a second, I think she's going to brush it off. But she just nods. Once.
"Don't make me regret it," she says to the kettle.
The water boils. She pours it over the tea bags, and the kitchen fills with the smell of something warm and ordinary.
My phone buzzes from the other room.
We both hear it. Both go still.
The encrypted line. The one that only Aidan has the number for.
I set the water glass down and move toward the living room. The phone sits on the coffee table. The screen is lit up. Not with one message.
With dozens.
I pick it up. Scroll back to the beginning.
Three days of messages. All from Aidan.
“William. Check in when you're settled.”
Then, hours later:
“You there?”
“William. Answer me.”
“I need to know you're alive. Both of you.”
The next day. The tone shifts.
“Why aren't you answering? What's going on?”
“Is she okay? Are YOU okay?”
