Heather woke to warmth.
Not the sharp, startling kind, or the type that demanded attention—but the steady, familiar heat of a body pressed along her back, an arm draped over her waist like it had always belonged there.
Flynn slept behind her, breathing slow and even, his chest rising against her shoulder blade. His knee hooked lazily over her thigh, anchoring her in place. Somewhere near her feet, Byrdie purred like a tiny, self-satisfied engine.
Heather didn’t move.
For the first time in weeks—months—there was nothing chasing her awake.
No maps waiting.
No footsteps in the dark.
No sense that if she stayed still too long, something would be taken, or that she would be lost.
So she just lay there and listened to Glenoran breathe.
The faint crackle of the fire downstairs, the low moan of wind through old stone, and the house settling into itself, as if relieved.
Flynn shifted behind her, face burying briefly in her hair.
“Mornin’, sunshine,” he mumbled.
She smiled. “You’re awake.”
“Unfortunately,” he said. “Tryin’ to see how long I could stretch it before Byrdie came in demanding her breakfast.”
On cue, the cat stretched and placed one possessive paw directly on Heather’s chest.
Heather laughed softly. “She’s protecting me.”
“From me?” Flynn asked, affronted.
“From everyone. She’s seen things.”
Flynn snorted and tightened his arm around her. “Aye. Same.”
They lay there a moment longer, comfortable in the quiet. No urgency. No next step hovering between breaths.
Heather rolled slightly onto her back, tilting her head to look at him. His hair was a mess. His face still held sleep, soft and unguarded in a way she rarely saw anymore.
“This,” she said quietly, “is what we were fighting for, isn’t it?”
Flynn followed her gaze around the room, to the light spilling through the curtains, to Byrdie now curled smugly between them, to the stillness that felt earned.
“Aye,” he said. “This is it.”
Downstairs, the house creaked.
It was familiar, welcoming.
Just… home.
Glenoran felt like herself again.
Not pristine, but lived-in.
Heather padded barefoot through the kitchen. Flynn moved easily around her, boots on, flannel half-buttoned, tending the fire like he always had. The saddle rested near the hearth.
