For these few stolen minutes, none of that existed.
Just us. Loving and messy and breathing and present.
Beautifully, stubbornly alive.
Forty
My People -Finn
Two weeks.
Two weeks of stagnation, healing, rationing supplies, and pretending these four walls offered any real safety. My shoulder still pulled and burned with wrong movements, but I could move. I could stand, lift, and fight if the situation demanded it.
Which meant one thing:
Time to go.
Breakfast was a granola bar and a fruit pouch that tasted like defeat. Across the room, Fiona had both hands wrapped around a mug. Libby was in the supply corner, repacking items she’d probably already packed twice.
“Alright,” I said, wiping my hands on my jeans. “We can’t stay here much longer.”
Fiona looked up immediately. No argument, no hesitation—just a small nod that told me she’d already come to the same conclusion.
“Yeah,” she said. “I was thinking the same thing.”
“Those men on the bridge had a system,” I continued. “That means they’re still out there, still moving, still working outward from wherever they started. And a vet clinic is exactly the kind of place that ends up on a list.”
Lily was quiet.
I glanced over.
She sat cross-legged on the floor, Doc Fluffbutt cradled against her chest like a newborn, her chin tipped slightly down towards him, engaged in what appeared to be a thorough and completely serious briefing.
“—and you’re going to love it,” she was telling him, with the quiet conviction of someone who had already decided how things would go. “There are probably trees, and birds, and maybe other cats—but you’re obviously the best one, so that’s fine—”
I looked at the cat, then back at her.
“We’re not taking the cat,” I said.
Three heads turned toward me.
Fiona’s mug stopped halfway to her lips. Libby’s hands went still in the supply corner. Even the cat looked up.
“He’s coming,” Lily said, in the tone of someone stating a fact rather than opening a negotiation.
I turned to Fiona for backup.
She lifted both hands slightly. “I’m not arguing with her.”
“Traitor,” I muttered.
Libby had turned away.
“Finn,” she said, her voice steady, “he’s been quiet this whole time. He doesn’t draw attention. And Lily—” she nodded across the room “—is significantly more okay because of him.”
I held her gaze for a second, then exhaled and pressed two fingers to the bridge of my nose.
“So I’m responsible for a cat now,” I said.
