He pulled his hand back as if it would burn him. She shifted, curling inward, not weak, but hurt. It reminded him of an animal hiding from pain. He knew that movement; he had done it himself in hospitals and safehouses. The memory scared him more than her scream.
Whatever she had been through and whoever she had tried to help, it wasn't over. Not for her. And not for him, either. Here he was, kneeling next to a stranger, calming her down during a nightmare instead of doing what he usually did, walking away. He brushed some damp hair back from her cheek with his hand. She looked younger like this. Not weak, just worn out.
He found himself wondering, "What are you running from? And why am I so curious about it?"
The cabin was quiet, and her breathing had finally slowed. He hadn't expected to stick around. He was just supposed to check on her, help her settle down, and then slip back to the shadows where he felt safe while she caught some sleep. But he couldn't bring himself to move. Something inside him didn't want to leave her alone in this moment. Not like this.
So he stayed. Leaning against the wall next to her cot, he sat down on the cold wooden floor. His boots were still laced, and his hand rested in his lap, but his gaze was locked on her face. She looked calm, not weak, never weak, just at peace. The kind of peace people feel when they know they're safe.
It was pretty weird. She didn't know who he was, but somehow she felt safe enough to fall asleep. He couldn't help but watch her in the soft moonlight, the way her long brown hair spilled over the pillow, the shape of her lashes, her cheekbones, and that fresh scar near her right temple.
"What happened to you? Who hurt you?" he thought.
Leaning back against the wall, he closed his eyes for just a moment. "I'll bounce in a minute," he told himself, like he always did in these kinds of situations.
—
When he woke up, it was dead quiet. Sunlight poured through the window, warm and inviting.
He blinked at the ceiling, trying to piece together what was going on. Wait. What? He shot up too quickly, heart racing and hands flexing in response. He scanned the room, his instincts kicking in before he even realized where he was.
"I… slept?"
He sat there, still in disbelief. "I actually slept. For real."
Not that restless kind where your body is out cold, but your brain won't shut up. Not the nightmares filled with chaos and betrayal. None of that quick crashing that leaves you soaked in sweat and on edge.
This was different.
Calm. Peaceful. Refreshing.
It hit him hard. He hadn't had a decent night's sleep in days, maybe weeks. Not on the ground outside, not in his fancy high-rise, not on planes or in those cramped bunkers where his guys had his back.
But here, next to her…
It just happened. No panic. No overthinking. Just peace. He frowned, staring at the wooden ceiling, still lost in thought.
"Why her? What is it about this girl, this stranger, that makes all that noise in my head disappear? What helped me finally relax?"
He had no clue, and maybe he wasn't ready to figure it out just yet. Some questions lead to more hurt if you ask them too soon. So he exhaled slowly and glanced at her, still peacefully asleep, the blanket rising and falling gently with each breath.
Somehow, he smiled a bit. The answers weren't coming. Not now. Dawn light crept into the cabin, turning the floorboards a soft gold. He reluctantly pulled himself away from the serenity she brought him and stood up. His coat was still draped over the chair where he'd tossed it. He slipped it on, lingering for a moment as his fingers brushed the collar.
He needed coffee. Or maybe whiskey, something to wake him up and shake off the sleepiness.
Stepping outside, the morning air hit him hard; it felt sharp against his breath as he walked across the porch and down the steps. The trees seemed to stand still and watch him, while the sky was just starting to brighten.
He didn't go far, just over to the side shed, where the cold couldn't reach the locked steel case behind the wood pile. He knelt, unlocked it easily, and pulled out the flask he kept for moments like this, not for celebrating or drowning his sorrows, but just to help him steady himself.
The metal felt cold in his hand. He unscrewed the cap, leaned against the porch post, and let the whiskey burn as it went down, one sip, then another.
It was strong, aged, and quietly expensive, exactly the kind of drink you enjoyed alone, not with friends, especially when the weight of the past was still hanging around.
He stood there, eyes fixed on the horizon where the forest stretched out like a secret waiting to be uncovered. She was in there somewhere, in this place, and in his calm. That thought made the whiskey feel heavier in his hand.
He capped the flask and slid it back into his pocket. Then he turned and stepped inside. The door creaked as he walked into the warmth of the cabin again, and the faint smell of ash and damp cotton hung in the air.
It was time to reset.
He tiptoed to the kitchen, trying to keep quiet. The stove still had some warmth left from the night before, a few stubborn embers glowing softly.
Rolling up his sleeves, he grabbed a log and got the fire going again. He pulled out two eggs, cracked them into a bowl, and whisked them up with a pinch of salt, some black pepper, and a sprinkle of crushed red pepper. He quickly chopped some onions and tomatoes, tossing them into the pan before the oil got too hot.
He was making an omelet and toasting bread. Simple and efficient, his favorite kind of breakfast.
Without even thinking, he grabbed another couple of eggs and whipped up a second omelet with the same stuff and more toast. It felt familiar.