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It should terrify me. We've known each other two days. This is insane by any reasonable standard.

But lying here in the darkness with her safe in my arms, it doesn't feel insane. It feels like the first sensible thing I've done in six years.

I close my eyes and let myself sleep.

Chapter 7 — Lyla

I wake up to morning light and Kieran's arm heavy around my waist.

For a second I forget everything. Then it comes back in pieces. Trevor at the door. The yelling. The blue and red lights of the police cruiser washing across the cottage walls. Kieran's arms around me while I cried.

Kieran stayed. Held me until I fell asleep. And now it's morning and he's still here, solid and warm beside me.

I shift slightly to look at him. He's already awake, green eyes watching me with an expression I can't quite read.

"Hi," I say.

"Hi." His voice is rough with sleep. "How'd you sleep?"

"Better than I expected. You?"

"Good."

We lie there for a moment in the pale morning light filtering through the curtains, and I can feel him trying to decide whether to say something or just let this quiet moment last.

"What?" I ask.

"I have to leave soon. Trevor's arraignment is at nine."

Right. The arraignment. My stomach tightens and I'm suddenly very aware of how real this all is. Not just a nightmare I can wake up from.

"What happens there?" I ask.

"He'll be brought before the judge. They'll read the charges. He can enter a plea. The judge will decide on bail."

"And if they let him out?"

"Then there'll be conditions. No contact. No coming within five hundred feet of you. If he violates any of it, he goes straight back to jail." He brushes hair back from my face, his fingers gentle. "But I'm going to push for him to stay locked up. The charges are solid."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because I documented everything. Because he shoved me while you were watching from the window. Because he drove to your cottage after being explicitly told to leave town." His hand settles against my cheek. "I've done this before, Lyla. I know how to make charges stick."

I want to believe him. But I've spent two months watching Trevor slide around consequences like they're made of water.

"I'll call you right after," he says. "Let you know how it went."

"Okay."

We get up and I make coffee while he uses the bathroom. My hands are shaky as I measure grounds and fill the reservoir with water. The cottage feels different in the morning light—smaller somehow. More exposed. I keep glancing at the door even though I know Trevor's locked in a cell at the station.

When Kieran comes out he's in yesterday's clothes, his uniform shirt wrinkled, and there's something about seeing him rumpled and unshowered in my cottage that makes my chest tight. Like we've crossed some invisible line into intimacy I wasn't prepared for.

"You want breakfast?" I ask. "I have eggs. And bread that's probably still good."

"Just coffee's fine. I need to get home and change before I head to the courthouse."

We drink our coffee standing in the kitchen because sitting at the table feels too formal somehow. He watches me over the rim of his mug and I watch him back, and the silence between us is heavy with everything we're not saying.