Mara’s POV
The house is quiet in that way that feels temporary.
Like everything is holding its breath.
I’m still lying where I was when Declan asked about tomorrow. The weight of his words lingers longer than his presence. When the door closes behind him, the silence presses in harder than before.
I stare at the ceiling.
Leadership doesn’t scare me.
Loneliness does.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, ribs protesting, and stand anyway. The ache grounds me. Reminds me I’m still in a body, not just a symbol people lean on.
I find him in the kitchen.
Declan is standing at the counter, forearms braced against the stone, head bowed slightly like he’s carrying something heavier than strategy. The sight of him like this — unguarded, unaware of being watched — tightens something low
