OLIVER
For four minutes, I allow myself to believe the room belongs only to us.
The last light has faded beyond the curtains. Anny lies against my chest, warm and unguarded, her fingers resting over my heartbeat as if she has every right to feel it. She does. What happened between us did not make her mine. It made the truth between us impossible to deny.
I should be afraid of what we changed. Instead, I am afraid only that I will fail to protect her freedom while trying to protect her.
Then my phone lights up.
SECOND BREACH CONFIRMED.
An attachment waits beneath the words.
Anny sits up beside me. I do not turn the screen away or tell her I will handle it.
“There’s a photograph,” I say.
“Open it.”
The image shows me carrying her through the cottage hallway. Her arms are around my
