Page 17 of False Heir

I believed him when he said it, too.

So we had sex again, and again, until my muscles felt completely spent and I had fallen into a deep sleep.

I jolted awake, the sheets cool beside me where Tristan should have been. In the moon’s faint glow filtering through the curtains, the empty space next to me felt like an icy pit in my stomach. I strained my ears for any sign of him until the timbre of his voice drifted in from outside. Just knowing he was there, somewhere close, chased away the worst of my fears.

Pushing back the covers, I slid out of bed and tugged on my robe, cinching it tight around me as if it could shield me from more than just the chill of the predawn air.

After we had been here the first time, Tristan had essentially bought me an entire getaway wardrobe, which was odd. Considerate, but odd.

Padding silently across the wooden floor, I approached the window with a caution born from a life where safety was a luxury and paranoia a necessity.

I looked down the window, at the front yard.

Tristan’s frame moved back and forth, a shadow against the silvered landscape. He was on his phone, one hand raking through his disheveled hair while the other gestured emphatically. I pressed my ear to the cold pane, trying to catch fragments of his conversation, but his words were snatched away by the wind rustling through the pines.

It was clear from his posture, the set of his shoulders, and the way his hand occasionally clenched at his side that whatever he was dealing with, it was serious—serious enough to pull him from the warmth of our bed into the chill of the morning.

I went downstairs to start getting breakfast ready. The moment he stepped back inside, he caught my gaze from across the room. The weariness that etched lines into his face couldn’t hide the reassuring smile he offered me. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes, and I felt my heart twist with a cocktail of admiration and concern for this man who shouldered our world as if it were made of feathers instead of lead.

“Everything okay?” I asked, though the question, as always, felt inadequate against the enormity of our life.

“Nothing to worry about,” he replied, his voice a low rumble in the quiet of the cabin. But I knew better. Tristan was the master of understatement, and I could read the tension in him as easily as a child’s book.

We settled at the small wooden table for breakfast, the aroma of strong coffee blending with the scent of pine seeping through the open window. After a little while, a plate of eggs and toast sat between us, a semblance of normalcy that bordered on absurd given our circumstances.

“God, remember our first breakfast here?” Tristan said, sitting in front of me. “It feels like it was so long ago.”

I nodded. “You’re a surprisingly competent cook.”

“Is that a compliment? It didn’t sound like a compliment.”

I smiled, then shook my head. “I’ve been thinking. Tristan, we need to be two steps ahead,” I said, taking a sip of my coffee, its bitterness grounding me. “I think it’s time we increase the alertness of our network. Maybe even reach out to some external allies.”

“I think it might be a risky play bringing more people in. Everything is already so fucked.”

“We can’t be on the run forever. The twins are going to be born, and I don’t intend to be in another high speed car chase postpartum with two newborns in the backseat.”

“Then it’s decided.” His voice pulled me back, and I nodded, feeling the threads of our partnership weave tighter with every challenge we faced. “We’ll make the calls after breakfast.”

“What about a walk first? Maybe it’ll help us clear our heads.”

He hesitated, a shadow of concern passing over his features before he nodded. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

The early morning sun filtered through the trees, casting dappled light across the cabin as we stepped outside. There was a chill in the air, the kind that hinted at the day’s potential. We walked side by side, our footsteps crunching on the gravel path that wound through the surrounding forest. For a brief spell, it was just us and the natural world—a couple out for a stroll, not fugitives from a life we didn’t choose.

“Have you thought about it?” I ventured, breaking the silence between us. “About the future?”

“Every day,” Tristan admitted, his jaw tightening. “I want something different for us, Adriana. A life where looking over our shoulder isn’t part of the routine. But I also want to send our kids to good schools, I want…I want them to have all the chances I had. How do I do that if I step away from this? How do I provide for them when this is the only thing I’ve ever known how to do?”

I squeezed his hand, glancing over at him. His expression was hard, the morning sunlight casting deep shadows in the hollows of his cheeks, emphasizing the lines of worry etched there.

“It’s okay to want those things,” I assured him. “We just have to find another way.”

“But what other way is there?” He turned to meet my gaze, that familiar spark of frustration flickering in his eyes. The spark that said he was fed up with the life we had been born into, a life we had not chosen.

“We could... try to do something normal,” I suggested hesitantly. Tristan’s laughter echoed out into the morning air, but it lacked its usual warmth. It was bitter, devoid of any real humor.

“Normal? Love, do you even hear yourself?” He ran a hand through his hair, looking away again. The forest around us waited in silence as if holding its breath for my reply.

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