Page 18 of False Heir

“I know it sounds absurd, Tristan,” I began, my voice barely above a whisper. “But isn’t it absurd to think we can go on like this? Dodging bullets, sleeping with one eye open, raising our children in fear?”

He took a deep breath before turning to me, his blue eyes clouded with worry. For a moment, he said nothing. Then, in a voice so soft I almost didn’t hear him, he murmured, “It’s not the life I want. But I’m just trying to survive right now, Ade.”

“Is that what we’re doing?” I asked, half-joking. “Not working towards domestic bliss?”

“Something like that,” he chuckled, and for a moment, his laughter dispelled the shadows that clung to our lives. It was a sound I cherished, a reminder of the man he was beneath the armor of the Callahan heir.

“Let’s keep walking,” I suggested, squeezing his hand. “At least for a little while longer. Let’s pretend it’s all possible.”

“Lead the way,” he said, and together, we continued down the path, basking in the illusion of normalcy and the sliver of hope that maybe, someday, it could be our reality.

The earth crunched beneath our boots as we walked, the air carrying a chill that hinted at the approach of night. Tristan’s hand in mine was a solid presence, grounding me with the familiarity of his touch.

“Look,” I whispered, stopping abruptly. My foot had brushed against something metallic half-buried in the dirt.

“Let me see,” he said, kneeling beside me, his fingers deftly clearing away leaves and soil. “Stay up there. Don’t want you kneeling on the ground.”

He unearthed an old box, rusted but still intact. With a careful tug, Tristan lifted the lid, revealing its secrets—a pile of old photographs turned sepia with age and letters written in elegant, faded script. We sifted through them, the vestiges of lives long past whispering to us. “The fuck is this?” Tristan asked.

“A buried box? It’s so weird.”

“Not just that, but a buried box near the cabin…I mean, we must have walked past this area countless times.”

“The snow is melting and the ground is getting softer, I guess,” I said. “But it still feels weird that we just stumbled upon this.”

“We should take it with us. Study this. It feels…I mean, I’ve never been much for fate, but maybe I was wrong.”

I nodded as he stood up.

“We should also stay here for as long as we can, Ade. I had Kieran install a lot more security since the last time we were here so I can see any enemies coming from a mile away, and I’ll be able to defend you better here if I see who’s coming for us. But if you want to go home…”

“I think I’m fine here,” I said.

He smiled, bringing my hand to his lips, kissing the back of it softly. “Good,” he said. “Me too.”

We got back to the cabin after a little while. Tristan made more phone calls while I moved to the storage closet, my hands steady as I inventoried our supplies. First aid kits, non-perishable food, bottled water—the essentials were all there, neatly stacked and ready. The unease from earlier lingered, like an uninvited guest, as I checked each item: flashlights, extra batteries, a portable radio. I tested the weight of the emergency backpacks, ensuring they weren’t too heavy to grab on short notice.

I closed the closet door, my routine complete, but the satisfaction I usually felt from this ritual was absent. Instead, there was a determination that steeled my spine—a readiness to protect the life Tristan and I had built, precarious, odd as it was. I looked around the cabin, its sturdy walls promising shelter, its quiet corners offering peace. But I knew better than to trust appearances. We were standing on a precipice, the future uncertain, and I was determined not to fall.

The day went on…normally.

We didn’t talk about the box again.

Tristan read a book, we talked about what he was reading. I threw up a couple of times, but my stomach was finally beginning to settle as I finally got to my second trimester.

I dozed off on his shoulder after lunch, light streaming into the cabin windows. For a few hours, it was easy to believe this was our life; quiet, simple, no threat of death hanging over our heads at every moment.

I woke up a few minutes later, startled. “You okay?” Tristan asked me.

I nodded. “It’s hard to sleep right now,” I said. “I’m uncomfortable.”

He smirked at me. “I have an idea of what might make you more comfortable,” he said.

“Oh?” I raised an eyebrow at him, a hint of a smile playing on my lips despite the tension knotting itself into my stomach. “And what’s that?”

“Follow me.” He stood up, extending his hand to me. I took it, letting him pull me to my feet and lead me to our bedroom.

Tristan guided me through the familiar corridors of the cabin, his hand warm and steady in mine. He paused at the entrance of our bedroom, offering me a soft smile before opening the door. Our room was bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun, its golden light casting long shadows that danced over the wooden floorboards.

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