It rained that morning. Not the dramatic kind, but slow and sullen, soaking the stones and darkening the terracotta tiles until everything smelled like clay and memory.
Lina woke with her forehead against Milo's bare shoulder. His chest rose and fell steadily beneath her hand. For a moment, she stayed like that—barely breathing, as if the stillness might disappear if she shifted.
But the air remained heavy, not with threat, but with something unsaid.
"You're awake," he murmured, voice gravelly.
"I don't sleep much."
He didn't move. She liked that about him—he didn't rush to fill silence.
She pulled the sheet closer around her and sat up. Her hair was tangled, her mouth dry. "Do you ever think about what comes after this?"
"This?"
"Us. This... thing. Whatever it is."
He turned to her, expression unreadable. "Is it a thing?"
Lina looked away. "I don't know. But it's not nothing."
They sat in the quiet until the rain softened to a whisper. Milo reached over, lit a cigarette, and passed it to her.
She took it. "I dreamt about the boat again."
His gaze didn't waver. "Same dream?"
"Worse. I remembered the sound. His voice. It wasn't a fight. It was something colder. He said... I was just another story he could tell people."
Milo leaned back against the headboard. "Bastard."
She nodded, exhaling smoke toward the ceiling. "It's not just about what happened that night. It's everything that led to it. I think... I wanted it to end. I didn't know how."
He said nothing. Then, quietly, "That's not the same as wanting someone dead."
Lina studied him. The shadows under his eyes, the quiet ache of someone who knew too much about guilt.
"You don't flinch when I talk about this."
"I've seen worse."
She smirked. "Comforting."
He gave a dry chuckle, the kind that didn't reach his eyes. "No one's innocent. Not really. We just live pretending our hands are clean."
She passed the cigarette back. "Do you want me to leave?"
Milo took a long drag, then looked at her. "I don't want a version of you that's performing for forgiveness. I want the truth. Even if it hurts. Especially if it does."
Lina exhaled slowly. Rain slicked the world outside into a blur.
"Then you'll get it. All of it."
He nodded, and for a moment, it felt like a promise passed between them—quiet, raw, and irreversible.
Outside, the bells of the old church chimed nine times.
Inside, neither of them moved.