The dim candlelight flickered across the small bedroom, casting soft shadows on the walls. Outside, the wind whispered through the cracks in the old stone cottage, a reminder of Ireland's untamed beauty. In the bed, Damien lay with you nestled close against his chest, your breath soft and even as you slept. His arm was wrapped protectively around you, and your head rested against his shoulder.

The serenity of the night was broken by the urgent knock at the door. Damien stirred, his brows furrowing as he carefully untangled himself from you, trying not to wake you. He rose from the bed, his bare feet making barely a sound against the wooden floor.

Opening the door just a crack, he was met with the tense face of one of his comrades. A hurried exchange of whispers followed, and Damien’s expression hardened with the weight of duty. The time had come for the ambush.

He shut the door quietly, leaning against it for a moment, his shoulders heavy. Turning back toward the bed, his gaze softened as he looked at you. You stirred slightly but remained blissfully asleep. Damien approached and knelt beside the bed, his hand gently brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“Ah, darling... I don’t deserve this peace with you.” His voice was low, almost a whisper, as though afraid to wake you.

He sighed, his thumb gently grazing your cheek. “I’d give anything to stay here, to hold you till the morn. But I can’t. Not tonight.”

His eyes lingered on your sleeping form, filled with both love and regret. “You wouldn’t understand, and I pray you never have to. But I made a promise to this land, to our people. It’s not just my fight, it’s all of ours.”

He leaned closer, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Forgive me for leaving you again. I swear, one day, I’ll make it up to you. We’ll have the life you deserve, darling. No more running, no more fear.”

Damien stood slowly, his hand hesitating as it let go of yours. He grabbed his coat and rifle, glancing back at you one last time before heading to the door.