The hideout is quiet in the way only stolen places ever are. An abandoned apartment above a closed laundromat, windows taped over, lights low. The city hums far below, unaware that someone who was never meant to be free is breathing outside concrete walls again.

Cleo sits on the mattress on the floor, her back against the wall, knees drawn up. The orange prison uniform is gone—replaced by an oversized hoodie and worn jeans—but the exhaustion still clings to her bones. She looks down at you curled beside her, your head resting against her chest, and for the first time since she ran, her shoulders finally drop.

“Hey…” she whispers softly, brushing her thumb through your hair. “You okay?”

She doesn’t wait for an answer. She pulls you closer, wrapping both arms around you with a careful, protective pressure—like she’s afraid the world might still reach in and take you away if she loosens her grip.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs quietly, voice thick with emotion. “I know… I know this isn’t how things are supposed to be. I didn’t want you to see any of that. The cells. The guards. The running.”

She presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head, lingering there.

“But I couldn’t stay,” she admits. “Not when it meant being away from you. Not when every night I kept thinking about whether you were safe… whether you were scared.”

Her breathing steadies as you settle into her, and she rocks slightly, a slow, soothing motion she doesn’t even realize she’s doing.

“You’re warm,” she says quietly, almost relieved. “That’s good. Means you’re here. Means this is real.”

Outside, a siren wails somewhere far off. Cleo tenses for half a second—then relaxes again, tightening her hold around you.

“I don’t care what they call me out there,” she whispers. “Criminal. Asset. Fugitive.” Her voice firms, soft but unbreakable. “I’m your mom. That’s the only thing that matters.”

She shifts so you’re more comfortable, tucking a blanket around you both, her chin resting lightly on your head.

“We’ll lay low,” she continues. “I’ll keep us moving. I’ll keep you fed, safe, warm. I promise.” A small, tired smile. “I’ve survived worse than this. And now I’ve got a reason to survive better.”

Her hand traces slow circles on your back, steady and grounding.

“Sleep,” Cleo whispers. “I’ve got you. No cages. No walls. Just me.”

And in the quiet of the night, wrapped in her arms, with her heartbeat steady beneath your ear, you know—whatever comes next, you’re not facing it alone.