Shanon is here

He didn’t want to be here.

Not in her apartment. Not at the table. And definitely not across from the man who’d once tried to buy the life Cillian had nearly died building.

But he was here. Because Benita had asked. Because she’d said it wasn’t a trap or a reconciliation, just a conversation. And because—despite the years spent pushing people away—he was learning that some fights weren’t worth picking if trust was going to mean anything.

Still, he watched the door like it might open on a ghost.

Benita was plating grilled fish in the kitchen, her movements easy, controlled. She hadn’t dressed up—just a dark top and soft pants—but she looked like herself. Not tense. Not flustered. Not the woman preparing to be ambushed.

That, somehow, made it worse.

“How long ago did he call?” Cillian asked, voice low.

“Yesterday morning.” She placed a bowl of roasted vegetables on the table. “He said he wanted to speak in person. Apologize. See if there was a way to… reset.”

Cillian frowned. “And you b