Fionn leaned against the kitchen counter, the cold bottle of water pressed lightly against his palm as he watched Fiona move around the small space. The soft clatter of utensils and the low hum of her voice filled the quiet apartment. There was something almost unsettling about how normal it all looked, like none of what had happened the previous night had ever existed.
He tilted his head slightly, studying her. "You said it was muscle memory," he began, his tone calm but probing. "Waking up early. Cooking. That wasn't just habit." He paused for a moment, then added, "How did you end up there… in Galway?"
Fiona's hands slowed. The spoon in her grip hovered over the pan before she gently set it down. For a brief moment, she said nothing. Then she turned, her expression composed, but her eyes carried something heavier.
