Comhroinn Fuaime

On the morning the news breaks, Doha finds her on the roof of the compound, watching the city come alive in the early grey light. He stands beside her. He does not touch her. He has been careful with her since the shipyard — more careful than she expected from a man who has never been careful with anything. "I can have you on a plane by this afternoon," he says. "Clean documents. New city. No strings." She looks at him sideways. "Is that what you want?"