Auden knew something was off.

It started with an offhand remark — Cillian muttering about Peaky Blinders, how much he hated traveling for it, how he just wanted to get it over with. She'd asked him what he meant, but he only shrugged before seamlessly shifting the conversation elsewhere.

That alone was enough to make her pause. Cillian wasn't usually cagey. If anything, he was blunt to a fault. But now, when she looked back on that moment, it felt deliberate — like he was planting the seed of an excuse, softening her up for something she wasn't supposed to notice yet.

Then she overheard the phone call.

He was pacing in the kitchen, voice hushed but firm, speaking to his manager about accommodations, travel schedules. Auden hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but the moment she caught the words locked in for February, her stomach clenched. She stepped into the doorway, arms crossed.

"What was that about?"

Cillian turned, phone still in his hand. A split-second hesitation — then a quick, practiced response. "Just logistics."

Logistics.

Whatever that meant.

Auden let it go in the moment. She couldn't bring herself to ask more, but the unease simmered. She knew he was set to film the final season soon, but he never told her when. And the idea of him suddenly disappearing for months, without warning, without her, left her teetering on the edge of something dark and familiar.

It wasn't just this. It was everything.

Cillian never really talked about work with her, as if that part of his life belonged behind a locked door. At first, she'd liked that — how being with him felt separate from the noise of his fame. But now, it felt exclusionary. It felt like he was removing her from his world, keeping her at arm's length. And that creeping distance between them was unbearable.

The suspicion wormed its way into her thoughts, growing stronger with each passing day. She was smoking more, pacing more, checking her phone constantly as the new year approached, dreading whatever truth she felt was on the horizon.

If he was leaving, why wouldn't he just tell her?

She already knew the answer.

People left. They always did.

Auden recognized the sick, cloying feeling rising in her chest for what it was — fear, familiar and unshakable. She had been five years old the first time it took root, screaming for her father not to leave her at school, convinced he would never come back. And then she was twenty-one, standing alone in her childhood home after his death, realizing he wasn't coming back. And then, days later, James walked out, and she knew with certainty that this would always happen to her.

Now, it was Cillian. And she felt helpless to stop it.
The call came on Friday afternoon.

"I need to talk to you about something." His voice was careful, too light, like he was tiptoeing around landmines. He claimed he was just asking her to dinner, but she called him on it. She could hear it in his tone, the way he was managing her.

"Should I be worried?"

"Absolutely not," Cillian laughed, but it was wrong. Hollow. A beat too forced. "Meet me at the restaurant after you get off."

Then, click. The rest of the day was spent pacing, smoking. Auden told herself she was overreacting, that it was just a job, just a few months. That she could handle it. That it wasn't the end of the world. But the dread sat in her stomach like a stone.

She walked to the restaurant in the biting Dublin cold, pulling her coat tighter around her body, pushing every feeling down hard. This was how she survived things like this — by locking the panic away, numbing herself before it could consume her.

By the time she stepped inside, her emotions were encased in ice.

Cillian was waiting at the bar, dressed in an olive-green knit sweater and dark jeans, looking effortlessly, unfairly beautiful. When he spotted her, his face lit up with that easy, devastating smile. And despite herself — despite the ache, despite the fear — her heart skipped.

She hated that about him.

"Hey," she greeted coolly, peeling off her coat.
Cillian pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, his fingers brushing through her hair. The tenderness of it almost cracked something inside her.

"You're freezing," he murmured.

Auden only shrugged. She didn't have it in her to pretend this was just another night out.

Cillian led her to a booth tucked away in the corner, private and quiet. The normalcy of it — the casual ease of his movements — made her stomach churn with frustration. Get it over with, she wanted to scream.

Instead, she waited, staring at him blankly.

"So," she said finally. "Are you going to tell me?"

Cillian's eyes flicked up from the menu, feigning confusion. "What?"

"You said you needed to talk." Her voice was clipped, sharp. She curled her fingers into her palm beneath the table, nails digging into skin.

Cillian exhaled, placing the menu down carefully. "Do you want to wait for our food first?"

"No."

His jaw tensed. "Auden —"

"I'm not worried," she cut in, though her stomach was twisting.

A waitress approached, but Auden barely glanced at her.

"Water's fine," she said quickly, not even giving Cillian a chance to respond. The waitress blinked at them, sensing the tension, then scurried away.

Cillian shot her an annoyed look. "Why did you do that?"

Auden only raised an eyebrow. "Are you going to tell me now?"

A beat. A long inhale. Then he spoke, unwilling to look at her.

"In February, I have to go to the UK to shoot the final season of Peaky."

There it was. The words landed like a punch to the gut, even though she'd seen them coming.

Then, he flicked his eyes back to her: "And I want you to come with me."

Auden blinked. "What?"

Cillian leaned forward, watching her intently. "I thought maybe, since it's a seven-month shoot, you could —"

"Seven months?" she repeated, her mind reeling.

The idea should have thrilled her. Seven months in the UK. Museums. Traveling. Being with him.

But it was too good to be true. Because it was.

"I can't," she said, voice quiet.

Cillian frowned, a crease forming between his brows. He hadn't been expecting that response from her. "Why not?"

"I have a job," she said simply. "Charles would never —"
"I can handle him."

Auden's temper flared. "I can handle Charles myself. I'm not a child."

Cillian exhaled sharply, his frustration rising to meet hers. "I'll give you money, if that's what you're worried about—"

Auden gaped at him. "Like a fucking allowance?" Her voice was rising now, anger spilling over. "I'm not your kept woman, Cillian."

He looked desperate now. "I just — Auden, I can't do this alone. Not again." His voice cracked, and for the first time, she saw the raw pain in his eyes. "Last time I left, I came home and found my wife in our bed with someone else. I can't—" He broke off, running a hand through his hair, looking away. "I can't go through that again."

The silence between them thickened, stretched taut like a wire about to snap. Cillian's fingers flexed on the table, his jaw tight, and Auden could see it — the battle waging in his head, the words he wanted to say but held back. But she wasn't about to let this drop.

"You can't just ask me to uproot my life like this," Auden finally said, her voice sharper now, edged with the frustration that had been simmering inside her for days. "I have responsibilities here, Cillian. A career. My own goddamn life. I mean, what about Beans? I can't leave her in that apartment for seven months and I am sure as hell not letting Brigid take her in. She would starve to death in two weeks."

"I know that, Auden," he shot back, leaning in slightly. His voice was low, restrained, but she could see the tension coiling in his shoulders. "I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."

"Important?" She let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "What's so important that you need me to drop everything and follow you like some — some accessory?"

Cillian exhaled through his nose, his expression darkening. "It's not like that, and you know it."

"Do I?" she challenged, crossing her arms over her chest. "Because right now, it kind of feels like you don't trust me to be here on my own. Like you think I'll just, what? Wander into Patrick's arms the moment you get on a plane?"

His eyes flashed, and there it was — the anger she'd felt brewing in him, rising to the surface. "That's not what this is about," he ground out, but she could see the lie in his face.

"Oh, don't give me that bullshit," Auden snapped, her own anger taking hold now. "This is about Patrick. And Jenni. And the fact that you don't trust me enough to be here alone while you're away."

Cillian ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "Can you blame me?" His voice was raw now, strained. "Do you have any idea what it's like to come home and find out the person you trusted most, the person you built your life with, had been lying to you? That every time you left, she was fucking someone else in our bed?"

Auden flinched at the venom in his voice, but she held her ground. "I am not Jenni," she said firmly, forcing him to look at her. "I am not her, Cillian."

"I know that," he said, but his voice lacked conviction.
"I don't think you really do," she pressed, eyes narrowing. "Right now, it doesn't fucking feel like it. It feels like you're punishing me for her mistakes."

Cillian looked away, his jaw working as if he was struggling to hold back the things he really wanted to say.

"You don't understand, Auden," he finally muttered.

"Then make me understand!" she fired back, frustration boiling over. "Tell me why you're so convinced that the moment you leave, I'll betray you."

"It's not just about you!" he exploded, slamming a hand against the table. The sudden outburst made her jerk back slightly, but she didn't break eye contact. "It's them. It's him. I don't trust Patrick, and I don't trust Jenni. You don't know the lengths they'll go to just to fuck with me."

Auden's heart pounded in her chest. "So what? You think Patrick is going to seduce me out of spite? That Jenni's going to somehow convince me to leave you?" She shook her head in disbelief. "Do you even hear yourself?"

Cillian clenched his fists, his whole body vibrating with tension. "I know how they operate," he said through gritted teeth. "They'll try to get inside your head, Auden. They'll plant doubts, twist things, make you question us — make you question me."

Auden stared at him, incredulous. "I am the one questioning you right now, Cillian! Because instead of trusting me to handle myself, instead of believing in what we have, you're trying to control everything. You're trying to remove me from the situation entirely because you don't trust that I can stand my ground."

"It's not about control," he bit out, his voice ragged. "It's about keeping you safe — from them, from the press, from the fucking circus this is going to turn into the moment I leave."

Auden let out a bitter laugh. "Safe? Safe from what? Words? Rumors? Newsflash, Cillian: people have been talking about us from the moment we met. I can handle it."

His expression hardened. "You say that now, but you don't know what it's like to be on your own when the full weight of it comes down. When the press is hounding you, when they're waiting outside your fucking door just for a glimpse of you — when they're twisting every move you make into something ugly."

"I. Can. Handle. It," she repeated, enunciating every word like she was daring him to argue. "But you don't want to believe that, do you? Because it's easier to think that I'm fragile. That I need you to protect me."

"Auden—"

"You think that if you leave, I'll fall apart. That I'll let them get to me." Her voice dropped, trembling slightly, but she didn't let it waver. "Or worse — that I'll let Patrick get to me."

Cillian inhaled sharply, his entire body stiffening. And there it was. The real fear lurking beneath it all.

"You say you trust me," she continued, her voice softer now, almost breaking. "But you don't. Not really."

Cillian shook his head, his hand running over his face. "It's not that simple," he muttered.

"It is that simple," Auden countered. "If you trusted me, you wouldn't be asking me to come with you out of fear. You wouldn't be trying to control a situation that hasn't even happened."

His head snapped up, his eyes burning into hers. "You don't understand what it's like to lose everything," he said, his voice low and unsteady.

"I don't know what it's like to lose everything?" Auden stared at him, hard, an image of her father on his deathbed glaring in her mind, "Do you want to try that again?"

Cillian realized his mistake instantly, The anger in his face softened, slightly. "That's not what I meant. I mean, you don't know what it's like to come home one day and realize that the life you thought you had was never real. That the person you gave your heart to had already decided you weren't enough."

Auden's throat tightened. "And you think I'll do the same," she whispered.

Cillian swallowed hard, looking away. He didn't say it, but he didn't deny it either.

And that — more than anything — cut her to the bone.
"You know what hurts the most?" she said, voice barely above a whisper. "That after everything, after all the times I've stood by you, you still think I could betray you like she did."

Cillian's head shot up, his face full of something dangerously close to regret. But Auden wasn't finished.

"I love you," she said, though it seemed hopeless. Her voice was trembling now. "But I will not spend my life proving to you that I'm not her."

Cillian's eyes pleaded with her, his hands clenching into fists. "Aud —"

"No," she interrupted, shaking her head. "I can't do this right now."

She slid out of the booth, grabbing her coat with shaky hands. Cillian stood as well, reaching for her, but she stepped back.

"Auden, please," he said, his voice raw.

She met his eyes one last time. "You have to decide if you actually trust me, Cillian," she murmured. "Because if you don't — then what the hell are we even doing?"

Then, before he could say another word, she turned and walked out.

As Auden stepped out into the cool night air, her breath hitched, but she forced herself to keep walking. Her heart was still pounding from the argument, her hands trembling as she gripped the strap of her bag tighter. She wouldn't let herself turn back, wouldn't give in to the urge to see if Cillian had followed her.

Auden knew she was projecting. She was twisting this to be his problem, not hers. She told herself she wasn't afraid. That she was angry, that she was hurt — but not afraid. Because if she admitted she was afraid, she'd have to confront what exactly she was afraid of.

And that was a door she wasn't sure she was ready to open.
She had spent so long finding her footing in Dublin, carving out a life that felt like her own. She had Brigid, she had the gallery, she had moments of quiet contentment that she clung to like a lifeline. But Cillian... Cillian had been something else entirely. He had been a storm that swept through her carefully built world, tearing down walls she didn't even know she'd put up. With him, it had been easy — too easy — to forget the things she never let herself dwell on.

The loneliness. The grief. The gnawing anxiety that crept in at night, whispering that no matter how much she built, how much she tried to belong, it would never be enough. That she would always, eventually, be left behind.

Her mother had left, her father had made her feel like she barely existed, and she had spent her entire life pretending it didn't matter. That she didn't need anyone, that she was perfectly fine on her own. And for the most part, she had been.

Until now.

Because now, Cillian was asking her to trust him, to trust them, and she wanted to — God, she wanted to — but what if he was right? What if she wasn't strong enough to stay here without him? What if she let Patrick get into her head, what if she let Jenni's manipulations dig into her like a thorn she couldn't pull out? What if she let herself fall back into that dark place, the one she had spent so many years running from?

She didn't want to admit it, not even to herself, but Cillian had become a distraction from that darkness. From the weight of her own thoughts, the ones that told her she was always the one left behind, the one people forgot. With him, she hadn't felt like that girl anymore. She had felt wanted.

Chosen.

But now he was leaving, and the thought of staying here without him — without his presence to anchor her, without his voice to pull her out of her head when it got too loud — terrified her.

She told him to trust her, but did she trust herself? She didn't know. All she knew was that the moment she walked away from him, the moment she put distance between them, that old, familiar fear curled around her ribs like a vice.

The fear of being left alone.

The fear of what she might find waiting for her in that silence.