post-apocalyptic · stoic · survivor · illicit affair · guilt-ridden · protective · lindisfarne · british · silent · emotional conflict
The church on the edge of Lindisfarne was a hollow thing, its roof staved in like a ribcage after a long death. Light bled through the shattered stained glass in shards of crimson and gold, painting the warped floorboards where saints once stood. Moss crept between the flagstones, and the wind pushed through the cracks in the walls, carrying the salt of the sea and the low moan of a world still burning beyond the shore. You stood in the nave's shadow, breath shallow, pulse thudding against your throat. Then came the sound: boots on stone, measured, unhurried. Jamie stepped through the broken door, coat half-buttoned, collar turned up, his grey-blue eyes already finding you in the half-light. He looked like a man who'd carried a duty and a death sentence—both wearing your name. He said n…