The dock behindher faded with every step, but Mary-Ann’s mind refused to still. Her heart had steadied, but her thoughts had not. If danger truly lurked behind those crates, and someone had warned her away, it meant she was closer to something real. And she was no longer content with shadows.
She walked along the path edging the cliffs, the sea churning far below. The wind tugged at her shawl, reddening her cheeks, but she didn’t mind. Her nerves needed the air.
He stood near the overlook, eyes fixed on the docks far below. From this height, the ships were no more than shadows gliding through water and mist, but he’d seen her. Plain dress. Steady step. Too close toThe Redwake. He hadn’t followed. Not yet.
She hadn’t gone far before she saw him.
Quinton.
He stood ahead on the path, half-turned toward the horizon, coat buttons gleaming faintly in the light. He turned before she could call out, as if he’d known she was coming all along. A flicker of surprise crossed her face, disappearing almost as quickly as it had appeared.
Their eyes met, and for a moment, everything between them went still.
“Out walking?” he asked, voice gentle.
“Something like that.”
She hadn’t meant to see him. And yet, part of her wasn’t surprised.
They fell into step easily, the space between them filling with the rhythm of shared silence. It surprised her how natural it felt. Like stepping back into a melody she hadn’t realized she remembered. No tug, no resistance, just the ease of someone who saw her as she was. She didn’t speak ofThe Redwake. He didn’t ask. But the air between them was rich with the things they didn’t say.
They used to walk like this most evenings, circling the edge of town with no particular destination in mind. He would ask about her day, and unlike most men, he actually listened. He never hurried her, never spoke over her. The memory surfaced with quiet clarity, softening something in her chest.
“You look well,” she said at last.
“I’m getting there.”
A pause. Then a small smile tugged at her lips. “You were always good at returning from impossible places.”
“And you,” he said quietly, “were always the one I wanted to return to.”
She looked at him sharply, her heart stuttering, but his gaze had shifted back to the sea.
They stopped near the overlook, the sea roaring below.
He reached for her hand but didn’t quite take it. Instead, his fingers brushed hers. He hesitated, his mouth parting slightly as if to say more. But then his jaw tightened, and he glanced away.
“Be careful, Mary-Ann,” he said. “Especially now.”
She wanted to ask what he meant and question him until the truth spilled out. But the look in his eyes stopped her. It wasn’t fear. It was guilt. And that, somehow, unsettled her more.
Her breath caught. In that brief contact, she felt steadied. The storm of the morning, the doubt of the docks, none of it reached her here.
There was more. She could see it, feel it, in the tension at the corners of his mouth. But he said nothing else, and she didn’t press him. Not yet.
It was hard, knowing he held something back. Harder still to act as though she hadn’t felt it. For the first time all day, she didn’t feel alone. And that surprised her more than she expected.
She returned home with the sea wind still in her hair and Quinton’s warning echoing in her mind. He hadn’t said much, but she’d seen enough to know he was holding something back. And not just for his own sake. That unsettled her more than she cared to admit.
Rodney arrived later that afternoon, unannounced but confident, as always. Mary-Ann had just slipped on her gloves and reached for her shawl when the butler announced him.
“I thought we might walk,” Rodney said brightly. “The weather’s quite fine.”
“I have tea with Mrs. Bainbridge,” she said, motioning toward the clock. “I’m expected shortly.”
“No need to worry,” he said with a wave of his hand. “I’ve taken care of that.”
She blinked. “Taken care?” The words felt foreign in her mouth, as if something had been decided for her while she wasn’t looking.
