He communicated only through Arthur—cold, clipped instructions written on neat little lists.
Sometimes I heard his voice from behind closed doors: rich, smooth, and unmistakably Sassunnach.
Typical.
They didn’t mix with the likes of us.
We were the hands, not the company.
I should have been grateful he kept to himself.
It left me free to work without his judging eyes or strange behaviour.
But when I lay on my pallet at night, staring up at the low thatched ceiling, my mind drifted back to him.
Sometimes only for a heartbeat.
Other nights… longer.
Far longer than I would ever confess aloud.
It always began with that flutter beneath my chest.
A small, treacherous pulse.
Familiar… yet not.
Mine… yet not mine.
Exhaustion, no doubt.
I pressed a hand to the spot and closed my eyes, willing the tightness to settle.
Another day done.
Another day survived.
There was always tomorrow.
And with a new day came hope.
Chapter 7
Thaddeus
Rowlands delivered his morning updates as we walked the corridor—repairs progressing, supplies arriving late, the usual tedium. I offered the occasional nod, though my focus was elsewhere.
I always knew when she was close.
The headache began with a slow, needling throb behind my eyes, spreading with every step toward the library. My heart kicked harder in my chest, out of rhythm, as the thing living beneath my sternum stretched and pressed upward as though testing the boundaries of its cage.
Rowlands droned on.
I clenched my jaw against the rising pressure.“That will be all,” I cut in sharply.
He blinked at the abrupt dismissal, bowed, and retreated down the hall.
Only then did I step into the library, shut the door, and turn the key.
