“Neither is my life,” she snaps.“And yet everyone seems comfortable managing it.”
He steps into the room, closing the door behind him with deliberate care.
The sound lands heavy.
“You don’t know what you’re doing,” Callum says.
“I know exactly what I’m doing,” Isla fires back.“I’m looking for the truth.”
His gaze drops to the cassette in her hand.
“That won’t give it to you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
Something sharp flares in his eyes.“Those tapes aren’t confessions.They’re fragments.Half-thoughts.Bad nights.”
“Or honesty,” Isla counters.
“Or damage,” he says.“You don’t listen to a man at his worst and call it truth.”
Her pulse pounds.“You did.”
He stills.
For a moment, the air between them hums.
“You were there,” she presses.“You know things.”
“I know enough to tell you to put that down.”
Isla lifts her chin.“Make me.”
The words fall into the room, reckless and unmistakable.
Callum steps closer.
Not fast.Not angry.
Controlled.
The space between them shrinks to nothing but breath and heat and the faint scent of coffee and wood smoke clinging to his clothes.
“You’re trespassing,” he says quietly.
“You’re hiding things.”
“I’m protecting this place.I’m trying to protect your father.”
“And I’m trying to understand where I came from.”
His gaze drops again, to her hand, to the tape, to the way her fingers are trembling now despite her resolve.
“You think listening to his voice will fix something?”he says.“It won’t.”
Isla’s eyes narrow.“You’re not just protecting the castle.”
