Callum’s jaw tightens.He keeps his hands in his pockets.
Control is a choice, he reminds himself.
He makes it again.
“Here,” he says, forcing his attention to the papers.“This one repeats.”
He slides a page across.In the margin, in Keir’s sharp handwriting, a line is repeated, small, almost hidden in the corner as if it shouldn’t be read by anyone else.
If A.refuses again, wait.
Isla leans in, close enough that her shoulder nearly touches his.Callum is suddenly too aware of her heat, her scent, the way her breath shifts when she concentrates.
“A,” Isla says softly.“Any idea who that is?”
Callum shakes his head.“Keir wasn’t big on initials.If he used one, it was deliberate.”
“So he’s hiding someone.”
“Or something,” Callum says.
Isla sits back, lips pressed together.“‘Refuses again.’That means this conversation happened before.More than once.”
Callum looks at the dates and the crossed-out calendar pages.“And every time, he waited.”
Isla’s eyes narrow.“Why?”
Callum knows the truth.“He didn’t wait unless someone forced him.”
Isla’s gaze snaps to his.“You sound sure.”
“I am.”
The silence stretches.Isla’s phone pings again, and it’s like the sound slices through the room and hits her in the ribs.
She flips it over, just long enough to see what’s on the screen, and Callum catches a glimpse too: bold subject lines, urgent phrasing, a calendar invitation shoved into her day.
She turns it facedown again.
“Penalties,” she says flatly.“If I don’t confirm by the end of the week, they’ll start shifting my dates.Reassigning slots.”
“That’s fast,” Callum mutters.
“It always is,” she says.“Pressure works better when it doesn’t give you time to think.”
Callum feels something harden inside him.
“What did your mother say?”he asks carefully.
Isla’s hands pause over the papers.For the first time this morning, she looks tired rather than controlled.
“She said ninety days is excessive,” Isla replies.“She said closure doesn’t require excavation.”
Callum’s stomach tightens.
“And what did you say?”
Isla’s eyes lift.“I didn’t agree.”
