Isla stands at the desk, fingers still curled around the drawer edge, while Callum remains near the bookcase, his posture tight as if he’s braced for the room to fight back.The story he just told sits between them, heavier than any object in Keir’s bedroom.
“Have you ever told anyone how Keir saved you?”Isla says quietly.
Callum’s gaze flicks to hers.“There wasn’t much point.”
“That’s not true.”Isla’s voice firms.
He gives a short, humorless laugh.“I’m not sure why I told you.Maybe because I wanted you to know me and why I feel so protective of Keir.”
Isla steps away from the desk, moving toward the shelves where the notebooks sit.She picks up one of Keir’s annotated scores and flips through it, pretending her hands are steady.
“Maybe because you’re tired of carrying it alone,” she says.
Callum’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t deny it.
They drift back into the search, but it feels different now, less like an invasion and more like a joint excavation.Isla checks the nightstand again, more carefully this time, lifting the lamp and running her fingers along the underside.
Callum watches her, then mirrors the motion on the other side of the room, sliding a hand along the back panel of the bookcase.
“You’re thorough,” he murmurs.
“I’m stubborn,” Isla corrects.
“That too.”
She glances at him.“Keir taught you to be observant.”
“He taught me to assume people hide what matters,” Callum says.
That lands like a key turning in a lock.What had he hidden?
Isla moves to the wardrobe and opens it again, not looking at the clothes this time but at the structure, hinges, seams, edges.She presses against the back panel.
It doesn’t move.
Callum crosses the room and stops beside her, close enough that she feels his heat.Not touching.Just there.
“Try the bottom,” he says.
“Why?”
“Because Keir always hid things where people didn’t want to kneel,” Callum replies.
Isla snorts, then crouches, fingertips brushing the baseboard.She finds a narrow seam she missed before.A slight gap.
Her pulse jumps.
“There,” she whispers.
Callum drops to a crouch beside her.“Good eye.”
Together they press along the seam.The panel shifts, barely, but enough to reveal a shallow compartment.Isla sucks in a breath.
“Of course,” she mutters.“A hidden compartment.Because why be normal when you can be Keir MacLaren?”
Callum’s mouth twitches.“He’d consider normal an insult.”
Isla reaches inside.Her fingers brush paper.A small bundle of folded documents.She pulls them out and sets them on the floor between them.
