Isla rises too.
And this time, when they move through the room, they do it like partners, side by side, hands occasionally brushing as they reach for the same drawer, the same book, the same corner of the past.
The desk drawer sticks, then slides open.Inside are envelopes stacked neatly.Legal.Financial.Managed.
“He kept everything,” Isla murmurs.
“He believed history mattered,” Callum replies.“Even when it hurt.”
They work in silence again, the air companionable now.At one point, Callum reaches across her to pull down a box from the top shelf.His arm brushes her shoulder, his chest close behind her for a brief second.
Neither of them moves away.
Finally, Callum freezes.
Isla looks up.“What?”
He’s holding an envelope she hadn’t noticed before.Thicker than the others.Older.
No address.
Just a date.
“This was hidden,” Callum says.“Not filed.”
Isla’s pulse quickens.“That means something.”
Callum turns it over slowly.The seal is intact.
“He didn’t want this mixed in with the rest,” he says.
He looks at her, searching her face.“Are you ready?”
Isla hesitates.Then steps closer.
“Not yet,” she says.“But I don’t want you to put it down.”
Callum nods.
He holds the envelope out, and she places her hand over his, both of them gripping the paper together.
The contact is steady.Intentional.
She looks up at him, surprised by the hope rising inside her, fragile and unwanted and impossible to ignore.This matters.She knows it does.Whatever is sealed inside the envelope could shatter what little certainty she has left, but for the first time, she isn’t standing on the edge by herself.They will face it together.The castle settles around them, as if holding its breath.
And Isla knows, absolutely knows?—
This envelope is not the end of the story.
It’s the beginning of the truth.
Chapter18
They sink down on the bed together, their shoulders touching as Callum rips open the envelope.Isla keeps her hands clasped in her lap, fingers locked so tightly, her knuckles ache.She’s afraid that if she reaches for the paperwork, something inside her will split, something she won’t be able to stitch back together.
Callum hasn’t tried to smooth the moment into something manageable.
Outside, the Scottish afternoon edges toward evening, light thinning behind a veil of clouds.The castle makes its quiet old noises, stone settling, a distant rush through pipes, wind brushing the glass.
