I grab a jacket from the hook by the door and step outside into the drizzle that seems permanent in Ireland. The air smells like salt and rain and something green I can’t name. I walk down the narrow road toward the village center, hands shoved in my pockets, head down against the wind.
Ballycotton is beautiful in a stark, lonely way. Rolling green hills that slope down to the ocean. Stone walls that divide fields into neat squares. Houses clustered together like they’re huddling for warmth.
It should feel peaceful. Instead, it feels like a cage.
I’m halfway to the market when I see him.
A man standing near the harbor, watching the fishing boats come in. He’s dressed like a local—jeans, dark jacket, nothing that stands out—but something about the way he’s standing makes my skin prickle.
Too still. Too focused.
I slow my pace, trying to get a better look without being obvious.
He’s tall, maybe mid-thirties, with dark hair and a face I don’t recognize. Not from the village. Not one of Victor’s men that I’ve seen before.
He turns slightly, and his eyes sweep across the harbor before landing on me. We make eye contact for half a second before I look away and keep walking.
My heart is pounding.
Who is he? Vance security checking on me? Someone Victor sent without telling Helena? Or something worse?
I force myself to keep walking at a normal pace, resisting the urge to run back to the house. When I reach the market, I duck inside and immediately move to the back, where I can see the entrance.
The man doesn’t follow.
I spend twenty minutes pretending to shop, picking up bread and milk I don’t need, while my mind races through possibilities. Maybe I’m being paranoid. Maybe he’s just a tourist or someone visiting family.
I pay for the groceries and head back toward the house, checking over my shoulder every few steps.
He’s gone. The harbor is empty except for fishermen unloading their catch and a few locals chatting near the dock. I walk faster anyway.
By the time I reach the house, I’m nearly running. I burst through the door, breathing hard, and Helena looks up from where she’s folding laundry in the sitting room. “What’s wrong?”
“There was a man. At the harbor. Watching.”
Her expression sharpens. “Watching what?”
“Me. I think. I don’t know.”
“What did he look like?”
“Tall. Dark hair. Maybe mid-thirties. I’ve never seen him before.”
Helena sets down the laundry and pulls out her phone. She makes a call, speaking quickly in a low voice I can’t quite hear. When she hangs up, her face is carefully neutral. “I’ll have someone check it out,” she says, “You’re safe here. Victor has people watching the village. If there was a real threat, we’d know.”
“Then who was he?”
“I don’t know. But I’ll find out.” She goes back to folding laundry like the conversation is over, but I can see the tension in her shoulders.
She’s worried too.
I go upstairs to check on the boys. They’re in their room with Mary, building something out of blocks that immediately collapses when Finn tries to add another piece to the top.
“Mam!” Finn shouts when he sees me. “Look what we made!”
“I see it, baby. It’s very tall.”
Liam is quieter, sitting slightly apart from his brother and stacking his own blocks in careful, measured rows. He looks up when I enter, and his green eyes are so much like Cassian’s that it physically hurts.
