Flynn roared her name.
Eleanor shouted something—lost to the chaos.
Footsteps pounded. A door slammed.
Then—
Silence.
The lights flickered back on.
The display case stood open.
Empty.
The saddle was gone.
Heather stared at the hollow space it had occupied, heart pounding, breath ragged.
Henderson was gone.
Chapter 49
Heather—Present Day
Flora Henderson was gone.
Not in a rush.
Not scrambling, but gone in the way people leave when they were never meant to stay.
Heather stood frozen in the middle of the museum room, the echo of boots and shattering glass still ringing in her ears. The display case lay in ruins at her feet, its contents ripped away so cleanly it was almost surgical.
Flynn reached the doorway first.
Outside, gravel spat beneath tires.
Three black museum SUVs tore away from the croft in formation, engines snarling as they cut down the narrow road and vanished into the Skye mist.
Not toward the bridge.
Away from it.
Flynn went very still.
“That’s not right,” he said quietly.
Eleanor staggered up beside him, breath ragged. “What’s not right?”
Flynn didn’t answer her. His gaze followed the empty road like he was watching something already gone too far to stop.
“They’re in no rush headin’ off-island,” he said.
Heather’s stomach dropped.
“What do you mean?”
He turned to her then, and the look on his face stripped the last bit of hope from her chest.
