Heather paused beside it.
She ran her fingers along the worn leather, the seam Flora had trusted, Fiona had guarded, Harris had carried.
“You’re home,” she murmured.
Flynn glanced over. “Tea or coffee?”
“Hmm… coffee,” she said. Then added, “Strong.”
“Aye. Thought as much.”
Byrdie leapt onto the table, knocking over nothing important and everything symbolic.
Heather laughed. “We should put bells on her.”
Flynn raised an eyebrow. “Ye’ll be dead by nightfall.”
There was a knock at the door.
Heather stiffened automatically, then caught herself.
Flynn noticed. He crossed the room, brushing his thumb against her wrist as he passed.
“I’ve got it.”
Eleanor stood on the threshold, wool scarf askew, eyes bright and tired in equal measure.
“Well,” she said, stepping inside, “you look like people who slept.”
Heather smiled. “We did.”
Eleanor’s expression softened. “Good. About damn time.”
They settled around the kitchen table; coffee poured, Byrdie claiming Eleanor’s lap as if no time had passed.
“I willnae stay long,” Eleanor said. “But I wanted ye to hear this from me.”
Heather leaned forward. “Okay.”
Eleanor took a breath. “Henderson’s position has been… vacated.”
Flynn hummed. “That’s one way of puttin’ it.”
“The board asked me to step in,” Eleanor continued. “Interim, officially. Permanent, if I’m willing.”
Heather blinked. “Eleanor—”
She held up a hand. “I said yes.”
Something in Heather’s chest loosened. Not relief exactly, more like rightness.
“I won’t let her version of history stand,” Eleanor said quietly. “And I won’t let your mother’s work be twisted into something it never was.”
Heather grinned. “She trusted you.”
Eleanor’s smile wavered, eyes growing misty. “I know.”
They sat in silence for a moment.
