Flynn reached across the table and gently lifted her chin.
“Campbell, you’ve already gotten further than anyone else. Give the woman a night. Tomorrow, we try again.”
Heather sighed, leaning briefly into the warmth of his hand before nodding.
“Alright. Fine.”
Flynn grinned. “Good. Now let’s get out of here before I’m forced to eat another one of those cottage pies you claim to love.”
She rolled her eyes, grateful for the levity. As they stood, a spark of excitement trilled through her.
Eleanor knows something.
That single truth was enough to carry her through the misty Inverness streets and into whatever tomorrow might bring.
Chapter 3
Heather—Present Day
The streets of Inverness spilled out before them in a jumble of cobblestones, slate rooftops, and narrow wynds that twisted toward the river. Afternoon light cut through the mist in soft shafts, gilding the edges of old stone buildings and setting the shopfronts aglow. The city was alive with sound: bells chiming from the cathedral, chatter spilling from cafés, gulls squealing overhead as the River Ness pushed on, steady and sure.
Heather drew her coat tighter, though not from the cold. Her pulse hadn’t settled since Eleanor’s words; it fluttered like a live wire beneath her ribs.
You’re your mother’s daughter.
The phrase clung to her. She scanned the faces of strangers as if one of them might offer more answers.
Flynn nudged her elbow, breaking her trance.
“Careful, Campbell. You’re staring like you’re plotting to rob the place.”
Heather startled, then laughed, the sound spilling out lighter than she felt. Only then did she realize she’d been staring intensely into the pastry window of a bake shop.
“I was just… thinking.”
“Dangerous habit, that.” He tipped his head toward a shop window next door crowded with tartan scarves and novelty flasks. “You sure you don’t want a ‘Kiss Me, I’m Scottish’ mug? Might win over the locals.”
She elbowed him back, rolling her eyes.
“I think I’ve mortified myself enough in public for one day.”
They wandered toward the bridge, the River Ness glinting below. A busker played the bagpipes near the railing, the tune light and quick, clashing against Heather’s memory of the haunting melody that had slipped from her lips that morning. She slowed, caught between music and memory, her eyes tracing the water’s restless surface, the tune snagging somewhere deep in her chest.
Her mother must have walked here before; she was sure of it. The thought made her chest ache, a mix of longing and possibility.
A prickling sensation crawled across her neck. Heather shifted, glancing back over her shoulder.
A man lingered near the edge of the square, half-hidden by the shifting crowd. His dark coat was turned up against the wind, his gaze angled unmistakably their way. The moment her eyes met his, he pivoted and disappeared into the crowd.
Heather blinked, breath catching.
Flynn noticed immediately. His voice dropped low.
“What is it?”
“I—nothing. Just thought…” She shook her head, trying to laugh it off, though her skin still tingled. “Felt like someone was staring.”
Flynn’s gaze swept the street anyway, sharp despite his casual stance. When he didn’t spot the man, he slung an arm over her shoulders, steering her toward the bridge.
