Artemis giggled. She reached out impulsively and grabbed Caliban’s sleeve. “You would absolutely catalog dairy if given the opportunity.”
“I already have,” he replied calmly. “By region, aging method, and cultural relevance.”
Her laugh doubled.
Caliban folded his hands. “For context, Gordon Ramsay once described Stilton as ‘a blue cheese of considerable character.’ I agree.”
Eloise gaped at him. “Why do you know that?”
“I remain informed.”
“You’re weaponizing Wikipedia.”
“I prefer to think of it as cultural readiness.”
Artemis lost all remaining composure and hugged Eloise without warning.
Eloise squeezed her back hard. “Careful. I’m a fragile old woman.”
“You are not fragile or an old woman,” Artemis said fiercely.
“Correct,” Caliban added.
The bartender slid another glass toward Artemis. “For the doctor.”
She accepted it with a grin that was unguarded. “Thank you.”
I watched. I didn’t speak. This was not a moment to interrupt. She belonged here. With them. With me.
An hour later, we left the pub to applause.
The cool night air swept away the warmth of firelight and champagne. Edinburgh had settled into that luminous hour where stone turned silver, and every window seemed to glow from within.
Artemis slipped her hand into mine, and I closed my fingers around hers.
The castle rose in silhouette above the city, black against a deep indigo sky. Wind moved down the narrow streets in clean currents, lifting the loose strands of her hair and pressing her coat lightlyagainst her frame.
Somewhere in the distance, bagpipes threaded through the air in a mournful melody. City lights spilled downhill in gold constellations.
Behind us, Caliban and Eloise exited the pub at a suspiciously leisurely pace.
“Take your time,” Eloise called lightly. “We are in no rush whatsoever.”
Caliban cleared his throat. “None.”
I didn’t look back at them, but Artemis did. Her eyes narrowed. “Those two are strange,” she murmured.
“Very,” I agreed.
She laughed, squeezing my hand once.
We walked uphill toward Calton Hill, the slope steady and familiar. The open sky widened as we climbed, the city falling away beneath us.
Wind strengthened at the top, tugging at her hair again. She faced the skyline, breath catching just slightly.
“It’s ridiculous,” she said softly. “It looks like a painting.”
Ancient stone columns loomed nearby, pale against the night. The city lights stretched outward in layers. The castle stood anchored on its rock, immovable and proud.
