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“Alright what?”

“Alright—you have yourself a date. I mean—a partner.” I fold my arms, heat blooming across my cheeks. Tania was right, he did ask me.

He regards me with an almost boyish enthusiasm before returning to his meal.

“Do you think wine is good for me?” I ask, swirling the last drops in my glass. “Considering we don’t know my health history?”

“You’re fine. Dr. Marlowe and his team ran extensive tests while you were unconscious. You’re essentially the model of health.” A pause. “Well… except for the obvious.”

“Have you tried fingerprinting me? Like in the crime movies?” I ask.

The Sheriff’s offer plays in my mind. Money for truth, truth for freedom. Whichever came first would set me loose. What was his truth? Was I, the lost woman from the sea, the key to his freedom? Were we all playing a game of truth or lie, and whoever achieved success at whatever game they were playing would have access to their version of freedom? It’s a long-winded thought, yet so simple.

“We have,” Kieran replies. “But you’re not a criminal and you’ve never been printed. There was nothing in any database.” He refills my glass.

“Huh. You never told me that.”

“I didn’t think to. Everything came back clean. I mean I don’t doubt it, look at you.”

It would’ve been nice to know there was no one hunting me for a crime I didn’t commit or along those lines. What else had he done while I slept? And ‘look at me’, is that an insult?

“Come on,” he says, rising. “Let’s head to the lounge. I’ll light a fire. You can ask me more there.”

I slip my hand into his far more easily than I should and wonder if this is all part of a gentle diversion.

Ask him.

Don’t ask him.

Ask him.

Walking through the dim corridors, I inquire about the absence of portraits and mirrors.

“There are a lot of bad memories here,” he says with finality. “It was time for a change.”

We enter the Great Room; silence pools in the corners like gathered spirits, and moonlight slips thinly through half-drawn curtains.

“So, has Daisy been around often?” He crouches to light the fire.

“Daisy has been around every day,” I say, aiming for lightness. She’s been super helpful. It gets lonely here sometimes.” I spread sheets across the carpet, smoothing them out, arranging pillows to cradle us. Shadows crawl up the walls like patient ghosts, waiting for what we have to say.

When the fire catches, it washes everything in tongues of hungry oranges and reds, consuming the darkness waiting at every corner. Kieran rolls his sleeves up, revealing pale scars crosshatched along his wrist. Something in my chest tightens. I force myself to look away as he reclines, one hand tucked behind his head, belonging utterly to the dim, trembling glow. He was a strange, mesmeric sight.

“It can be isolating,” he says, voice threaded with exhaustion.

“How do you manage?”

“I did for a while…” His voice breaks on the confession. “I had a reason. But lately—it’s been suffocating.”

A reckless longing stirs in me and I take a risk. “I’m sorry about your wife…” I whisper.

He stiffens, clearing his throat. From this angle, I can’t see his face, only the outline of him in firelight, tense and shadowed. He lowers his hand, and rests them in his lap. “It’s been a very long time,” he says at last, voice dipped in mystery. “I’m ready to face the future, not the past. But the past…it has a way of haunting you.”

“I wish it would haunt me.” I lean against a pillow. It cushions the pang that hits my chest, traveling down to my stomach settling there like a rock.

Silence stretches between us again. The flames reflect in his eyes like a dying sun reaching for its last horizon.

I wait for his move.