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But before anyone can voice the obvious, Deidre claps her hands lightly, breaking the spell. “Come now,” she says briskly, her tone shifting to one of warm authority. “We’ve lingered here long enough. There’s a meal waiting at my house, and I’ll not let it go cold because of your dawdling.”

We’re left with little choice but to follow as she turns and leads the way, her steps sure and steady. Bran lingers for a moment, his gaze lingering on her retreating form before he pulls himself together and falls into step beside me.

He doesn’t say a word, his expression carefully neutral now, though the sadness in his eyes lingers. I want to press him, to ask what’s going through his mind, but the look on his face tells me now isn’t the time.

One by one, we mount our horses, the soft creak of leather and jingle of bridles filling the air. I swing into the saddle just as Finn steps up beside me. Without a word, he grips the back of my saddle and swings up behind me, his presence solid and unshakable. His arms settle around me as he takes hold of the reins, the warmth of him impossible to ignore.

Whatever Deidre knows, it’s clear we’re not getting the answers here on the dock. I glance toward her; her figure moving confidently ahead of us, and I resolve to understand it once we’re settled. For now, the questions will have to wait.

As we approach the villa, the rhythmic clatter of hooves on the gravel path fills the air. The house rises before us, its terracotta roof glowing in the soft light of evening. Ivy curls along weathered stone walls, and the scent of wildflowers drifts toward us from the sprawling gardens. A fountain, chipped but elegant, sits at the centre of the courtyard, its gentle trickle the only sound besides the horses.

Casey shifts in his saddle, his eyes scanning the house with measured curiosity, while Bran lets out a low whistle. “Fancy,” he mutters, though there’s a tightness to his tone, as if he’s trying to distract himself from the uncertainty. Callan rides ahead, as if ready to face whatever—or whoever—might greet us first.

I shift to glance over my shoulder at Finn. His jaw is tight, his eyes fixed on the house. The pressure of his hand on my waist steadies me, though my own nerves flutter. We trust Deidre, but stepping into the unknown always carries its weight. The estate looms larger with every step, alive with possibility, and I can’t tell if it’s comforting or unnerving.

Deidre swings down from her horse with practiced ease, her boots crunching softly against the gravel. She turns to face us, her expression unusually serious as she gestures for us to dismount.

One by one, we slide from our saddles, the air thick with an unspoken question. I’m the last to move. Finn’s hands are firm at my waist as he helps me down from atop Shadow. The moment my boots touch the ground, his grip lingers—warm, steady, as if reluctant to let go.

For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. Then, as if remembering himself, he exhales and releases me, stepping back just enough to put space between us.

Deidre sweeps her gaze over the group, her voice steady yet heavy with meaning. “No matter what happens from here on out, know this—it was done to protect, not to deceive.”

We exchange glances, uncertainty flickering between us. I can feel the tension ripple through the group. Finn shifts slightly behind me, and I know he’s watching Deidre closely, waiting for any sign of what’s coming.

Then Deidre’s eyes settle on me. Her expression softens, but the intensity of her gaze doesn’t waver. “Triona,” she says, stepping forward and holding out her hand. “There’s someone inside who’s been waiting to see you for a very long time.”

Around me, the world feels still, despite the horses shifting and the breeze whispering through the leaves. My heart pounds, my mind a storm of questions, but I remain still. Then, with a glance back at Finn—his warmth now gone, yet his presence an anchor in the space between us—I reach forward and take her hand.

The villa’s interior is just as breathtaking as its exterior—warm, inviting, alive with quiet charm. The soft scent of lavender and citrus drifts through the halls, mingling with the distant crackle of a hearth.

Deidre leads us into a spacious sitting room, where a large table awaits, set with an array of fresh breads, cheeses, and ripe fruit. The spread is simple yet abundant, a quiet luxury that suits her perfectly.

She turns to face us, her hands on her hips and a knowing smile playing on her lips. “Before anything else,” she begins, her tone firm but warm, “I want you all to settle and clean up in your rooms. You’ll find clean clothes and basins at the ready. Then you’re all to come back down here. Understood?”

Casey raises a hand lazily, grinning. “And how will we know—?”

He’s cut off—as if on cue—when several staff members glide into the room, their movements swift and precise. Without a word, they incline their heads toward Deidre in silent acknowledgment before gesturing for us to follow.

I glance around at the others, momentarily stunned by the sudden appearance of help, the quiet efficiency of it all rattling in a way I can’t quite place.

“Seems she’s thought of everything,” Callan mutters, his tone half-amused, half-impressed.

“Go on, then,” Deidre urges, clapping her hands lightly. “Get settled. You’ll want to be fresh for what’s coming.”

A woman with kind eyes and a soft smile steps forward, her posture poised yet welcoming. She motions for me to follow. I glance back at the others, each now paired with their own attendant, before falling into step behind her.

The walk through the villa feels like a journey in itself. The halls are long and winding, adorned with paintings of sprawling landscapes and sea vistas. The light filtering through the windows casts golden hues on the tiled floors, and the air feels calm, almost sacred.

When we reach my room, the woman opens the door with a gentle push, revealing a space that takes my breath away. The room is spacious but cosy, with soft linens draped over a wide bed, a small writing desk by the window, and a basin of water already set on a stand. Sunlight pours in through the open shutters, illuminating the delicate patterns etched into the walls. A fresh set of clothes lie folded neatly on the bed, simple yet elegant.

“Many thanks,” I whisper, and the woman inclines her head before retreating silently down the hall. I close the door behind me and take a deep breath, letting the tranquility of the space wash over me.

It’s then I realise how quiet it is—too quiet. My room feels removed, distant from the others, as though it’s on the farthest side of the house entirely.

I feel the faintest twinge of unease. But as I look around the room again—the inviting bed, the basin with clear water, the view of the sea stretching endlessly outside the window—I let the feeling go. This place is a sanctuary, a reprieve from everything we’ve endured. I may be alone on this side of the villa, but maybe that’s exactly what I need.

With that thought, I step toward the basin, preparing to wash away the grim clinging to my skin. My gaze flickers to the mirror, catching sight of the gown hanging there, and I nearly gasp. It is unlike anything I’ve ever seen—delicate, luxurious, as if made for someone who is not me. But right now, that doesn’t matter.