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“How do you even know all this?” Triona demands. “You weren’t there.”

Amelia doesn’t flinch. “It’s… a long story. Too much to unravel all at once,” she says gently. “And best saved for another day.”

Then she turns on Bran. “Did you know? Did you know any of this?”

His eyes widen as he lifts both hands, palms out. “Are you kidding? I’m just as shocked as you are. I didn’t exactly expect my family to be tangled up in some secret rebellion legacy.”

He lets out a half-laugh, more nerves than humour. “Though… I can’t say I’m all that shocked to learn my father was involved. Prickly bastards got a slew of secrets up his sleeve.”

“Wait…” he murmurs. “Does that mean my mother—?”

Amelia nods slowly. “Your parents met through the Sinclairs.”

Bran swallows hard, the realisation settling deep. His gaze drops, voice quieter now. “Right. Of course they did.”

A heavy silence falls over the room—thick with everything that can’t be undone.

Triona sinks back into her chair, hands trembling in her lap. “I don’t know how I’d have preferred hearing this,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “I just… I wish it didn’t have to be like this. Any of it.”

Callan’s gaze softens, and he steps closer, lowering himself onto one knee. He is a man of presence, always standing tall, unshakable, yet here he kneels, not out of submission, but out of the weight of what he needs her to understand. “Triona,” he says gently, “it’s not the blood between us that makes us family. It’s the life we’ve lived, the way we stand by each other. Ye’re my sister, and that’s a truth I’ll carry to my grave. No matter what changes now, that’ll never change for me.”

Amelia’s voice follows. “He’s right. Family’s not in the blood—it’s in the love. And there’s been no shortage of that.”

Triona lets out a shuddering breath, her eyes glistening as she glances at Callan. “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

I watch helplessly. Rooted to the spot. Feeling the moment she breaks.

I step closer, my boots heavy against the floor. “Ye’re still you, Triona.” Her eyes flick to mine, searching, lost, but I hold her gaze, refusing to let her slip away into doubt.

“One of the fiercest souls I’ve ever known. You stand against those who seek to break you. You never let the world decide yer worth—or the worth of those you love. You love with every beat of yer heart, fight with every shred of yer spirit. Blood doesnae change that. Nothin’ ever will.”

She exhales a sharp laugh, empty of humour, shaking her head. “That’s not accurate,” she mutters, bitterness lacing her words. “And not to be wallowing, but if I had the sense the gods gave me, we wouldn’t be here. I dragged us into this mess with my foolishness.”

Casey’s voice cuts in, soft but firm. “That’s not true, Triona. Ye—”

“Stop,” she interrupts sharply, turning to him with a hard glare. “Don’t coddle me, Casey. I can’t… I can’t bear that right now. You don’t want to admit it to yourselves? Fine. But stop pretending as if this all makes sense.” Her voice falters, but her expression stays resolute.

Her hands tremble as she presses them to her lap. “I’m just… swarming with guilt right now,” she whispers, the words spilling out as if they’d been locked inside too long. “And I don’t want to make this all about me. I don’t want to bring everyone down.” She swallows hard, rising from her chair with deliberate movements. “I need to leave the room,” she says, her voice trembling but clear.

Her breath hitches, and for a moment, the weight in her eyes lessens. She looks away, her fingers curling into fists. “I need time.” Her voice is a whisper, but it’s steady enough. “I need to… think.”

Callan nods, stepping back. “Take all the time ye need.”

Amelia’s hands wring together, but she doesn’t press. Deidre moves closer to Triona, her presence steady and silent, as if to guard her without words, but Triona stops her with an outstretched hand, and she turns to leave.

I linger near the door, torn between giving her space and the unbearable thought of letting her walk away alone. If I follow, will I be offering comfort or pressing too hard? If I stay, will she think I don’t care enough to go after her? The weight of indecision presses down on me, heavy and suffocating. Triona’s movements are deliberate as she walks toward the door. As she passes me, her shoulder brushes mine, and I catch the faint tremble in her step.

The door closes softly behind her. I lean against the doorframe, my arms crossed tightly over my chest. Callan’s eyes meet mine, heavy with unspoken questions.

“She’ll be all right,” He says, though I’m not entirely sure if he’s trying to convince me or himself.

A muscle tics in my jaw as I push off the doorframe. “Aye,” I murmur. “But let me make sure she gets to her room.”

Before Callan can reply, I’m already moving.

I step out into the dimly lit corridor just in time to see Triona turn the corner. Without thinking, I chase after her, my pulse a steady thrum in my ears. She’s hardly made it a few strides before I reach out, my fingers wrapping gently but firmly around her wrist.

She stills, and slowly she turns, her gaze lifting to mine. And sweet mercy from the gods above. There’s something in her eyes that nearly undoes me.