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I study him, suspicion creeping into my voice. “Finn… do you maybe know something you’re not telling me?”

He looks at me then, really looks at me—his gaze searching mine for a long, quiet moment.

Then he huffs a breath, shaking his head. “I love you with all that I am, but please dinnae make me tell you.”

I tilt my head, lips twitching. “Not even if I put my mouth on your—”

Finn groans, cutting me off as his fingers curl around my waist, tugging me flush against him. “Caitríona.”

I let out a small gasp. “My full name?” Then, with a resigned sigh, I relent. “Fine, fine.”

“I’ll make it up to you, mo ghrá.” Before I can react, his hands slide lower, gripping my rear with possessive intent—then a sharp smack lands, sending a jolt through me. A startled gasp escapes my lips, my breath hitching as warmth blooms where his touch lingers.

“Finn!” I hiss, my face burning as I glance around.

He only chuckles, the sound curling through my stomach like heat licking at embers. He takes my hand, tugging me forward with easy confidence, and we walk over to join the others.

As we step into their midst, the familiar hum of conversation dwindles, and the weight of this fleeting unity settles in, unspoken but deeply felt.

I take one last look at those that we must part from—Bran’s charming demeanour, Casey’s radiant smile, Amelia’s quiet strength, Deidre’s gentle wisdom, even Mannie and the undeniable flair that amuses those around him. Each of them leaves an imprint that will linger long after the horizon swallows them from view.

“Well, this is it, then,” Bran says with an unconvincing smile. “Don’t miss us too much.”

As Casey and Bran board their ship, Finn, Callan, and I are guided toward Cairn’s Shadow. “Now, I don’t want to be rude, but are you sure that’s seaworthy? Looks like it’s held together with wishful thinking,” Bran shouts as he pauses on the gangplank.

Casey smirks, pointing toward Tonn Glas with exaggerated pride. “I think it’s fair to say we were dealt a better hand. Our ship looks as if it could carry the gods themselves, while yers might not make it out of the harbour.”

“It’s not about the look of a ship, but the crew who sails her.” Callan grits out.

Finn raises a brow, shooting Bran a pointed look. “And I’d rather have an old boat than a cocky crew, so maybe keep yer gloatin’ in check till ye’ve proved yerselves.”

I grin, cutting in before Bran can respond. “Oh, come now boys. You can admit, Cairn’s Shadow looks like she’s seen more rough nights than an old doxy.”

Bran bursts out laughing. “See? Even Triona agrees. You should consider adding a few extra dinghies for when you find yourselves in need.”

Finn shakes his head, turning toward me with a raised brow. “I think ye’ve been spendin’ too much time with Bran. He’s rubbing off on ye.”

One by one, we climb the gangplank, each step feeling heavier than the last. I pause at the top, glancing back at Deidre and Amelia. The wind catches Amelia’s hair, framing her face in a halo of sunlight. She lifts a hand in a silent farewell, and I mimic the gesture before turning away.

As Tonn Glas pulls away from the harbour, her shimmering hull gliding through the water as if it’s part of the sea itself, I feel the weight of our singular group becoming two.

I can’t help but glance around Cairn’s Shadow to occupy my thoughts. The aged vessel creaks as we step aboard. Her wood, weathered and darkened by countless voyages, tells the story of a ship that has seen too much yet refuses to yield. Patches cover the sails in places, and the frayed ropes look ready to give way at the slightest gust. A faint smell of salt and mildew lingers in the surrounding air.

The disparity between vessels is grim—one ship a legend, the other a test of endurance. I stand beside Finn, gripping his arm as both ships begin their journeys onward, and I can’t shake the feeling that this is the start of something none of us are truly prepared for.

Callan lets out a low whistle, his brow arching as we take in our surroundings. “This is it?” he asks, his tone laced with skepticism.

The man leading us, a grizzled sailor with a weathered face, grunts. “Aye, she’s a tough old girl, but she’ll see you where you’re bound—so long as you mind her well. Cross her wrong, and the sea’ll be takin’ what’s rightfully hers.”

As the ship glides further from the shore, I can’t help but steal one last glance down at the dock, needing to see Amelia and Deidre’s faces one last time. Only Amelia remains, standing alone, watching.

Her lips move, and I catch the faint impression of be brave dancing across them.

The water between us is calm but vast, reflecting the sky’s shifting hues—a perfect mirror of light and shadow. We now exist in separate worlds.

Callan stands close—near enough to be present, but not so much that he intrudes on our space. His gaze stays fixed forward, shoulders rigid, his presence a quiet yet imposing force.

Finn stands beside me, his hand wrapped firmly around mine, his thumb tracing slow, steady circles against my skin. Though he doesn’t speak, I can feel the tension radiating from him, see it in the way his gaze lingers on the open sea.