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I meet her gaze, and in it, I see everything—hope, sorrow, an unspoken promise that lingers between us.

“You are going to do wonders. I need you to remember that when you get home, and I need you to remember it five years from now. More importantly, I need you to hold on to it when life feels unbearable. When everything is so hard, you’ll want to give up, when it feels as if you’ve got nothing left to give.”

Her grip tightens, willing the truth of her words into me. “Promise me, Triona, that you’ll hold on to what I’m saying. That you’ll remember, even in those moments.”

A lump swells in my throat. I nod, pressing the bracelet to my chest, as though it might tether me to her faith in me. Tears sting my eyes, my voice trembling as I go to speak. “I promise to lock this away when I need to give away one memory.”

I lean in, letting myself rest in her presence one last time. “I promise to take care of this much in the same way you’ve always taken care of me.”

I pull back, and the smile across her face doesn’t quite touch her eyes. She raises a hand to my cheek, her thumb brushing away a tear with a tenderness that makes my heart ache.

She nods, voice a breath on the wind. “Until I see you again.”

3

The Burden of Departure

Triona

Deidre and I step out of The House on Howe Street, and I steel myself against the tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. For nine months, this house has been a haven—a place of whispered conversations, creaking floors, and memories that seep into every corner. Its warmth became a part of me, grounding me in a life that now feels so fleeting. Leaving it behind is like losing a fragment of who I am.

I glance at Deidre, her composure masking the same weight I feel. She has always been my anchor, her presence steady. Yet, even her cheer can’t chase the shadow of farewell hanging over us.

After the bracelet, Deidre handed me a copy of Frankenstein, passionately declaring it a masterpiece destined to shape the literary world. She feigned exasperation when I showed more interest in the bracelet than the book, throwing up her hands in mock outrage. We laughed together, the sound still fresh in my mind. She cited it as something Casey would quite enjoy reading, too. His fascination with tales of creation and destruction perfectly suited to its themes.

I spot my brothers waiting on the cobbled path, and the weight of the farewell is quickly replaced by lingering embarrassment from earlier. Straightening my shoulders, I force a confidence I don’t feel. Casey bites back laughter, his gaze darting everywhere but toward me. Callan stands tall and rigid, arms crossed. Judgment sharpens his expression, but a faint edge of humour lingers beneath it. He shakes his head slowly as I approach.

“Glad to see ye huv’nae forgotten how to dress yerself properly,” Callan drawls, his voice dry and laden with that unmistakable, biting wit. “The shamelessness ye’ve picked up here is a real bother.” He speaks as though my time here has turned me into some wildling in need of taming.

I roll my eyes. “Let it rest. We need not speak of this incident further.”

Casey, as always, takes the opportunity to twist the knife. “Time away turned you into a harlot, Triona. We cannae have you embarrassin’ our dear brother.” He casts a sidelong glance at Callan. “Although ye’ll have to help me with this one, Cal. Which is worse? The town thinkin’ Triona’s a harlot, or you actually bein’ one?”

Callan’s expression falters, and he casts his eyes my way before his mouth presses into a thin line. He clears his throat to right himself. “I dinnae ken what ye’re talkin’ about,” he mutters, his voice a touch too defensive.

Casey’s laugh bursts free as he crosses his arms. “You speak of shamelessness, brother, but we all ken ye’ve got more hidden liaisons than ye’d care to admit. I’m simply helpin’ to jog yer memory. Have you just forgotten about that time on the way—?”

“Keep yer geggie shut, Casey,” Callan growls, his face flushing red as his glare sharpens. The tension between them crackles, but I arch a brow, glancing between them.

“You don’t say? Seems every saint’s got his sins,” I remark, my tone dry as I watch the scene unfold.

Callan mutters something under his breath, refusing to meet my eyes, before lunging at Casey with an elbow. Casey dodges, letting out a triumphant “Ha!” before Callan recovers quickly and lands a slap to the back of Casey’s head with a loud thwack. Casey retaliates in kind, wrapping an arm around Callan’s neck, attempting to drag him off balance.

These two are unbelievable.

“Enough, boys!” Deidre’s voice cuts through the scuffle, sharp and commanding.

I smirk, tilting my head. “Who’s lost all sensibilities now? Reprimanded like bairns.”

They pull apart reluctantly, each muttering under their breath, but before they can start again, Deidre steps forward, placing herself firmly between us. “Triona, you’ve caused enough trouble for one day. Stop while you’re ahead. Unless you require a reminder of—”

“No!” My voice rises too sharply, heat rushing to my cheeks. “That won’t be necessary,” I add hastily, forcing a calm I don’t feel. Payback brews in my mind. Her time will come.

With an easy change of manner, Casey approaches Deidre and leans in to kiss her cheek. “It’s been wonderful to see ye, as always. We’ll miss yer company—and how well ye’ve kept Triona in line.”

As expected, his charm is undimmed by the chaos he leaves in his wake. Deidre grabs him by both shoulders, and smiles at him with great affection. She’s always had a soft spot for Casey, as do many who find themselves in his company. He’s someone hard not to love, with his sarcastic wit and warm features. His infectious zest for life just compels everyone around him.

Callan follows, enveloping Deidre in a hug, his tall frame dwarfing hers. She grabs both of their hands before they leave. “Take care of her, boys. She needs you more than she’ll admit.”