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Ahead of us lie endless stretches of rugged terrain. Mountains loom ominously in their grandeur, rivers running swift and icy cold, while forests abound with unknown dangers lurking behind every tree’s shadow.

Our hearts grow heavy as we stand on the threshold of this journey—a passage we never sought and for which we feel woefully unprepared.

Dealla’s trembling voice cuts through the tension. “What’s to fall upon my family?” Her hands clutch the folds of her dress, as though she were gathering the very threads of her courage to hold herself together.

Alex’s expression is hardened by the weight of leadership. “I can’t guarantee their safety, my dear. For that, I am sorry, but we won’t have time to go back. No time to warn anyone, no time to change what’s already in motion.” His words land like stones, and it’s Casey and Bran who step forward to steady her.

They share a look, a silent conversation passing between them.

Casey wraps a steady arm around Dealla’s shoulders, and she leans into him, her tension easing, if only slightly.

With her free hand, she reaches for Bran. Their fingers find each other without hesitation, locking in a quiet clasp.

His grip is firm, grounding. His gaze meets hers, and in it is an unspoken promise—strength, steadiness, and something that feels a little like hope.

“I’ll take these three and the whisky ahead,” Alex says, gesturing to Saorise, Eamon, and Dealla. “We need to remain separated so as not to draw attention.”

“The two of ye will have to share a horse,” Callan declares, addressing Casey and Bran. They exchange a look—a silent acknowledgment of the arrangement.

Bran speaks up, “I don’t mind riding with Casey; this one time.” His playful smirk, however, belies the turbulent feelings he hides beneath the facade.

Alex casts a steady glance at his son. “Bran, we meet in eight days’ time at Port Oban.”

Then he turns his gaze toward me. “I assume, given your training alongside Bran, you can tend to a wound?” I nod in acknowledgement.

“Good, that one will need constant care. Keep it clean. Keep it bound.”

Nearby, Casey and Dealla exchange a long embrace. He whispers something I can’t make out, then presses a quick kiss to her hair. Whatever words pass between them seem to bring her comfort, though her face is still sorrowful when they pull apart.

Then, each of them mounts atop a horse and disappears down a hidden back road. The rhythmic thud of hooves fade into the night. Silence follows, pressing down with the weight of all that has been lost—and all that is yet to come.

James and Ellen stand before us, their expressions grave. James’s hand rests on Ellen’s shoulder as she speaks. “Much will unfold on yer journey. Keep an open mind, all of ye. What lies ahead…face it together.”

She doesn’t need to ask for our promise. We already know. A shared look passes between us, unspoken yet absolute. There is no other way forward but together.

There’s a faint glow in the distance, flickering unnaturally, and James’s eyes narrow. Ellen’s voice grows urgent. “Go. Ye need to leave.”

Without another word, they turn and run back toward the house, their figures disappearing into the growing darkness. We linger, hidden in the shadows, unwilling to part. Not yet. Not when every instinct screams that this moment, this place—it’s a fleeting breath before the tide of fate sweeps us forward.

Our breaths are shallow, our hearts pounding, but it’s more than fear keeping us rooted—it’s the gnawing knowledge that this is the last time we will stand here as we are. Once we leave, there is no coming back.

“They’re here,” Casey says.

A low murmur ripples through the approaching group before a commanding voice cuts through the night.

“Search the property,” one barks, his tone slicing through the uneasy hush like a blade drawn from its sheath. “We bring in everyone the filthy bog rat mentioned.”

Another man snorts. “Are you still planning to pay her the twenty shillings agreed upon?”

The first man laughs, a low, cruel sound that cuts through the tension. “Not in the slightest. Far as I’m concerned, she did exactly what’s expected of a dirty Scot. She just didn’t realise she’d sell out this family for nothing.”

The second man laughs sinisterly. “What exactly does Sirr want us to do?”

“He said to have them all out here waiting when he arrives.”

Minutes stretch into eternity as the men ransack the house. The crack of breaking furniture punctuates the night, followed by the distant clang of metal and the sharp sound of something heavy striking the floor. Shadows shift behind the broken glass of the windows. We hear shouts and the faint sounds of a scuffle.

It’s torture watching from this position, unable to help, unable to do anything but listen as our world is torn apart piece by piece.