Page 86
His stare remains fixed on the morning beyond the window.
“That loosened stitch becomes easier to find.”
Then he blinks, as if returning from somewhere far away, and settles back in his chair. His spine straightens, and somehow he looks larger for it.
“I’ve crossed many times before,” he murmurs, a faint furrow appearing between his brows. “Without consequence.”
“So what changed?” Robert asks quietly. “If your crossings have been uneventful until now, then what made last night different?”
“I intend to go back to the site. I need the area in conditions as close to last night as I can get. I won’t leave you without answers,” he adds, voice steady. “Not until I understand what stirred it.”
Ellen watches him closely. “Are you sayin’ their injuries were yer doin’?”
“I am simply saying I might have been a factor in its arrival, but not entirely the cause,” he says, carefully.
“Is our family safe?” I ask, gesturing to the table to ensure I make it clear I mean everyone of these people I care deeply for. “Because it doesn’t feel like it.”
“That,” he says gently, “is a fair thing to ask. And believe me when I say I want the same answers as you.”
I search his face for any sign of falsehood and find none.
He leans in, resting his forearms on the table. The gesture is disarming in its simplicity, and so human it feels wrong.
“Make no mistake, Mr Sinclair,” he says at last. “I would not break bread in this house if I believed it stood in danger. You do not know me as I know your mother and father, but I have cared for this family longer than you realise.”
The rest of the table might have missed it, but I saw the brief cut of his eyes to Robert—quick as a reflex, gone almost as soon as it was there.
“And while I cannot give you answers in words at present—because some truths are worse for being spoken too early—I can show you one. In fact, I think it may help to confirm a suspicion of mine.”
Ma exhales slowly, and the sound carries something close to resignation. “Mannie,” she murmurs.
He inclines his head toward her, fond and unapologetic.
“A small mercy only,” he says. “Enough for them to know they are neither mad nor forsaken in this.”
Ma’s emotions are at war within her.
“Do you agree?” He asks, eyebrow quirked.
Ma inhales, holds it, then lets it go like it hurts.
“Aye,” she says finally—quiet, unwilling. “You’re right. They deserve that much.” Her eyes sharpen. “But only that, Mannie. Only what’s necessary.”
He nods, then his attention returns to us. The blue in his eyes starts to pale at the edges, as if something inside him is rising toward the surface.
The fire in the hearth gutters with a wet hiss, flames drawing in on themselves as if something has stolen the air. Even the kettle’s steady whisper goes quiet.
Shadows stretch along the stone walls, deepening, pooling. The air thickens, cool and damp, carrying the faint, unmistakable scent of salt and… sea breeze?
My skin prickles, and the hairs at my nape rise.
Mannie lifts one hand, and the air around him gathers. A slow spiral of pressure builds, tugging at loose strands of hair, pushing the fall of it back from his face. His eyes go lighter still, until the blue is nearly gone, washed to a hard, noticeable white.
And then—
Reality lurches.
Not like a dream. Like a veil being tugged aside.
