“I thought we’d always been rivals.”
He pulls out his phone, shows me an old map.
“Highlands, 1850. One name across the valley—McKenzie-McGregor.”
I stare at it.
Stunned.
“Where did you find this?”
“Archives. Keira’s not the only one who digs into history.”
“Why show me?”
He shrugs. “Maybe I’m tired of the rivalry. Maybe I want to understand why my sheep keeps crossing that fence.”
Before I can respond?—
A crash echoes from the fermentation area.
We both turn.
“That’s Hamish,” Callum says instantly. “I’d recognize that brand of chaos anywhere.”
We run.
Inside, the scene is… catastrophic.
Hamish stands in the middle of the room, happily chewing malt, surrounded by destruction.
“How did he even get in here?” I mutter.
“Hamish!” Callum snaps. “You walking disaster!”
The sheep looks at us—completely unapologetic—and goes back to eating.
“I’m going to kill him.”
“Not in my distillery. Blood’s terrible for fermentation.”
Callum blinks—then laughs.
“You’ve got humor, McKenzie. Who knew?”
“Hidden talent. Like your sheep’s infiltration skills.”
We search the room and find it—a low ventilation grate, open, leading into a narrow tunnel.
“What is that?” Callum asks, crouching.
“No idea. This building dates back to the 19th century. It’s not on any modern plans.”
Hamish trots over proudly.
“You found a secret passage?” Callum mutters. “You absolute idiot.”
I shine a flashlight inside.
