“You love me.”
“That’s the problem.” My voice cracked again, and this time the tears spilled over. “That’s the whole bloody problem, Graham. I love you, and it’s going to get you killed, and I can’t?—”
He kissed me. And, goddess help me, I kissed him back because I didn’t know what else to do. Because hewas here, alive, breathing, and I needed to know he was real.
When we broke apart, his forehead rested against mine.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said softly.
“You keep saying that. And yet.” The image of Ramsay carrying Graham from the loch was burned behind my eyeballs.
A throat cleared loudly from somewhere behind us.
“Not to interrupt the moment,” Lachlan said, “but Sophie’s about to go full war general and I thought you might want to be present for that.”
I pulled back from Graham, wiping my eyes. “War general?”
“You’ll see.”
Sophie stood in the center of the great hall, hands on her hips, surveying the chaos around her with the expression of a woman who was about to impose order whether anyone liked it or not. The rest of the Order had arrived while I’d been focused on Graham. Shona and Owen from her garden center, Orla and Finlay from the building site, and Kaia and Thane from the forge. Munroe hovered near the kitchen, helping Lia with food, while Luch paced the great hall, his movements almost predatory and his face set in steely lines.
Clyde, seeming to understand these were serious times, had appeared almost gently and without his usual fanfare. Currently he was attempting to play with Sir Buster, which was going poorly. The tiny chihuahua had stationed himself on a cushion in the corner and was growling with the intensity of a dog ten times his size. Clyde, undeterred, kept trying to nuzzle him, which only made Sir Buster angrier.
“Clyde,” Sophie said without looking. “Leave Sir Buster alone.”
Clyde let out a mournful bellow, which shook the entire hall. Sir Buster increased his growling, his body shaking with unadulterated rage.
“I don’t care if you’re being friendly. He doesn’t like it. Find someone else to bother.”
The ghost coo huffed and trotted over to investigate Gnorman and Gnora, who were now perched on either side of Shona like tiny, tattooed sentinels. Gnorman brandished what appeared to be a miniature battle-ax at the approaching coo. Clyde bellowed again and retreated.
“Gnorman.” Gnora leaned over and admonished him. “You leave that poor beastie alone.”
“He’s bothering Shona,” Gnorman protested.
“He’s just a big fluffball.”
“He’s annoying,” Gnorman said, his face stern.
“Is he? I think he’s kind of cute.” Gnora fluffed her hair, and catching the look on Gnorman’s face, she giggled.
“Cute? You think he’s cute?” Gnorman hissed and Gnora giggled, before racing off into the other room after Clyde.
“Bloody hell. That woman will be the death of me!” Gnorman growled and took off after Gnora, her giggles floating through the castle.
“Is it always like this?” Graham asked, watching the chaos unfold, his eyes wide.
“Usually worse,” Lachlan said. “This is actually quite tame. Nobody’s set anything on fire yet.”
“Yet being the operative word,” Sophie muttered. She raised her voice. “Right. Everyone. Listen up.”
The room gradually quieted. Even Sir Buster stopped growling, though he surveyed the room with his eyes half-slit, suspicious of everyone.
“Here’s where we stand,” Archie said, standing in front of the group. “The curse is escalating. It’s no longer waiting for Graham to wander near the water—it’s actively hunting him. We don’t think this is by chance.”
“So what are you saying?” Kaia asked. “Is this like, written in the stars?”
“I mean, kind of.” Liora leaned forward, her eyes huge in her face. “It’s all woven into the threads that connect everyone in Loren Brae, past, present, and future.”
