Always was a long time.
I nodded, because pushing more would sound accusatory, and I didn’t have evidence. Just pattern recognition. Just the quiet hum that sometimes warned me when a piece of the puzzle didn’t quite sit flush.
“Okay,” I said.
He studied me for a moment. “You’re not convinced.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
I shrugged. “I’m very good at seeing connections that don’t matter and also very bad at ignoring the ones that do.”
His mouth curved. “I’ve learned to trust your instincts. Even when I don't yet understand them.”
That earned him a smile and I let go of my concern because Arthur had earned my trust in ways that mattered more than my unease.
21
ARTHUR
“I know our mission is urgent,” Artemis said as we pulled on our coats, “but I’d love to explore just a bit before we go.”
I paused with my hand on the door.
She was watching me carefully, already braced for refusal, as if asking for joy was a risk she’d learned to calculate. The cottage still smelled faintly of coffee and wood smoke. Outside, Edinburgh waited, gray stone warmed by the afternoon sun, the air sharp and alive.
Explore.
I had dreamed of this city long before I ever saw it. As a teen, tucked into the edges of clan territory, I had read about traveling the world in contraband books. Ancient streets. Layered history. A place where past and present pressed so close they shared walls. I had imagined walking here one day, anonymous and unburdened, experiencing the city the way humans did—casually and without any purpose beyond being present.
I had mentioned that yesterday, and she’d remembered.
When I was seventeen, I’d traced maps of Edinburgh from a banned travel guide and folded them into the margins of a clan ledger so my father would not see. I’d memorized street names the way other boys memorized battle formations and told myself that one day I would walk those roads as a scholar. Or a tourist. Or simply a man with no one watching him.
I had never once imagined I would arrive here as an alpha with a crisis at my back—or with a beautiful woman at my side.
“That would be acceptable,” I said. Restraint was still my default language, even as something warm and unsteady spread through my chest.
Her face lit up, quick and bright. “Great. Okay. Just a little. We’ll walk. There’s a pub not far from here. I saw it on our way in.”
A pub.
I followed her out into the street, the door closing softly behind us. The neighborhood sloped gently downward, stone buildings stacked close together like they were keeping secrets. Laundry fluttered from upper windows. The smell of bread and damp stone and something fried drifted through the air. The streets were narrow and uneven, clearly designed before anyone had thought speed was a virtue.
She walked with her hands in her pockets, taking it all in like she was filing it away for later use.
“This place feels like it’s thinking,” she said. “It’s almost as if the city itself has opinions.”
“I agree,” I said.
She smiled at that.
I watched the way she looked at the buildings—not as scenery, but as text. As something to be read and argued with and loved. I had once imagined walking these streets alone, anonymous. It had not occurred to me that the better version of the dream involved someone beside me, translating the world into something brighter than I would have seen on my own
The pub announced itself before we reached it. The low hum of voices seeped into the street, layered with laughter and the clink of glass. A chalkboard sign leaned against the wall, advertising lunch specials in handwriting that suggested confidence rather than legibility.
Artemis pushed the door open and stepped inside without hesitation. I don’t want this to be a blur,” she said quietly. “If everything falls apart later, I want to remember we were here. On purpose.”
