The flight to Scotland was nothing like the flight to Iceland.
Arthur had adjusted everything.
The wind broke around us instead of against me. The pace remained smooth, never sharp, never jarring. He had shifted his flight path to avoid colder currents, and at some point, I realized I was genuinely warm and not just tolerating the cold.
Scotland unfolded like a secret meant to be kept. Green layered over green, hills rolling into one another. Dark water cut through the land in long, shining ribbons. Stone ruins clung to cliffs like they had grown there rather than been built. Mist hung low, softening everything, turning distance into something intimate.
It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
I leaned forward slightly, bracing myself against Arthur’s back, not because I needed to but because it grounded me.The air was clean, almost medicinal, undoing damage I hadn’t realized I was carrying.
I told myself, firmly, to pay attention.
This was the point. The research. The reason I was here. Not the dragon. Not the man. The mission.
I needed to stay clear-headed. I had spent too much of my life being the person who adjusted, who accommodated, who became easy to manage so others did not have to worry. I was not going to do that here. I was here to contribute.
And yet.
My mind drifted anyway.
I’d woken up in Arthur’s arms. With him next to me, my body had gone quiet without effort. His presence had felt inevitable rather than intrusive. When I’d brushed my finger over the mark on his wrist, his entire body had reacted like that contact mattered.
We’d come so close to kissing.
That was the dangerous thought.
He had said, plainly, that he did not have time for romance. I believed him. I respected it. And yet my body seemed to be operating on a different set of data entirely.
Even Caliban had thought we were about to kiss.
That was what bothered me most.
Caliban didn’t seem the sort to misread situations, which meant either something had been there, or I was projecting so aggressively I had summoned a supernaturalbeing about it.
Neither option was ideal.
I focused on the view again.
A dark, glassy loch appeared below us, framed by ancient hills. This land had watched people come and go, and it held stories layered upon stories.
I took a slow breath and let the air fill my lungs.
This was real.
This was happening.
Whatever I felt for Arthur, whatever confusion or yearning or inconvenient attachment was trying to form… it didn’t get to overshadow this. This was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I had written more in two days than I had in years. I had pages of notes and observations that I would not have made if I had stayed home. A story was forming in my mind that I knew I would share with the world and I could not wait. And I had Arthur to thank for that.
I was alive in a way that felt like a gift.
This adventure was enough.
I anchored my attention to the land rising beneath us and committed to the thing I had come here to do.
Whatever else might be unfolding could wait.
For now, it was enough to fly.
