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"Amelia is a colleague and a friend," he asserted, feeling the need to reinforce boundaries that had become blurred by circumstance. "My room is my own."
"Of course," she said, but the skepticism in her tone was palpable, like the hum of electricity before a storm.
"Nothing's changed, Demi." Finn straightened, the receiver cool and impersonal against his warming skin. "Not in that regard. I still don't know where we stand, if we stand at all."
"Right," she sighed, and he could picture her running a hand through her hair, a gesture of frustration he knew all too well. There was a vulnerability in Demi's voice that struck a chord in him, one that resonated with memories of what they once shared.
There was a silence between them, and Finn was struggling to know what to say.
"So... Greenbridge?" Demi's voice filtered through the phone, tinged with curiosity. "What's it like there?"
Finn glanced out of the large window in his room, taking in the quiet hum of the small town at night. "It's quaint," he replied, watching an elderly couple amble past a row of shops. "Small, not that different from a hundred others."
"Doesn't sound like there's much to see," came her almost indifferent observation.
His gaze shifted to the castle in the distance, a silhouette against the dusking sky. "No, not much for sightseeing." Lightning struck through his mind. The words tugged at the hem of his thoughts, unraveling a theory as swift and as sure as any storm.The man with the camera at Richmond Castle– could he have been from out of town?His mind began to thrum with the implications.
"Are you still there, Finn?"
"Sorry," he said, "just thinking about the case." He could almost feel the neural pathways firing, connecting dots that had previously seemed disparate.
"Anything I should know about?" There was a note of concern in her voice now.
"Maybe," he murmured, and as he did, the image of the photographer crystallized into something ominous. Finn's pulse quickened—not from fear but from the prospect of a breakthrough. Not locals, but a tourist?
"Listen, Demi, I've got to run," he cut in, already turning towards the staircase.
“I understand,” she said, sounding as though she didn't quite accept his need to leave the conversation. “Please look after yourself.”Thatshe did clearly mean.
"Always do," he replied, though the promise tasted like ash in his mouth. "I've got to go, Demi. We'll talk later. But call if you need anything."
"Okay... Bye, Finn."
"Goodbye, Demi."
He ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket, feeling its weight like a stone. But something had clicked in his mind, and he had to tell Amelia about it right away.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Finn approached the nondescript hotel door, its peeling paint a silent witness to countless transient lives that passed through. He rapped his knuckles against the wood, a staccato beat that cut through the hush of the corridor. A voice from within, muffled by the barrier, called out with an edge of caution.
"Who is it?"
"Amelia, it's Finn," he replied, leaning slightly closer to the door as if proximity would offer more reassurance than his words.
The sound of locks disengaging preceded the door swinging open. Amelia stood in the threshold, swathed in an over sized white bathroom robe that enveloped her frame, her damp hair framing her face like tendrils of nightshade. The plush fabric swallowed her whole, and for a moment, Finn’s grim thoughts were punctured by the absurdity of the image before him.
"Blimey, you look like a displaced polar bear," he quipped, a lopsided grin momentarily easing the lines of concern etched into his face.
Amelia rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a small smirk, a fleeting respite from the gravity that clung to them both like the early morning fog outside. "Fashion advice from a man who wears the same two sets of clothes on rotation? I'll take my chances, thanks."
She stepped aside, allowing him entry, the warmth from the room spilling onto the corridor's cold tiles. As Finn crossed the threshold, the space between them seemed to shrink, charged with an unspoken energy. It was a dance they had become accustomed to—this delicate interplay of camaraderie shadowed by the weight of unsolved mysteries and veiled intentions.
He brushed past her, noting how the aroma of jasmine mingled with the sterile scent of the hotel soap—a peculiar combination that somehow suited Amelia. It was these small details he found himself cataloging, pieces of her that he might later assemble into something resembling understanding.
Finn glanced back at her, taking in the weary resolve that set her jaw firm and narrowed her gaze. They were two sides of the same coin, worn yet unyielding, each turn of fate pushing them closer, not just in proximity, but in purpose.
Finn observed Amelia, the way she held herself tightly within the plush robe as if it were armor against the world outside. He cleared his throat softly, a prelude to the question he almost dreaded to ask. "Are you... okay?"
