The news broke the following morning.
A failed robbery attempt. Brazen, almost reckless. Someone had tried to steal one of the ancient artifacts donated by Garrick's family the night before, causing enough of a scene to make national headlines. Beyond assurances that everything had been secured, the details were scarce. No names, no suspects. Just speculation looping endlessly, as if the truth were something just out of reach.
It was practically a waiting game for us, now.
I turned away from the television, letting the murmur of the broadcast fade into the background. In the kitchen, Uncle Alan stood by the stove, guiding Marcus through the delicate art of something as simple as frying eggs. The pan hissed softly, as Marcus watched it with the same focus he might have given a battle strategy.
At the dining table, Victoria typed steadily on her laptop, her posture immaculate as ever. Crisp white button-down, brown slacks, her blonde hair braided neatly over one shoulder. Composed. Untouched by the quiet strangeness settling over the small cottage.
I reached for the remote and switched the channel, trading urgency for something duller, safer. Antique Roadshow. Perfect.
"Victoria? Elena?" Uncle Alan called over the gentle sizzle. "Since we've got no plans today, why don't we get some fresh air? There's a castle not too far from here. Have either of you been?"
Victoria and I exchanged a glance before shaking our heads.
"Excellent," he said, a note of easy enthusiasm in his voice. "Then it's settled. We'll leave after breakfast."
Marcus finished at the stove with a care that felt almost ceremonial. He slid the eggs onto the plates, one by one, steady and precise. There was something oddly disarming about it. This man, who spoke of war and vengeance now setting our breakfasts down with quiet attention.
When I approached the table, his gaze met mine, lingering. As if he was searching for an answer from the night before.
I looked away.
Breakfast passed in a fragile soft of normalcy. Uncle Alan filled the silence easily, talking about the castle, the weather, anything that didn't require answers we weren't ready to give. Either he sensed the tension between Marcus and I, and chose to ignore it, or he was truly oblivious.
Victoria chimed in here and there, her tone light, curious. Marcus listened more than he spoke, though now and then he would ask something brief, as if each word had to earn its place. While I, barely tasted the food, my mind still reeling from what had happened the night before.
I want you to come with me.
Is that even possible? Am I truly entertaining the wild thought?
Either way, it pressed against my ribs, insistent. Ridiculous. Impossible. And yet, it refused to loosen its hold.
When we were finally done and stepped outside, the morning air felt sharper than it should have, brushing against my skin as if to rouse me from something I hadn't dared to name.
Uncle Alan unlocked the car, calling out something about traffic as he moved toward the driver's side.
I walked over to the passenger's seat without hesitation.
I climbed in without a second thought, putting some distance between Marcus and I. I certainly wasn't used to this. To feel something for someone in such intensity, that I couldn't breathe if I weren't near him.
To feel like the skies have opened up, that heaven had rained down upon me the moment he held me. As if, for a fleeting second, I had found something I wasn't meant to keep.
"Are you alright, Elena?" Uncle Alan asked, starting the engine.
"I'm fine," I said, forcing a small smile.
"Are you sure?" he pressed gently once more. "You never miss breakfast, and you barely touched your food."
I shrugged as the car rolled away from the cottage, the radio humming softly in the background. My hands folded tightly in my lap. God, I hated lying. Especially to him.
"It's probably the drugs," I muttered. "I don't think they're fully out of my system yet. He...pushed the dosage pretty far."
Behind me, I could feel tension from Marcus rise. A quiet, tightening tension that didn't need to be seen to be understood. Even with Victoria leaning closer to him, speaking to him in latin as if Uncle hadn't understood it, wouldn't pry his attention away from me.
I swallowed, forcing myself to look anywhere but at him.
"How is Pippa?" I asked, my voice steadier than I felt.
"Well, it's Saturday, so she'll be meeting us at the castle," Uncle Alan replied, his tone brightening at the mention of his daughter. "I used to bring her here all the time when she was little. Right after the divorce."
"That's nice," I said softly, thinking about my parents back home. "That you did that for her."
Uncle Alan gave a small nod, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. "It wasn't easy on her," he admitted. "Divorce rarely is. She was young, she didn't understand why things had to change so suddenly."
He paused, fingers tightening slightly around the steering wheel before relaxing again.
"But it was necessary," he continued. "Her mother...she wasn't happy. And sometimes, staying would've done more damage than leaving ever could." A faint breath left him, almost thoughtful. "Some kinds of love aren't about holding on, Elena. Sometimes, they're about knowing when to let go."
A love worth sacrificing.
The words settled heavily in my chest.
I turned my gaze back to the window, watching the blur of the passing trees, but I wasn't really seeing them.
Was that what this was?
Whatever it was between Marcus and I, this undeniable pull, this intensity that made everything else feel distant and insignificant...is this love?
My chest tightened at the thought, something sharp and unyielding pressing against my ribs. Just hours ago, I had been trying to convince myself that this couldn't be real. That he didn't belong here. That I can't...I can't belong with him.
Walking away would've been the simplest choice.
But now...the idea of him leaving, returning to a world that would take him beyond my reach...felt less like relief and more like something being torn out of me before I even had the chance to understand it.
I exhaled, my fingers curling into my palms.
No, this can't be love.
It simply couldn't be.
Because if it was, I wasn't sure I was strong enough to do what it demanded.
The car slowed as the castle came into view, its ancient stone rising against the pale sky like something that was untouched by time.
Uncle Alan pulled into the gravel drive, the tires crunching softly beneath us before the engine gave a low hum and fell silent.
For a moment, no one moved.
Then Uncle Alan's hand tightened around the steering wheel.
Too tight.
Something shifted in the air. Subtle, but wrong.
"Dr.Cheung?" Victoria asked, her voice laced with concern. "What is it—"
He didn't answer.
I followed his line of sight, and the world seemed to tilt.
Just beyond the archway, standing against the weathered stone, was Garrick.
One arm locked around Pippa, holding her firmly against him. In his other hand, a blade, thin and glinting faintly in the muted daylight, pressed just beneath her jaw.
Pippa's face was pale, her body rigid, her eyes wide with a fear that didn't dare spill over.
My breath caught somewhere in my throat.
"Don't," Uncle Alan whispered, the word barely forming as he pushed the door open slowly, as if any movement might shatter what little control remained.
Garrick's gaze lifted, finding ours with unsettling ease.
He pressed the knife harder against her throat, causing blood to flow down her pale skin.
Then he smiled.
Not wide, not wild, but controlled.
Certain.