Elena woke to the sound of bells.

Not the sharp, insistent ring of an alarm, but something deeper. Slower. A single bronze note that rolled across the water and through the hull of the Briar Rose like a struck tuning fork. She lay still for a moment, her cheek pressed to the pillow that still smelled faintly of Liam—cedar and something darker, something that made her stomach tighten—and listened.

Ding. Ding.

The rhythm was patient. Almost sleepy. But each toll came a little louder than the last. Closing distance.

She pushed herself up on one elbow. The cabin was empty, the sheets beside her already cool. The faint grey light of early morning filtered through the porthole, and she could feel the shift of the deck beneath her, the subtle adjustment of the hull as it caught a different current. They were in the bay now. She could taste it in the air, the mineral salt of open water giving way to something greener, more sheltered.

The bell rang again, closer.

Elena swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, moving more carefully than she normally would. A pleasant soreness lingered through her body, most noticeable between her thighs and across her lower back, every ache a quiet reminder of how she'd spent the evening. She paused beside the bed, letting herself adjust to the tenderness, then pressed a palm against her stomach and drew a slow breath. Even now, she could almost feel the warmth of Liam's hands at her hips.

Then she crossed to her bag and pulled out a pair of jeans and a soft grey sweater. She dressed quickly, not bothering with a bra, then crossed to the small mirror near the cabin door and tried to tame her hair with her fingers. She didn't want to see the evidence of last night written on her face—the flush, the softened eyes, the mouth that still felt shaped by his.

The bell rang again, and she climbed the companionway stairs.

The air hit her first, cool enough to raise gooseflesh along her arms. It smelled different. Smelling of pine and damp earth, with the faint sweetness of flowers carried down from the hills. Elena drew a slow breath and felt the last heaviness of sleep leave her lungs.

The bay of Las Lona opened around them, wide and still beneath the low morning sky, its deep green surface broken only by the gentle wake of the Briar Rose. Hills climbed on either side, thick with trees, with the occasional roof or stone house appearing between the branches. Some were large enough that Elena knew they had to be expensive, but from the water they barely looked lived in.

Liam stood at the helm, one hand on the wheel, the other reaching up to pull a line. He was back in his white shirt that stopped at his elbows, the sleeves clinging to his forearms. His jaw was shadowed with stubble, his black hair still damp from a wash, and he looked—she had to stop and look at him, had to let herself have this moment of just watching—he looked like he belonged here. On the water. At the edge of the world he'd built.

He glanced over his shoulder as she came up, and something in his face softened. Just a fraction. Just for a second.

"Good morning."

"Morning." Her voice came out rougher than she expected, and she cleared her throat. "Are we back?"

"Yes, we’re almost at the Manor." He turned back to the water, guiding the boat around a channel marker.

She moved to the bow, leaning against the railing as the wind caught her hair. The hills rolled past—green and gold in the morning light, dotted with the occasional flash of a window or a roofline. It was beautiful in a way that felt almost staged, like a postcard someone had left out too long, the colors slightly too saturated to be real.

Behind her, she heard Liam move across the deck. Lines ran through his hands as he worked the sails down, the canvas snapping once in the morning breeze before folding against the mast. Elena glanced back.

He looked unfairly good in the morning light, his hair still slightly disheveled, as he hauled the last line tight. She watched the movement of his shoulders for a second longer, the memory of those same hands on her body flashing through her mind.

The engine turned over behind him. Liam secured the lines, stepped back toward the helm, and throttled them forward. The Briar Rose settled into a low, steady hum as they continued toward Las Lona.

The wind pulled strands of hair across her face, and she tucked them behind her ears, watching the water slide past the hull. The bell had stopped ringing now that they were inside the bay, and the silence felt strange after so long with the sound. She found herself listening for it anyway.

The trees thinned as they rounded a curve, and then she saw it.

Thorn Manor rose from the hillside like something that had grown there, all grey stone and dark timber, its windows catching the morning light in a way that made them look like they were watching. Elena's stomach tightened.

For so long, she'd thought of that house as a prison. Walls she hadn't chosen, a place she'd been forced into because of a debt that wasn't even hers. At some point she'd counted the days there once and counted the doors, the windows, looking for ways out.

Now she was sailing back toward it beside the man who had put her there.

And somehow, that wasn't the only thing she felt.

There was something else in her chest when she looked at him. Something warm. Something she still wasn't entirely comfortable admitting, even to herself, even though she let the words slip out last night.

She loved him.

The realization felt strange against the memory of those first days in that house. How could the same man who had made Thorn Manor feel like a prison also be the man she now couldn't imagine leaving?

It was larger than she remembered. Or maybe she just hadn't been paying attention the first time, too caught up in the storm and the strangeness of arriving at a stranger's house to notice the sheer scale of the place. The dock stretched out into the water ahead of them, a long wooden finger pointing into the bay, and at the end of it stood a figure.

Tall. Broad. Very still.

Elena's stomach tightened as she recognized his shape. Victor.

Liam throttled down as they approached, the engine dropping to a low burble as he guided the boat alongside the dock. Victor didn't move as they came in. He stood with his hands at his sides, his shoulders squared, his face set in an expression that made Elena's chest go cold.

Something was wrong.

Liam threw a line, and Victor caught it, pulling them in with practiced ease. He tied them off without a word, then straightened and looked up at Liam with a seriousness that had nothing to do with greeting them home.

"Sir."

Liam's jaw tightened. He killed the engine and stepped off the boat onto the dock, his shoes landing softly on the wood. "What is it?"

Victor glanced at Elena, then back at Liam. A silent question. Are we doing this here?

Liam's eyes flicked to her, and something passed between them—a communication she couldn't read, a decision made in the space of a heartbeat. Then he turned to her.

"Go inside. Put your things away."

It wasn't a request. It wasn't even a command, exactly. It was just the way he spoke, the way he expected to be obeyed, and she found herself nodding before she'd even thought about it.

"Okay."

She grabbed her bag from where she'd left it by the cabin door and went back up to the dock. The wood was cool under her bare feet—she'd forgotten to put on shoes, and she could feel the grain of it, the roughness, the faint give of the planks. Victor stepped aside to let her pass, and she caught his eye for just a moment. There was something in his face that made her want to stop, to ask what was wrong, but Liam was already speaking, his voice low and even, and she knew she wasn't meant to hear it.

She walked up the dock, her bare feet padding soft against the wood, and did not look back.

The path from the dock wound up through the garden, past hedges and flower beds that were just beginning to wake from the night. The grass was wet with dew, and she could feel it soaking through the hem of her jeans as she walked. The manor loomed ahead of her, larger with every step, and by the time she reached the back door, she was breathing harder than the walk warranted.

She pushed the door open and stepped into the warmth of the kitchen.

Marta looked up from the counter where she was slicing fruit, and her face broke into a smile so bright it made Elena's chest ache.

"Elena! You're back!"

Marta crossed the kitchen in three quick steps and pulled her into a hug. She smelled like cinnamon and something sweet, and Elena found herself hugging back harder than she meant to, her face pressed into the older woman's shoulder.

"How was the trip?" Marta pulled back, holding her at arm's length, her eyes scanning Elena's face. "You look—you look different."

Elena felt heat rise to her cheeks. "It was good. Better than I expected, actually."

“Let me guess,” Marta said. “Liam’s still giving orders like the world will fall apart if someone ignores him?”

Elena laughed, the sound surprising her. “We saw a reef.” The memory came back so vividly that her smile lingered. “It was…” She paused, searching for words that seemed suddenly too small. “It was beautiful, Marta. The coral was everywhere, and the fish were just…” She shook her head, still seeing flashes of color moving through the clear blue water. “I've never seen anything like it.”

She didn't mention the almost drowning. Didn't mention the hose snagging on the coral, the water filling her lungs, the cold darkness closing in. Didn't mention waking up in his shirt, his hand in hers, the way he'd looked at her like she was something he couldn't bear to lose.

She kept the rest to herself. There was no reason to make Marta worry about a few minutes of trouble in the water. The snagged hose, the panic, the moment she'd thought she wasn't going to make it back to the surface—all of ithat she wanted to stay on the island.

"A reef," Marta repeated, her smile softening. "That sounds lovely, dear. I'm glad you got to see something so special." She squeezed Elena's hands, then released her and turned back to the counter. "Now—what would you like for dinner? If the master doesn't command otherwise, of course."

Elena considered. "Pasta?"

"Pasta." Marta nodded, already reaching for a pot. "I'll make it happen. You go get settled. You look like you could use a shower and a proper bed."

Elena thanked her and slipped out of the kitchen, her bare feet silent on the stone floor as she made her way through the manor. The halls were quiet, the morning light slanting through the tall windows in long golden bars. She climbed the stairs to the second floor and walked down the corridor to her room, the door already open as if someone had expected her.

Her room was exactly as she'd left it. The bed made, the curtains drawn back, the bay glittering beyond the glass. She set her bag on the chair and crossed to the window, pressing her palm flat against the cool glass as she looked out at the water.

From here, she could see only the open stretch of the bay beyond the manor's lower deck. The dock and the small strip of beach below were hidden from view, blocked by the roofline and the trees along the slope.

She knew Liam and Victor were down there somewhere. She'd seen them step onto the dock before she'd come inside, their conversation already serious. Now there was nothing to see but the water moving beneath the morning light.

Elena stayed at the window for another moment, wondering what had changed the instant they'd returned. Something had happened while they were gone. She just didn't know what yet.

She turned away from the window and pulled out her phone, checking the messages she'd missed. There were several from Lisa, the most recent one with a string of emojis that seemed to be asking a question she couldn't quite parse.

Are you back yet?? I want to visit. I miss you. Can I come to the keep?

Elena smiled, the first real smile she'd felt since stepping off the boat. She typed back a quick response—Just got in. I’ll ask Liam—and hit send. Then she set the phone down and looked around the room, at the carefully made bed, the neat stack of books on the nightstand, the space that was hers and yet didn't quite feel like home.

She thought about the card in her bag. Sebastian Hart's card, with its embossed letters and the promise of something she hadn't decided she wanted. She thought about Alexander's warning, the words he'd spoken so casually, so sure of himself. She thought about the notebook pages on her phone, the coded names and shipping routes she still hadn't fully deciphered.

And she thought about Liam. The way he'd held her last night. The way he'd pulled her closer instead of saying the words she'd offered him. The way he'd looked at her this morning, like she was something he was still trying to figure out how to keep.

She sat down on the edge of the bed and pressed her hands between her knees, staring at the floor.

Ding. Ding.

The phone buzzed against the nightstand, pulling her out of the spiral. Lisa's reply came through in a rapid-fire burst of messages.

OMG you're actually back!! You still need to check with him first?

Elena rolled her eyes, already smiling.

It’s his house, Lisa.

Fine. Ask him. But I'm coming if he says yes.

Elena shook her head, the smile still lingering as she slipped her phone back into her pocket.

Elena set the phone down and stood. The room felt too small all of a sudden, the walls pressing in with all the things she wasn't saying. She crossed to the window again, her palm flat against the glass, and looked down at the dock. Liam and Victor were still there, their heads bent together, their bodies angled toward each other in a way that shut out the rest of the world. She watched Liam's hand move—a sharp, cutting gesture she couldn't interpret—and Victor's slow, grim nod in response.

Something had happened while they were gone. Something that had nothing to do with her, and everything to do with the weight she'd seen settle onto Liam's shoulders the moment the boat had touched the dock. She could feel it from here, the tension radiating off the two men like heat off the engine.

She turned away from the window and caught sight of her bag on the chair. The corner of the leather journal peeked out from between folded clothes—Amara Thorn's journal, the one she'd taken from the cottage without asking. She crossed the room and pulled it out, the worn leather warm in her hands, and sat down on the edge of the bed with it open in her lap.

She'd only read a few pages so far. The early entries were the hardest—the ones where Amara wrote about her son as a boy, before the world had gotten its hands on him. Before the hardening. Before the grief that had shaped him into the man who stood on the dock right now, his shoulders squared against whatever bad news Victor had brought.

Elena ran her thumb along the edge of the page, feeling the texture of the paper, the faint warp of old ink. She didn't open it. She just held it, the weight of it solid in her hands, and thought about the woman who had written these words. The woman who had believed, against all evidence, that her son was still good.

A knock at the door made her jump. She shoved the journal back into her bag, her heart hammering, and called out, "Come in."

The door opened. It wasn't Marta.

Liam stood in the doorway, his shirt still rolled to his elbows, his jaw still tight. He looked at her for a long moment, his blue eyes unreadable, and then he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

"You're still in your travel clothes," he said.

Elena looked down at herself. Grey sweater. Jeans. Bare feet. "I just got up here. I haven't had a chance to—"

"It's fine." He crossed the room and stopped in front of her, close enough that she could smell the salt and cedar on him. "I wanted to check on you before I got pulled into the office."

"Is everything okay?" The words came out before she could stop them, and she saw something flicker across his face. A micro-expression, there and gone.

"It will be." He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers brushing the shell of her ear, the curve of her jaw. The touch was light, almost reverent, and it made her breath catch. "I have to handle something. It might take a few hours."

"The Acquisition?"

His hand stilled. "Something like that."

She wanted to ask more. Wanted to press him, to push past the careful wall he'd erected the moment they'd stepped onto the dock. But she could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw was set, and she knew—with a certainty that settled into her bones—that he wouldn't tell her. Not now. Maybe not ever.

"Okay," she said instead.

He studied her for a moment, his eyes moving over her face like he was memorizing it. Then he leaned down and kissed her, slow and deep, his hand sliding to the back of her neck. She melted into it, her hands fisting in his shirt, and for a moment the weight of everything—the debt, the contract, the secrets—fell away. There was only his mouth on hers, his body solid against her, the warmth of him chasing out the cold that had settled in her chest.

He pulled back too soon, his forehead resting against hers.

"I'll find you later," he said. "We're not done talking about the trip."

Then he was gone, the door closing soft behind him, and Elena was left standing in the middle of the room, her lips still tingling, her heart still pounding.

She pressed her fingers to her mouth and stared at the closed door.

He hadn't said he loved her. He still hadn't said it. But he'd kissed her like he meant something by it. Like she was something he was trying to hold onto.

The journal burned in her bag, a question she wasn't ready to answer.

She crossed to the window again and looked out. The dock was empty now. Victor was gone, and Liam was walking up the path toward the manor, his head down, his hands in his pockets. She watched him until he disappeared into the shadow of the house, and then she turned away.

Downstairs, she could hear the faint clatter of pots from the kitchen. Marta, making good on her promise. The smell of garlic and tomatoes was already beginning to drift up through the floorboards, warm and inviting, and Elena realized she was hungry. Hungry in a way she hadn't been in days, the hollow ache in her stomach finally making itself known.

She grabbed her phone and headed for the door, pausing at the threshold to look back at her bag. The journal was hidden under her clothes, safe. The card was in the inner pocket, untouched. The notebook pages were on her phone, encrypted and waiting.

She had three honest answers coming to her, and she still hadn't asked a single question.

She closed the door behind her and went downstairs to find out what Marta was making.