Chapter 15
Finn
The fire had burned down to a cradle of coals, just enough heat to keep the chill at bay.
Above us, the canopy swayed in the breeze, pine needles whispering.
The quiet had changed from the earlier suffocating stillness of a disturbed camp, to a more natural hush, like the woods had decided to keep their distance.
Ajax lay stretched out beside me, his chin resting on his paws, ears twitching with every shift of the wind. Not tense. But not asleep either. Like he knew we weren’t done yet.
Saoirse sat across from me, cross-legged, her hands curled around a mug of weak tea like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to the present moment.
She hadn’t said much since we found the journal.
I’d stayed close but quiet, giving her space without giving her distance.
She hadn’t pushed me away. That felt like a win.
I powered on the tablet and dug out the first of the SD cards from the waterproof case. Saoirse watched, her gaze sharp now—ready for answers even if they hurt.
“This might take a minute.” I didn’t really expect a response. The tablet chugged as it registered the card, directories loading with all the urgency of molasses.
Still, it worked.
Rows of image files appeared, sorted by timestamp. I selected the first and let the tablet do its thing.
She shifted, taking a closer seat, shoulder almost brushing mine.
I didn’t move away, and tried my best to ignore the fact that she now sat close enough I could feel the heat of her.
I sensed her unease and squashed the urge to wrap an arm around her.
Saoirse wasn’t a woman who’d accept easy comfort.
Together, we waited as the first photo flickered to life on screen: a deer mid-step, partially blurred, eyes glowing in the flash like something mythic.
Saoirse let out a breath. “Well, at least the camera’s working.”
Another image loaded—badgers this time, two of them bumbling through undergrowth. A red squirrel. A fox with a half-missing tail. This was Isla’s world. Data and dirt. Wild things. Patterns. And we were walking through it like ghosts.
I tapped to the next image, and the world started to shift.
The next frame was darker. Not a trick of the lighting. Something about it made my skin pull tight across my shoulders.
It was time-stamped four days before Isla’s last check-in. Same angle. Same camera. But instead of wildlife, it had caught something else.
Movement. A flash of fabric. Dark, too dark for the usual hikers who passed through in their neon jackets and bargain-bin rain gear.
A figure, mostly turned away from the lens, only the blur of a shoulder and arm visible.
But it wasn’t the shape that got my attention.
It was the stance. Something about it felt wrong in a way I couldn’t put my finger on.
The figure reappeared in the next burst—clearer this time, half-turned toward the lens. He wore earth-toned gear: technical fabric, high-end. Nothing flashy, but efficient. The kind of setup someone might use for stalking deer in the hills or photographing rare wildlife in poor light.
Except something about it made the hairs lift on the back of my neck.
Then I saw it. The gleam of metal.
A rifle slung across his chest. Not a hunting shotgun. Not something weather-beaten and decades old. This was newer. Sleek. Low-profile.
Saoirse leaned in, eyes narrowing. “Is that a scope?”
“Yeah.” I tapped the screen to zoom in. “Looks like a Blaser. Modular build. Lightweight. You don’t see many of them here.”
“In Scotland?”
I shook my head. “Not outside of game estates. And not in a conservation zone. That’s not something you carry on a hill walk.”
She didn’t say anything, but I watched the realization settle in. She understood what it meant—how tightly firearms were regulated here, how few excuses there were to be armed this far out. Especially without clearance.
I flipped to the next image. Same man. Head turned. Looking directly into the lens. He wasn’t startled or caught mid-motion. If anything, he looked like he’d paused enough for the flash to catch his face.
And he was smiling. Just the barest twist of the mouth. Like he knew exactly what he was doing. Like he saw the camera—and chose to let it see him back.
My stomach sank, slow and deliberate. It wasn’t fear yet. Only a shift in weight. As if gravity had tilted the wrong way. A premonition of the bad to come.
The next photo showed a different man passing through from another angle. Same type of clothing. Another rifle—angled a little differently, but carried with casual ease. Neither of these men looked hurried or disoriented. They weren’t stumbling through the woods. They weren’t lost.
They were there with purpose.
Then came another shot. Slightly off-center, almost missed.
A third man, visible only from the waist down.
He was moving past the edge of the frame, but a large, curved knife was clearly visible on his belt.
It wasn’t oversized or theatrical, but it was…
deliberate. Something you strapped on because it served a purpose, not because it looked impressive.
Not a souvenir. Not casual camping gear.
Saoirse sat frozen beside me. She hadn’t touched her tea in minutes. Her eyes were locked on the screen, and I could see her brain working, running the same silent calculations I was.
“They’re not hikers,” she said. Flat. Certain.
“No,” I agreed. “They’re not.”
“Not legal hunters either.”
“Not with that kind of kit,” I said. “Not in this zone. This is protected land.”
She finally looked away from the screen, blinking hard. “Jesus.”
“Aye.”
We sat in silence for a moment, letting the implications settle in.
These weren’t people who’d taken a wrong turn. This wasn’t some wayward stag hunt bleeding into conservation ground.
They were here. Armed. Moving quietly. Confident enough not to hide from trail cams. And that smile—God, that smile—had said everything I didn’t want it to. Illegal hunting at best. I didn’t want to consider the worst.
I tapped the tablet and began compressing the images. “I’ll send these to Alex. See what he can dig up.”
Saoirse nodded slowly, her face unreadable. “He’ll find something.”
“Or at least confirm this isn’t simply someone screwing around with illegal kit.”
She was still watching the screen as I worked, and even in silence I could feel the weight of her thoughts. Not panic. Not even fear. But something beneath the surface. A tension she hadn’t shown when we’d started this trek. Not even when we found Isla’s notes.
This was different.
“Do you think they know we’re here?” she asked.
“I doubt it.”
“But they could.”
“They could,” I said. “Depends how long they’ve been out here. How alert they are. Whether they saw Isla or only her cameras.”
“Either way, she saw them.”
“Aye.”
“And she knew it mattered.”
I looked at the fire, now burned down to nothing but orange coals and a faint rim of ash. The light flickered, catching on the lines of her face as she stared into the dark.
“They weren’t just poachers,” she said, voice low.
“No,” I agreed. “I dinna think they were.”
She rubbed her thumb along the edge of her mug. “This wasn’t an accident.”
“No,” I said again. “It wasn’t.”
The stillness between us held, heavier now. A different kind of weight. Not dread. Not quite.
“So what does that make this?” she asked.
I studied her in the fire’s flickering edge-light as I considered my answer. She wasn’t fragile. But she wasn’t untouched, either. I could see it in the set of her shoulders. The way she hadn’t asked what if—only what now ?
“This might not be a wilderness rescue,” I said. “Might be something else entirely.” Time would tell whether that was a hostage situation or a body recovery, but I sure as bloody hell wasn’t saying that aloud. Not without incontrovertible proof.
Her gaze met mine—clear, unwavering. She understood. Even if we didn’t have the full shape of it yet.
I glanced out toward the trees. The sun hadn’t fully set. It hovered beyond the ridgeline, low and gold, casting long shadows that stretched over the undergrowth like reaching fingers. The forest wasn’t dark yet—but it felt like it wanted to be.
“We’ll move early,” I said. “Try to locate where those shots were taken. Get eyes on the ground.”
“And Isla?”
“If she saw them, she might’ve left more than photos.
A trail. A note. Something we haven’t turned up yet.
” I kept quiet about the more likely possibility that she’d fled without being able to leave anything at all because these men, whoever they were, had come after her.
Saoirse needed whatever scraps of hope I could provide in order to keep going.
She nodded once, firm. “Whatever this turns out to be, I’m not backing off.”
I held her gaze for a beat. Didn’t offer comfort. Didn’t try to pull her back. “Good.”
Because we weren’t looking for a path anymore. We were following one Isla had already found.
I just hoped we found her at the other end of it, and that she was in one piece when we did.