Chapter 8 Tristan
EIGHT
TRISTAN
Fog clings to the rolling hills of the Highlands like it doesn't want to let go. The road into Kinlochmore is a narrow strip of black carved straight through endless green, winding toward a small town.
No people. No traffic. No witnesses.
The perfect hiding spot for Calder.
Nick drives while I keep myself busy because the last thing I need is to fall asleep and miss something important. Or worse, have another dream about her.
After last time, I think I'll pass on sleep for the foreseeable future.
I set up a new firewall on a laptop and sent it to Aaron before we left Italy—locked down to hell and back. If I disappear into something dark, I want a line out that doesn't leave a trail.
Aaron's been tangled in this mess longer than he'd like to admit. I helped him and Cat take down her father, one of the more hellish monsters the Italian mafia ever produced. And somehow that whole disaster ended with him thankfully alive, married, and pretending he's still in control.
But we go back further than that. Before blood debts and criminal adventures. Before he decided to play house with the woman who used to be his literal enemy. Like knife-to-his-throat type of enemy.
Now he's a lovesick puppy like the rest of them.
Still, I'm happy for him. Same with Dominik, my other best friend, who happens to be a famous hockey player.
He finally ended up with the woman he's been obsessed with since they were kids.
Coincidentally, she's Aaron's little sister, which makes family dinners a fucking nightmare—but that's their problem now.
They got their happy endings, which is great for them, but I don't believe in that kind of thing.
Love isn't some great reward. It's leverage. A vulnerability you hand over and hope the person keeping it doesn't decide to crush you with it.
I learned that the hard way.
Loved once. Paid for it. Will never make that mistake again.
Life without love is quieter and a hell of a lot easier.
"We're getting close," Nick says, blinking the tiredness out of his eyes.
"Do you want to switch?"
He shakes his head. I decide to open the secure channel to Aaron and send a message before we arrive.
Rolling hills and endless fog. Can barely see five feet ahead. On the red trail—it hasn't gone cold yet. If I drop off, it's on purpose. Don't come looking unless I call.
I hesitate, then add one more line.
If things get messy, you know what to do.
The village appears slowly. Gray stone houses. A church steeple. One single pub with two cars parked outside.
Zara's voice crackles in my ear. "Last confirmed sighting was from a grocer two days ago. But the real signal came from beyond the village. Old estate on a rise. No name on record."
"Owned by Calder?"
"According to the records, no one officially owns it—which is definitely a red flag since it's not vacant land."
Nick slows as we pass a corner shop with a faded sign. I glance at the window. A woman steps out holding a paper bag, and I have to remind myself it's not Keira. Not every woman I see around here will be her.
"We can still turn around if you want to play it safe," Zara suggests. "Pull back. Sweep from a distance. Run drone passes before—"
"No."
The car climbs and the trees begin to close in, branches blocking out most of the light. I roll my shoulders once, trying to shake off the feeling of being watched.
And then out of nowhere a gate appears ahead, hanging crooked on one hinge.
The chains are cut clean through.
Nick kills the engine at the same time I swing my door open.
There is nothing ahead but old castle remains. The only sound is the ticking of hot metal and wind pushing through the trees. Maybe the main house is hidden from view, the whole thing meant to appear abandoned.
"Z?"
"There's…nothing. It's like someone hit mute on the entire area."
"This isn't the right place," Nick mutters.
"It has to be," Zara fires back.
I slip through the broken gate and he follows close behind.
"Two-minute intervals," he says. "If I say fall back, you fall back."
I give him a look over my shoulder.
He groans, hating me a little more today. "Fine. If I say fall back, you ignore me completely and do whatever suicidal thing you had planned anyway."
"Better."
The estate appears in pieces. A crumbling wall first. Then the main house.
A recent fire ate it from the inside out. Windows blown. Roof caved. The air still smells faintly of smoke and something else underneath.
Burned skin.
One foot in front of the other.
Don't even think about it.
"Jesus," Nick whispers.
We step through what used to be the front door. The frame is gone, edges melted and cracked. The floor inside is gray dust.
Zara is quiet. I can hear her typing, likely dragging satellites over coordinates that no longer matter.
The main hall might once have been beautiful. A grand staircase curves up and stops halfway where the rest has collapsed. A chandelier lies twisted on the floor, crystals melted into ugly lumps.
And in the center of the room, there are shapes.
At first they look like broken columns. Then my brain catches up.
"Talk to me. What's there?" Zara asks.
Nick swallows. "Statues, I think."
"They're not statues."
Mother and child.
Up close, they look like they were poured rather than carved. Stone and ash and bone cooked together and left to cool. Something you'd see if hell decided to put together a gallery.
"Fucking hell," Nick breathes.
It's not them. The hair is wrong, the height isn't the same, and the child appears to be smaller than five.
"Tell me it's not her," Zara pleads.
"It's not her." My voice sounds far away. "I'd know her, even like this."
Nick doesn't say anything. He's watching me closely, waiting to see how I'll react, but everything inside me is still—like my rage stepped outside to make room for this.
I notice something on the stone and step closer. There's a mark on the mother's arm.
A symbol. Black smoke on water.
The Ferryman's mark.
He branded the dead.
"Z," I say.
"Yeah." Her voice is thin now.
"Get a visual from Nick's feed."
A second passes. "Holy shit. Fucking Christ."
"He's sending a message," Nick mutters.
"This is so much more than that. It's a performance." I crouch, ignoring the way soot coats my boots and hands. It gets under my nails and into the cuts on my knuckles.
Ewan Calder wanted me to walk into this room and think it was Keira and my son turned to stone. Does he know about me?
Did he send the lockbox?
"Break into the back end and find the fire pattern," I instruct Zara. "I'm sending you a code."
She's immediately on it. "Listed as an electrical fault from five years ago. No casualties. No bodies recovered."
"Bullshit. This was done days ago."
"He marks everything he considers his. This has to be one of his houses," Zara adds.
Not anymore.
Now I'm standing in his warning.
"It's not Keira," Nick repeats. He's saying it like he's trying to convince both of us. "It's not them. You said so yourself."
"I know."
"But you thought it for a second." I can feel his eyes on me, but I don't look at him. I can't.
"You both need to pull back," Zara demands.
Nick ignores her. "He knew you'd come. He wanted you to walk into the grave."
He wanted to break me.
What he doesn't realize is that I've already been broken, and whatever's left doesn't shatter so easily.
"Hello?" Zara snaps. "Did either of you hear a word I just said?"
A chill crawls up my spine, and it has nothing to do with the cold.
I scan the road, the tree line, the buildings. Nothing. No movement. No sound but the wind.
But still, I can't shake the feeling that I'm being watched.
"Someone's here."
"I'm not picking up anything," Zara says dismissively.
That doesn't reassure me. My instincts have kept me alive longer than any surveillance feed ever has.
"Or maybe whoever is out there is just better."
Maybe the lack of sleep is finally catching up with me, but I can feel eyes on me.
I glance back at the scene. "I want names. Everyone who passed through here. Everyone who worked here. Families. Kids. Patterns."
"I'm pulling traffic cams," Zara says, fingers flying across her keyboard. "Security footage too. But it's going to take time."
Time. The one thing I don't have.
I glance back at the bodies one last time. The way they're fused together. Like holding each other was the only thing they had left.
What type of sadistic fuck would kill a mother and her child just to send a message?
I already know the answer.
"He chose a mother and child," I whisper. "That's him saying he knows exactly where my throat is."
"Keira and the boy," Nick murmurs.
I nod once. "They're my line in the sand. And somehow, he knows it."
Silence stretches.
"I need you to scout the perimeter by car," I tell Nick. "See if we're being followed."
"And you?"
"I'll take this on foot."
"Alone?" Zara's voice goes up an octave.
I give Nick a look, sighing. "I'm never alone."
"Be careful." He hesitates and then turns toward the gate.
"Come get me when you've done a proper search."
He lifts one hand in the air, acknowledging my words. As I watch him pull away, the feeling of eyes on my back grows heavier.
Calder knows someone is on his tail. He torched the grounds, staged a message, and left a man behind.
The news about Matteo traveled fast. I wonder if someone listened to our conversation in Italy.
He was prepared and acted quickly. Which means I have to stop being predictable. Stop being Tristan, the impatient man searching in the dark.
I need to become something he can't calculate.
If Calder wants to play the monster, then I have to become something even worse.
The wind shifts, carrying the faintest scrape of movement behind me.
There you are.
I don't turn yet, letting him think I haven't noticed. Letting him think he's got me.
I count his breaths. Three. Four. He's close now, maybe ten feet. He shifts his weight and a twig snaps under his boot.
Amateur.
That's when I move.