Epilogue #2
I loved that about her. Her mind never stopped cataloging.
Then she saw them.
Eloise lifted her glass first.
“About time you showed up, Dr. Ripley.”
Artemis froze.
The voice didn’t register immediately. I felt it in her body before I saw it in her face—every muscle going still, like the world had just tilted.
Caliban inclined his head with dignified solemnity. “We have been waiting.”
Her fingers tightened around mine.
Confusion came first. Her brows knit. Her gaze flicked from Eloise to Caliban, then to the champagne, then to me.
Recognition slowly dawned on her face. The location. The fireplace. The deliberate positioning. The way I had steered her toward this side of the room.
Then the rupture.
It moved through her visibly.
Her mouth parted. Her breath left her in a soft, almost soundless exhale. I watched understanding assemble itself piece by piece behind her eyes.
Eloise stepped forward first, abandoning subtlety in favor of movement. “You really thought we’d let you become Dr. Artemis Ripley and not make a thing of it?”
Artemis made a broken little sound that would have undone me even if I had not already been undone.
Caliban extended one arm—formal, contained, offering without crowding. “Your achievement warranted attendance.”
He was clearly uncomfortable. Public displays of emotion did not suit him. But he was here. For her.
Because I had asked.
Because she mattered.
And more so because Eloise was here.
Artemis’s gaze finally landed on the small card.
Dr. Artemis Ripley.
Her name looked different in ink.
Real.
She turned toward me slowly. Her throat worked. “Arthur.”
Eloise popped the champagne with a decisive twist. The cork ricocheted harmlessly off a beam overhead. “Controlled chaos,” she declared. “My specialty.”
Caliban accepted a glass with grave composure. “This is not chaos,” he said. “This is strategic celebration.”
Artemis moved then.
She stepped into my space and pressed both hands against my chest like she needed to confirm I was real.
“You said once,” I told her softly, “that asking for joy felt like a risk.”
Her eyes widened slightly.
“You asked that morning if we could explore before duty. I have never forgotten the way you braced for refusal.”
My father had taught me that love was a transaction, and approval was earned through dominance. He’d taught me that celebrating was indulgence.
Standing in this pub, with my friends flanking the hearth and my mate trembling in front of me, I understood how profoundly wrong he had been.
Joy was not indulgence. It was acknowledgment.
“You earned this,” I said. “You did not become Dr. Ripley by accident. It was through courage and persistence.”
Her hands fisted slightly in my shirt. “I know,” she said, voice shaking. “I just— I didn’t know it would feel like this.”
“How does it feel?” Eloise called, already three sips into her champagne.
Artemis laughed through tears. “Loud.”
Caliban nodded approvingly.
I brushed my thumb beneath her eye before a tear could fall. “I was afraid,” I admitted quietly.
Her gaze sharpened. “Of what?”
“Of not honoring you properly.”
The confession felt raw and clean at the same time.
She softened instantly. “You could never.”
The certainty in her voice did something permanent inside me.
Caliban cleared his throat gently. “If this becomes excessively intimate, we will require additional champagne.”
Eloise smacked his arm lightly. “Let them have a moment.”
I leaned down and pressed my forehead to hers.
“You are ridiculous,” she whispered.
“Ridiculously devoted.”
“Obsessed.”
“Yes.”
She smiled.
Dr. Artemis Ripley.
Mine.
Caliban cleared his throat.
The room didn’t quiet—this was still a pub—but our small orbit did.
“Dr. Artemis Ripley,” he began, voice smooth and resonant enough to carry without force. “It has been my privilege to observe your mind in operation.”
Artemis blushed.
“You possess an intellect that does not simply absorb information,” he continued. “It interrogates it, corrects it, and occasionally humiliates it.”
She chuckled, and Eloise hooted.
“You have demonstrated courage not merely in battle, though you have shown that as well—but in persistence. In returning to work that once rejected you. In submitting yourself to scrutiny and not retreating.”
Her fingers tightened around mine.
“You are formidable,” Caliban finished, gaze steady on her. “In scholarship. In temperament. In loyalty. And in love. It is an honor to know you.”
He inclined his head. It was devastatingly sincere.
Artemis swallowed hard.
Eloise did not wait for the emotional impact to settle. “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said, swiping at her own eye. “If he keeps talking like that, I’m going to need a stronger drink than champagne.”
She stepped forward, yanking her arm free of Caliban’s with fond impatience.
“You stubborn, brilliant woman,” she said, pointing her glass directly at Artemis. “You did not break.”
Artemis inhaled sharply.
“You did not let small humans convince you that you were small. You did not let doubt take permanent residence. You did not let fear of failure rob you of trying again.”
Her voice wobbled once, then steadied.
“You chose joy,” Eloise said softly. “Which is the bravest thing anyone can do.”
The fire cracked behind them.
Artemis’s eyes filled fully now.
Eloise lifted her glass. “To Dr. Ripley. May she continue to terrify incompetence everywhere.”
“That is statistically likely,” Caliban murmured.
Laughter broke the tension.
All eyes turned to me.
I had prepared words. I had rehearsed them. I couldn’t remember any of them as I looked at her. Her cheeks were flushed, her shoulders square even as her eyes shimmered.
“I have never been prouder,” I said.
Nothing more.
Her breath hitched, and a tear slipped down her cheek.
I lifted my glass instead and took a deliberate sip, giving her the dignity of recovery. She exhaled, laughed shakily, wiped her cheeks herself.
Caliban nodded once in approval at my restraint.
Eloise mouthed, “Good man.”
Artemis leaned into me briefly, shoulder pressing against my chest.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Always, I said to her.
The champagne flowed as the bartender refilled our glasses.
Artemis was laughing now. Not the careful version. Not the measured, socially calibrated one. Full laughter. Head tipped back. Hands gesturing as she recounted something to Eloise about misfiled medieval cheese manuals.
Caliban attempted to defend the intellectual integrity of cheese taxonomy.
“It is a historically significant trade marker,” he insisted.
“You alphabetized your emotional state,” Eloise countered. “You don’t get to judge cheese.”
Artemis giggled. She reached out impulsively and grabbed Caliban’s sleeve. “You would absolutely catalog dairy if given the opportunity.”
“I already have,” he replied calmly. “By region, aging method, and cultural relevance.”
Her laugh doubled.
Caliban folded his hands. “For context, Gordon Ramsay once described Stilton as ‘a blue cheese of considerable character.’ I agree.”
Eloise gaped at him. “Why do you know that?”
“I remain informed.”
“You’re weaponizing Wikipedia.”
“I prefer to think of it as cultural readiness.”
Artemis lost all remaining composure and hugged Eloise without warning.
Eloise squeezed her back hard. “Careful. I’m a fragile old woman.”
“You are not fragile or an old woman,” Artemis said fiercely.
“Correct,” Caliban added.
The bartender slid another glass toward Artemis. “For the doctor.”
She accepted it with a grin that was unguarded. “Thank you.”
I watched. I didn’t speak. This was not a moment to interrupt. She belonged here. With them. With me.
An hour later, we left the pub to applause.
The cool night air swept away the warmth of firelight and champagne. Edinburgh had settled into that luminous hour where stone turned silver, and every window seemed to glow from within.
Artemis slipped her hand into mine, and I closed my fingers around hers.
The castle rose in silhouette above the city, black against a deep indigo sky. Wind moved down the narrow streets in clean currents, lifting the loose strands of her hair and pressing her coat lightly against her frame.
Somewhere in the distance, bagpipes threaded through the air in a mournful melody. City lights spilled downhill in gold constellations.
Behind us, Caliban and Eloise exited the pub at a suspiciously leisurely pace.
“Take your time,” Eloise called lightly. “We are in no rush whatsoever.”
Caliban cleared his throat. “None.”
I didn’t look back at them, but Artemis did. Her eyes narrowed. “Those two are strange,” she murmured.
“Very,” I agreed.
She laughed, squeezing my hand once.
We walked uphill toward Calton Hill, the slope steady and familiar. The open sky widened as we climbed, the city falling away beneath us.
Wind strengthened at the top, tugging at her hair again. She faced the skyline, breath catching just slightly.
“It’s ridiculous,” she said softly. “It looks like a painting.”
Ancient stone columns loomed nearby, pale against the night. The city lights stretched outward in layers. The castle stood anchored on its rock, immovable and proud.
Caliban and Eloise were closer now. Close enough that I could see Caliban’s phone discreetly raised, the red recording light unmistakable, and Eloise pretending very poorly not to beam.
They knew exactly what was coming.
Artemis turned toward me. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking that this is where I want to ask you something.”
She frowned. “Arthur?”
“Come with me,” I said quietly, guiding her a few steps farther toward the edge of the overlook.