TRIGGER WARNING: There's nothing graphic in this chapter, but there are intimations of sexual assault and a violent situation revolving around that. This isn't a recurring theme within the fic, but is an important part of the story.

"I tried to warn you," Oliver said as he came through the door just behind me.

"Felicity!" Thea cried, just coming in from outside the room. She rushed to me and pulled me into a hug that, predictably enough, triggered a whole cascade of Merlyn ancestors shouting in my head. I managed to extricate myself as gracefully as possible, which probably wasn't that graceful at all, but at least the girl was kind enough not to look too offended.

"I was so worried after we heard what happened," she said.

"I'm okay," I assured her. "Oliver was there, and whoever it was didn't do any permanent damage."

"Nevertheless," Malcolm said, rising from his chair by the fire, "I don't know how wise it is for you to be out here. Obviously, there are people on the island who aren't happy Merlyn Manor is occupied once more."

"And I don't suppose you have any idea who those people are," Quentin said.

"None," Malcolm said. He looked at Tommy. "We're having someone look into it, of course. The Merlyn family has seen enough tragedy – it won't do to lose another of our own so soon after Moira's death."

"I still don't understand how this happened," Reggie said. He'd come in just after Thea, and now stood apart from the others with what looked like genuine concern on his face. "No one even knows you're out here."

"No one outside the family, anyway," Quentin said darkly.

"I may have mentioned it to a few of the locals," Malcolm said.

"You what?" Oliver demanded, taking me by surprise.

"People are always curious about what's going on here," Malcolm defended himself, somehow managing not to sound the least bit defensive. "They of course heard about the accident and Moira's death – I was simply explaining to them what was happening with the manor. It's a small island; they were bound to hear sooner or later anyway."

"Why does it matter whether they know I'm here or not?" I asked, unclear on why Oliver looked so freaked out. "It doesn't actually have anything to do with them, does it? I mean, it's not like we own the whole island. They go about their business, and I go about mine."

"There have been some disputes in the past about fishing on Crab's Neck," Reggie explained. "Moira was very hands-off about the whole thing, and local fishermen have gotten used to having their run of Crab's Neck."

"Why wouldn't that continue now that I'm here? Individuals don't have property rights to the ocean, at least not beyond the tidal zone."

"No," Malcolm agreed. "But Merlyn property includes the waterfront here on the island as well as the Crab's Neck wharf and a fish processing plant on the north shore. Moira was exceedingly generous about leasing that property to other island residents who made better use of the facilities than we would have." He paused. "I may have mentioned your connection with environmental issues, and it's possible that some of the men got it in their heads that you could be a threat."

"Why the hell would you do that?" Quentin demanded, beating Oliver to the punch. Though not the actual, physical punch – if anyone was going to be hitting someone, right now it definitely looked like it would be Oliver.

"I'm not responsible for how these people process information," Malcolm said coolly. "I told them what I know. It's not my fault if they immediately leap to the worst conclusion."

"Right," Oliver said through clenched teeth. "I'm sure you didn't have anything to do with that."

"I would be less concerned with what I'm doing," Malcolm said to him, "and more concerned with making sure Felicity survives the coming year. It seems like that will take up a good portion of your time going forward."

"Thanks to you," Oliver said.

Malcolm shrugged. "Perhaps." He shifted his focus back to me. "Now, Felicity… I expect you'll want to put on something a bit more…respectable, before you join us for breakfast?"

I grit my teeth and ignored my flaming cheeks at his condescension. "Right. Of course. Just give me a few minutes – I'll be down shortly."

Things went downhill fast from there. At dinner that night, after an interminable day of questions about my past and my future and my intentions here on the island, there was an argument over who should sit at the head of the table; my father had taken the spot previously. Ultimately, Reggie got the seat of honor, but I thought Malcolm would knock him out cold before it was finally decided. Quentin pointed out that, since the house was mine at least for the next year and Moira and Robert were, after all, my parents, maybe I should be the one at the head of the table. I shut him down with a look before he could press the issue. I don't like confrontation, at least not over idiotic things like seating arrangements.

Oliver refused to join us at the table, instead choosing to lurk just outside the room like some kind of psychotic creeper – a very attractive psychotic creeper, don't get me wrong, but still. Someone should really have a talk with him about his propensity for brooding. It didn't seem healthy. Considering the way he looked at Malcolm and Tommy, however, I wasn't about to bring the subject up any time soon.

Quentin helped Raisa prepare the meal that evening and get it on the table, while the Merlyns sat in an uncomfortable silence punctuated by occasional conversation about the company. I was just getting used to having a waitstaff of sorts – which technically was the role Raisa played. She was from Hungary, she'd told me when we first met, her dark features and near-black eyes so striking that it was easy to get lost in them sometimes. On an island as lily-white as Crab's Neck was, it was refreshing having even a hint of color around there. Not that I wasn't just as lily-white as the rest of them, of course.

The rest of the family took Raisa's presence as a matter of course, and no one seemed to think twice about having one woman serve an elaborate meal to an entire family of able-bodied adults. I got up at one point and helped her and Quentin carry food in from the kitchen, and you would have thought I'd slit someone's throat and left them to bleed out on the antique Persian rug. Malcolm grimaced and Tommy and Reggie looked apoplectic; Thea grinned heartily, though.

"What do you know?" she quipped. "For the first time in Merlyn history, I'm not the one making the ancestors roll over in their graves."

Once the seating was decided and the meal on the table, there was an argument over whether Reggie was truly lactose intolerant or just trying to get attention when he refused cream in his coffee.

"Why would I want attention for being lactose intolerant?" he asked. "Wouldn't I make up something more attractive than a condition that makes me gassy and bloated?" He wore a deep green sweater that went well with his eyes, making him appear heartier than he had in our first meeting. He sat beside Thea, and I couldn't help but notice how close the two seemed.

"Lactose intolerance is very trendy right now," Malcolm informed us imperiously.

"Actually," Thea said, "gluten sensitivity is way cooler than lactose intolerance – that's so 1995." Malcolm glowered at her, but she didn't look the least bit intimidated. "What? If you're going to be petty, you should at least be accurate and petty."

I coughed a laugh and nearly choked.

"What about you, Felicity?" Tommy asked me from the other end of the table.

"Excuse me?" I said. I had a spear of asparagus on my fork and half a filet of salmon left on my plate. Raisa was an amazing cook, but it was hard to be enthusiastic about much of anything in these people's presence. "What about me what?"

"Food sensitivities. Or preferences."

"Oh." I shrugged. "Not really – I'm easy, I guess. I like fresh vegetables, organic if I can get them. I don't eat a lot of meat. Otherwise, though…"

"You're not one of those vegans, are you?" Malcolm asked.

"Which one is the vegan?" Reggie asked.

"Nothing with a face," Malcolm said. "Not even bees."

"Bees?" Reggie said, looking confused. "Who eats bees?"

"Honey," Malcolm said impatiently. "They don't eat honey."

"You don't eat honey?" Tommy asked me. He didn't look any less baffled now that honey was the issue, not the eating of the bees themselves. "Why on earth wouldn't you eat honey?"

"Um – I think it has to do with the treatment of the hive. But I'm not vegan," I reminded him.

"The treatment of the hive," Malcolm echoed. "What does that even mean? Good people make their livings harvesting honey, and they give those bees a good place to live. Why would you be against that?"

"I'm not. I'm not vegan," I said again. "I don't eat a lot of meat – but I eat some." I nodded to the fish on my plate. "Clearly. And I eat honey."

"What about leather?" Malcolm asked.

"What does leather have to do with anything?" Thea wanted to know.

I gave up after that.

That night, everyone but Thea retired to their respective rooms by seven o'clock. Meanwhile, Thea announced that she was going back to the mainland, gave me a last apologetic glance, and left over the protests of the rest of the family. I don't think I've envied anyone more than I did her, watching her go off alone to return to her life without us.

Oliver had left me to attend to some business once he thought I was safely locked away, but I found after twenty minutes pacing in my room that I didn't have the heart to stay put. There was a full moon outside, and the house seemed completely uninviting, infested as it was with my unwelcoming relations. I decided to try my luck in what passed for a town on Crab's Neck, rather than spend another minute hiding out in my creepy new-old bedroom.

I was also curious about what Malcolm had said about the Merlyn facilities on the waterfront, and the relationship our family had with the fishermen out here. I'd studied oceanic sustainability extensively in college; owning a fishery and having a relationship with professional fishermen was a rare opportunity to work with them on creating something more sustainable for both them and the resident aquaculture going forward. Sure, some of them might initially have a problem with me, but once I explained myself and we had a chance to talk, who knew where it could lead. Right?

It's not a good idea, Felicity. I could almost hear Oliver's voice in my head, but since he wasn't here at the moment, I chose to ignore it.

The center of town on Crab's Neck overlooked the ocean, and consisted of the American Legion hall, the fire department/school/town office/library, and a town market that charged ten dollars for ketchup and had such erratic hours that, so far, I had yet to catch them when they weren't either closed or closing.

Since the store was predictably shuttered and the multi-purpose town gathering place likewise dark, I opted for the American Legion.

The Legion was housed in an old brick building that looked like it could survive a hurricane (and probably had) without flinching. A cluster of men in coveralls and flannel jackets smoked outside the entrance. Conversation stopped as I approached the door, and I felt their eyes on me. A voice in the back of my head – this one definitely my own – warned me that that this might not be my best idea ever.

I hesitated. Then I thought of the hostile clan awaiting my return at the manor, and decided I would take my chances. To be clear, I hadn't completely forgotten about the shooting incident at the house earlier in the week; frankly, though, I had convinced myself that Malcolm was at the root of that, not someone else on the island.

I would be fine.

I nodded to the men as I passed, and reached for the door. The smallest among them, a lean, wiry man in a flannel cap, filthy work jeans, and T-shirt despite the cold, stepped in front of me to get the door.

"Thank you," I mumbled, avoiding eye contact when he stepped in too close.

"My pleasure, darlin'. Come on in."

The place was dimly lit with neon beer signs and a couple of pool tables – both being used – in the back. A jukebox played AC/DC at full volume. A cursory glance around told me I was the only woman there. Not a good sign. A dozen pairs of eyes were on me as I stood in the doorway, door still open as I tried to decide my next move.

"You in or out?" a giant black man behind the bar said. "You're letting winter in."

I closed the door obediently, but didn't move any further into the room. The bartender was maybe thirty years old, very good looking and very, very built, his dark hair cut military-short. A chalkboard that looked like it hadn't been touched in a decade listed five kinds of beer, in sloping writing:

Bud, Bud Light, Molson, Rolling Rock, and PBR.

Beneath it, in capital letters, was written: NO TAP. NO DRAFT. WHAT YOU SEE IS WHAT YOU GET.

All righty, then.

I went to the bar and ordered a Pabst Blue Ribbon. The bartender didn't ask for ID, which was rare for me; instead, he just shoved a coaster across the bar at me and poured my beer into a not-entirely clean glass.

"That's five bucks," he said.

I fumbled with my wallet and managed to get out a ten. He gave me five ones for change, and left me alone.

For half an hour, I nursed the beer while conversation around me got louder and the jukebox churned out hard-driving hits and bad '90s power ballads. No one approached me. No one attempted conversation. I didn't feel neglected, however, since every man appeared to be watching me.

I finished my beer, looked at the clock, and ordered another. It was just after eight-thirty. I'd brought a book with me, a textbook on perennials native to the Maine coast, and opened that as the bartender slid the second beer to me.

I was just getting into a chapter on flowering plants most beneficial to wildlife in the Northeast when the stool beside me moved.

"This seat taken?" a gruff voice asked. I looked up to see the man who'd held the door open for me, sliding into the seat before I had a chance to answer. Now that we were closer, I realized he probably wasn't that much older than me – mid-twenties at the oldest.

"No," I murmured. He smelled like beer and stale cigarettes, biceps bulging in his too-tight T-shirt. He had to be freezing; I still had my jacket on, and still had to fight to keep from shivering. I sensed eyes on us, though I didn't look up from my book enough to see.

Once seated, he leaned closer under the pretense of trying to see my book. "What's that?" he asked. "You in college, sweetheart?"

"No. Just something I'm interested in." I said it without looking at him, hoping he would take the hint. No such luck.

He took the book from my hands. For the first time, a cold edge of genuine fear ran through me. "Landscaping for Wildlife, huh?" he said, reading the title aloud. "No kidding. Pretty little thing like you, landscaping? That's hard work."

"It can be," I said uneasily. The man was seated too close, hovering over me, glassy eyes searching mine when I met his gaze. His buddies were snickering in the corner, and the bartender seemed to be working very hard not to see what was happening, focused instead on a basketball game playing on the TV over the bar.

My stomach tightened when a second man, this one a few years older than the first, took the stool on the other side of me.

"You're not bothering this pretty young thing, are you, Brett?" the man asked. He had dark hair and darker eyes, and clearly had been drinking here for a while. The way he said the words made it clear he wasn't here to save me. "You know who this is, don't you?"

Brett shook his head. "Pretty tail from away – I don't need to know more than that, do I?"

"This here is the newest Merlyn," the other man said. "Long lost, from what I hear."

Brett got closer – if that was even possible – and studied my face intently. "Shit. You're right – she's got Merlyn written all over her. The glasses fooled me, I guess. Anyway, we were just talking, Curt. Doesn't matter whether she's a Merlyn or not – I'm not bothering you, am I, sweetheart?"

The challenge in his eyes made me think there would be repercussions if I said yes. My pulse ticked up. Okay, yeah. This had definitely been a mistake.

"No," I said. "I was actually just leaving. They're expecting me at home."

"Are they now, baby?" the second man – Curt – said. "Because the way I heard it, nobody's all that happy to welcome you to the fold." I slid my book into my bag with shaking hands, put another five on the bar for the bartender, and finished the last of my beer in a long gulp.

Which, in hindsight, was my second mistake of the night. Or third. I was starting to lose count. Somewhere along the lines, another man had joined Brett and Curt – this one standing directly behind me, so that I nearly collided with him when I got off the barstool.

I swayed a little when my feet touched the floor. Brett's hand shot out to steady me, his fingers wrapped too tight at my elbow. The others moved closer. I pulled away, desperate to keep any visons at bay. This was so not the time.

"Let her go," a familiar voice said, somewhere through the haze of the other men. They parted, all three now focused on the interloper.

Oliver looked as dark and brooding as ever. The way he held his body reminded me of a cobra coiled to strike. He stood at the bar entrance, and I wondered hazily how long he'd been there – or how he had known to come.

"This doesn't concern you, Oliver," Curt said. "You were Moira's bitch, not this one's. Why don't you get along and leave this one to us."

Oliver came forward. He took me in with a swift glance, searching my face before he shifted focus to the others. "Moira's bitch, huh? That's what you boys have been calling me?"

"And if we have?" Curt demanded.

Oliver took another stride forward, until he and Curt were toe to toe. Brett took my arm, pulling me out of the way. At the contact, the world around me blurred, then vanished.

Leave her alone! Ray's voice – I recognized it easily. I saw another dimly lit bar, but without the neon signs. Instead, the décor was old-fashioned, the men dressed in casual wear straight out of the 1920s. I felt a hand close around my throat. And suddenly, I wasn't just watching this vision play out from the sidelines.

I was in it.

I was on my back on a pool table, a man with dark eyes poised over me while half a dozen others cheered him on, his hand wrapped around my throat. I clutched at it desperately, trying to claw his fingers away.

Rose! Ray shouted. A man held him back as he fought, and I couldn't breathe. Couldn't move, as the man poised above me reached down to unbuckle his belt.

I fought my way back from the vision, only to find the present not that much more promising.

Curt had Oliver by the shirt collar, the unidentified third man from earlier now behind my bodyguard, holding his arms. Oliver glanced at me, looking genuinely worried for the first time, and I realized that he'd seen the moment when the vision took hold of me. When he saw that I was back, he shifted focus to Curt once more.

"Not so tough now, huh?" Curt said. "I've wanted to get hold of you for a while, the way you strut around this island like you're king of the fucking hill."

"Let go of me," Oliver said, his voice dead even, "and let me take the girl home. We can just chalk this up to some bad decision making and be done with it."

The third man tightened his hold on Oliver's arms. If it were me, I was sure I would have at least winced; Oliver didn't move. "And if we don't?" he asked Oliver.

Oliver wet his lips. "Then this will end badly for you."

"That so?" Curt said. "Well, consider me warned. I'm shaking in my waders." He pulled his fist back to land the first punch. Before he could make his move, Oliver slammed his forehead into the bridge of the man's nose with a crunch of bone that made my eyes water.

"Come on – you're with me," Brett said to me under his breath, while half the bar got up to wade into the fight.

The bar of old and the one in the here and now wavered in front of me, and I fought against Brett while Oliver landed blow after blow just a few feet away. Brett was surprisingly strong given how lean he was, but frankly I was tired of his whole macho shtick. This time when he reached for my arm, I whirled on him. I brought my knee up hard into his crotch, at the same time striking fast with the heel of my hand to his exposed throat. Gasping for air, he went to his knees. When I'd told Oliver that first day that I wasn't helpless, I meant it.

I didn't waste time to celebrate, horrified to find that Oliver was back in his previous position, arms held behind his back, while Curt – blood streaming from what was clearly a broken nose – wound up to land another blow. Instead of the original three that had been at the middle of the fight, that number had more than tripled. Someone reached for my shoulder, and I plunged my elbow backward into soft flesh even as Rose's screams echoed in my head. The third man from before – the one who had been holding Oliver – was suddenly beside me, his hand wrapped around my throat.

Oliver, the bar, everything familiar, vanished.

Don't do this! Ray shouted, while Rose – while I – lay prone on a pool table, a stranger's hand around my throat as the man I'd seen before in the vision dropped his now-unbuckled trousers. I fought, screamed, lashed out. There was no air.

"Felicity," a familiar voice said, close to my ear. I flinched, with a strangled cry that I barely recognized as my own.

The pressure around my neck eased; the old-timey bar vanished.

I was on the ground, Oliver kneeling beside me with his forehead furrowed. His left eye was nearly swollen shut, his lip and knuckles bleeding.

"Come back to me, Felicity," he said softly. "You're all right. You're safe." I gazed up at him a moment, caught yet again by those blue eyes – well, the one that wasn't swollen shut. He reached out as though to touch me but let his hand fall, looking awkward and seriously worried.

"Are you back?" he asked.

I wet my lips. I could still feel the hand around my neck, and remembered that someone had grabbed my throat in this timeline, as well. But Rose… How had things ended for her? Where were she and Ray?

I sat up quickly and looked around, still disoriented. The bartender was righting barstools that had been toppled in the fight, and half the patrons had mysteriously vanished. A couple of older men were back at the bar with pints of beer, like nothing had happened.

"Your eye," I said. I reached out without even thinking, and froze an instant before my hand made contact with Oliver's face.

"I'm all right," he said shortly, then pulled away. I caught a hint of anger in the words. "If you can stand, get up. They're gone for now, but they'll be back. Probably with their friends."

"Where did they go?"

He nodded toward the bartender, now sweeping glass and mopping up spilled pints. "John decided he'd had enough. I'll explain the rest on the way."

He stood without offering me a hand, then turned his back and headed for the door. I got to my feet and grabbed my backpack, now drenched from someone's spilled beer. Great. I slung it over my shoulder regardless, and turned to go.

"You all right?" the bartender asked me once I was steady(ish) on my feet.

"I am," I nodded.

"This isn't a smart place for a woman to come on her own," he said. "You might want to keep that in mind in the future."

"I will," I agreed. "Thank you for stepping in when you did."

He grimaced and nodded wordlessly, then went back to his sweeping.

Oliver was already at the exit, and moved aside with the door open to allow me through first. I stepped outside hurriedly and breathed in the cold air, grateful for the starry sky and the profound quiet that met me.

He walked beside me without saying a word until we were well past hearing range of anyone who might have been lurking outside the Legion.

"Are you all right?" he finally asked. The words came out strangled, his voice tight.

"I'm fine. You got there in time. How did you—"

Before I could ask how he'd known I was there, Oliver wheeled on me. His blue eyes had gone dark, his face strangely pale in the glow of the moon.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" he demanded.

I had to work not to take a step back. "I was thinking I wanted to get out of that house for a few minutes before the Merlyns drove me nuts," I said coldly. "I was thinking that I'm on a quaint little Maine island where everybody knows everybody else and it would be perfectly safe for me to go out, meet the locals, and get some space from the house."

"You're not on a quaint little Maine island – you're on Crab's Neck," he said, almost viciously. "You don't have a clue about this place. There's no police. There's no law. And there are families who have been here just as long as the Merlyns, and there's no love lost between your family and theirs." He was shouting by the end, and anger rushed through me in a wave.

"I didn't know that meant they'd go full caveman on me," I shouted back.

"Someone tried to kill you three days ago," he said. His face was contorted with rage – if I wasn't so pissed myself, I might be worried he was about to bust a blood vessel or something. "Or have you forgotten that already?"

"No, I haven't forgotten, you asshole. I just thought it was Malcolm or Reggie or someone in the family – I didn't know people I've never met could hate me that much."

"They don't hate you," he said. Three charged seconds passed between us, then four. The fire was gone from his voice when he spoke again, a weariness there instead. "They're afraid of what you being here means, and some of them are a little…unbalanced."

"You think?" I said, my own fight draining away with his. "I kind of got that."

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "The next time you want to get a break from the manor, wait for me and I'll take you somewhere."

"Where?"

"Not the Legion," he said. "Just trust me, all right? I'm supposed to be protecting you – at least meet me halfway on this."

"I never needed protection till I got here."

I was surprised to see him smile at that, though the expression disappeared a millisecond later. "Yeah," he said. "I saw what you did to Brett – that was a nice move. You're a fighter; that's good. It wouldn't have helped you tonight once they all joined in, though. What if I hadn't shown up?"

"The bartender had my back, apparently," I said. "If not, I would have figured something out."

"You know you weren't moving when I got to you?" he asked. His voice softened marginally, catching me off guard. "You were barely breathing, lying there like…" He stopped, and I could see him visibly work to get himself back under control. He ran his hand through his hair again, his gaze locked on mine. "What happened back there, anyway?"

"I told you: he touched me. I don't—"

"Like to be touched," he finished for me impatiently. "I get it. But something happened – something was happening to you. What is it? They ruled out epilepsy, so if these are seizures—"

"How do you know that?" I interrupted.

He looked at me in surprise, and I realized that he'd given away something he hadn't meant to. "I just assumed—"

"No," I said. "Don't lie to me – what you said was way too specific. How do you know doctors ruled out epilepsy?"

He frowned, and I tracked the lies on his face as he debated before ultimately deciding to tell me the truth. "I looked at your file," he said reluctantly. "It was in with Willa's things."

"You what?"

"Don't change the subject—"

"I'll change the subject if I feel like it," I shouted. "You had no right to go into my personal physician's things and look at my confidential medical file."

"If I'm supposed to protect you," he said, his voice rising again, "I need to understand who you are: your background, medical history, addictions, bad habits… All of that helps me predict what you're going to do and how I need to react in any given situation. How else am I supposed to learn those things, especially if you're not straight with me?"

"Not by going through my confidential files, you psychopath," I bit out. He huffed an unexpected laugh at that, shaking his head in a way that just made me madder. "How is that funny?"

He tipped his head at me. "Psychopath? Asshole? It's a good thing I have a healthy ego, or I might start to think you didn't like me very much."

"At the moment, you'd be right."

He wet his lips and looked away, serious again. After a second or two, he took a breath and met my eye once more. "Look, I'm sorry. I know this is all new to you, and you didn't ask to be here. But the fact is, you are here. And as long as that's the case, it's my responsibility to keep you safe. It was the last thing your parents asked of me, and I don't take that lightly. That means I will do whatever is necessary to fulfill that request – including following you when you don't want to be followed or going through your records when I feel there are things I need to know that you aren't telling me. You can either get on board with that and start talking to me, or this can continue to be a fight. Either way, as long as you are on this island, I'm not going anywhere."

It was the most I'd heard him say since meeting him – I'd kind of thought Oliver didn't even know that many words. He raised his eyebrows at me, waiting for my response. I crossed my arms over my chest and looked away, my own jaw set.

"If you have a question, come to me," I said, finally. "I don't want you looking at my files again – those are personal. I don't even really want Willa looking at them, so I definitely don't want you doing it."

"Understood," he said with a nod, then extended his hand. "So… We have a deal, then? You don't sneak away again, and I talk to you when I have questions."

"And, you give me a little bit of space when I need it."

"Within reason," he said.

I rolled my eyes. "Fine. Within reason."

"Deal."

I reached out, tensed when his hand clasped my own. As had become standard where Oliver was concerned, there were no visions when we touched. Instead, his hand was warm and reassuringly strong in my own. He held on a second too long, our eyes locked, and I thought I saw a storm there, something even the always-cool Oliver Knight hadn't intended to show. Then the look was gone, and I wondered if I'd seen it at all, or if it was just another product of my overactive imagination. I reclaimed my hand, and we walked the rest of the way back to Merlyn Manor in silence.

And another chapter done! Review if you have the notion since it's always great motivation, and thanks as ever for reading.