Bloodline

Chapter 2

I opened my mouth.

Closed it again.

Because I didn't know.

Not really.

I'd heard stories.

Whispers.

News reports.

Enough to make Blackwater a place I avoided after sunset.

But that wasn't all of it.

The feeling sitting in my chest tonight felt... older.

Less logical.

As though my instincts had arrived before my thoughts had managed to catch up.

"I don't know," I admitted.

The confession left me feeling oddly exposed.

Holland nodded slowly, as though accepting an answer that didn't answer anything.

"Then let's make a deal."

"What kind of deal?"

"If you're still uncomfortable after we finish eating..."

He glanced toward the window.

"...we'll leave through the rear entrance."

I blinked.

"The staff entrance?"

"They know me."

"You've asked before?"

"A few times."

My eyebrows lifted.

"You never told me that."

"You never asked."

A reluctant breath escaped somewhere between a sigh and a laugh.

"You've actually done this before?"

"When business meetings run late." His shoulders lifted in an easy shrug. "The alley behind the restaurant connects straight to the parking lot."

"I didn't even know there was another exit."

"There usually is."

He looked around the dining room for a moment before lowering his voice.

"My grandfather used to say you should always know at least two ways out of every building."

I tilted my head.

"I thought you said he was a carpenter."

"He was."

"What does carpentry have to do with escape routes?"

"No idea." Holland smiled faintly, shaking his head at the memory. "He also insisted every house should creak at least once during winter so you knew it was still alive."

I stared at him.

"...Your family is weird."

"That's rich coming from the woman who talks to her houseplants."

"I do not talk to them."

"You thanked the basil last week."

"I thanked myself for remembering to water it."

"You said..." He pointed at me dramatically. "'Good job, sweetheart.'"

"I absolutely did not."

"You absolutely did."

"I refuse to continue this conversation."

"Oh, because you're losing."

"I'm ending it because you're making things up."

His quiet chuckle blended into the music around us.

Not loud.

Not forced.

Just enough to soften the tension that had been sitting stubbornly between us all evening.

To my own surprise...

My shoulders relaxed.

Only a little.

But enough for him to notice.

"There she is," he murmured.

"What?"

"My fiancée."

I rolled my eyes.

"I never went anywhere."

"You've been mentally standing outside since we got here."

"...Maybe."

"I'd like you back inside."

The simplicity of the sentence caught me off guard.

He wasn't dismissing my fear.

He wasn't trying to convince me Blackwater was harmless.

He was simply asking me to be present.

To trust him.

For a moment...

I almost managed it.

I picked up my knife again.

Cut a piece of steak.

Finally took the bite he'd been patiently waiting for.

The meat melted almost instantly.

I closed my eyes.

"...Okay."

Holland folded his arms.

"I'll wait."

I swallowed.

"...This is annoyingly good."

"I know."

"I hate that you're right."

"I know."

"I was hoping it had gotten worse."

"It hasn't."

"Damn it."

The smug satisfaction that crossed his face lasted barely a second before he hid it behind another sip of water.

"I'll accept your apology."

"I wasn't apologising."

"No?"

"I was admitting defeat."

"That's even better."

"Oh, don't enjoy this too much."

"I intend to."

Despite myself...

The knot in my chest loosened another fraction.

Not because Blackwater had become less dangerous.

Not because my worries had disappeared.

But because Holland had done what he always seemed to know how to do—

He hadn't argued me out of my fear.

He'd simply made enough room beside it that, for a little while, it didn't feel so heavy.

Unfortunately...

The night had other plans.

A burst of raised voices cut through the easy rhythm of the restaurant.

Not shouting.

Just sharp enough to turn heads.

One of the waiters hurried toward the entrance while another exchanged a quick glance with the bartender. The tension lasted only a heartbeat before dissolving as quickly as it had come.

A customer apologised.

Someone laughed awkwardly.

Conversations resumed.

But I had already straightened in my chair.

"You saw that?" I whispered.

"I did."

"They looked nervous."

"They handled it."

"But—"

"Saffron."

His tone remained calm.

Patient.

"They handled it."

I wanted to believe him.

I really did.

Yet something deep inside me—the same instinct that had kept my eyes on the windows all evening-refused to unclench.

Outside...

Snow continued to drift silently through the glow of the streetlights.

And somewhere beyond those lights, unseen beneath the quiet winter night...

Ashbourne kept its secrets.