James had learned to trust his instincts, not because they were infallible, but because ignoring them always cost more than obeying them. And this morning, every nerve in his body was telling him the peace was thinning. The village still looked quiet, the air sharp with brine and woodsmoke, but something under it rang false, like a note struck off-key.
Penelope didn’t seem to notice. She walked beside him through the cobbled street, her arm brushing his now and then, her hair tucked beneath a plain scarf to keep her less visible. To anyone else, they might look like a couple on some simple errand, and James almost let himself fall into the ease of it. Almost.
But the man at the bakery stall—his glance was too quick, his smile too flat. The fisherman by the quay—he kept glancing not at th
