For a heartbeat, nobody moved.

The stream glimmered between them, a thin ribbon of silver dividing two worlds—the hunted and the hunter. William Beckinsale stood on the opposite bank, hands in his coat pockets as if this were a casual midnight stroll.

His expression said otherwise.

‘You’re a long way from the Hall,’ Don said evenly. ‘Planning a nature walk?’

William smiled without humour.
‘Planning to keep the peace. Joan’s peace, that is.’

Riggs muttered, ‘Bloody family business.’

Samson stepped forward before anyone could stop her.

‘What did you do to my father?’ she demanded.

William’s brows lifted, genuinely surprised.
‘Your father?’
A beat.
Then he...

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