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Sin grabbed their stuff and led her down a narrow hallway to a bedroom, opening the door. The bed was made up with a crisp white bedspread, giving the room a cheerful feel. He pulled her into his arms. "It will be all right."

"Will it?" she asked. "Michael is dead. Sokolov still has Imogen."

"Charlotte, what you have been through is unspeakable. What happened was horrible, lass, but we have to keep moving forward. We can't stop now."

"I'm not stopping. I have no choice." She stepped back from him. "I have nothing anymore," she said as her eyes flared. "I think I would like to be alone for a while."

"Of course." The fission in the air marked the thin split of time between the moment of life and death. He quietly shut the door behind himself, leaving Charlie alone.

She lay down on the bed, searching for the solace the darkness and sleep had offered her in the past, knowing she would not find it this time. There would be no release for her, the weight of her conscience would prevent it. Hours passed, and the day began to fade into evening. She sat up and wiped her face before going out to the sitting room. Jock sat in an old leather armchair, reading a paper.

"Can I get you anything, lassie?" he asked. "Something to eat?"

"No, I'm fine." She looked around. Like his boat, the place was surprisingly neat.

"Ye'll no be any good starved."

She gave him a smile. "I'm fine, really. Where's Sin?"

"He left," he said a bit uncomfortably. He set the paper down and stood up.

"Where did he go?"

"He didn't say." He looked around, grasping for an explanation. "When he was a lad and needed to think, he often took off by himself."

"Think?" she said, more to herself.

"Aye, the lad's always in his head. Always trying to work stuff out. He's introspective." He tilted his head to the side, possibly judging how much she already knew, then said in a low voice. "His mother used to say he was withdrawn and spoiled, but I knew better."

She nodded, hoping he would continue.

"The lad needed an outlet. A way to get the words that swam in his head out. So, I gave him some old canvases and a paint set and taught him the basics."

"He learned to paint from you?"

"Aye. He just needed a way to make sense of all his thoughts," Jock said. His eyes glazed over and he remained quiet, as if the small sullen, dark-haired boy stood right before him. "And it worked," he finally continued. "He began to come out of his shell. He was a natural talent, able to catch such profound emotion in each of his paintings. But there were still times when he needed to escape. I suppose it will always be like that for him. He's a deep thinker."

"It was good of you to notice. Some parents never see what their children truly need." She thought of her own mother and father and how they never took the time to understand her.

"He told you then," Jock said, surprised.

She looked up quickly, not realizing the implications of what she said. "Yes, he did."

"I don't think he's ever told anyone." He looked down, wiping a tear from his eye. "You'll find him at the castle."

"Castle?"

"Aye, Sinclair Castle. It's just ruins now. It's about two kilometers north of here. There's a path. Take William with you, he knows the way. If you leave now, you'll make it before it gets dark."

"I'm not sure he would want to be disturbed," she said hesitantly. She wasn't sure she was ready to see him after this morning.

"I ken you should." He handed her a flashlight and coat. Scooting her out the door, he whistled for William. The dog came running. "Go," he said. "And hurry."

The narrow path skirted the edge of the sandstone cliffs. Charlie followed William as he ran ahead, barking at the herring gulls as they patrolled the shorelines, swooping down and plucking their meal from the water with their hefty bills. She moved hastily along the bay, afraid to get caught out in the dark. The sun hung just along the edge of the horizon, valiant against the heather moorland to the east, while the moon, full in all its radiant beauty, hugged the ocean. She was caught somewhere in the middle, lost between their perfect balance where one could not be without the other. Yet where was she? Who was she?

The trail began to climb steeply, and she felt her breath grow shallow with each step before it eventually leveled off onto another high moorland. The path cut inward, narrowly avoiding the top of a deep, rocky inlet carved from the cliff by the sea. She continued. William had come to walk beside her, no longer interested in the birds, offering her his protection and providing her with his companionship. The sky, now tinged in pinks and oranges, had turned cold. She could see it in the distance, black as a shadow in the night, the skeleton of the castle. It was built into the rocky promontory, surrounded on nearly every side by the ocean. William looked up at her and sniffed the damp air then barked and took off running, no doubt toward his master.

She found him sitting in the stone frame of what at one time must have been an impressive window. William sniffed the surrounding structure, lifting his leg from time to time to claim his spot in its decaying history.