Chapter 11 - Beneath the Quiet Sky

The morning air smelled of rain—fresh, earthy, like the world had been washed clean overnight. Eleanor wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders as she stepped onto the small balcony of the inn. The village of Braemar stretched out below her, quiet in the early hours, the streets damp, the rooftops gleaming in the pale sunlight.

She had barely slept. The weight of the past few weeks pressed against her ribs, and the quiet only made it heavier. She should have felt safer here, farther from home than she had ever dared to be. But safety wasn't the same as peace. And peace had not yet found her.

A soft knock at her door pulled her from her thoughts.

"Come in," she called, though her voice was barely above a whisper.

The door creaked open, and Callum stepped inside, his broad frame nearly filling the small space. He didn't speak right away. He never did—not until he had taken in the room, her face, the set of her shoulders, as if weighing every word before speaking it aloud.

"I thought you might be awake." He set down a small bundle on the wooden table. "Breakfast."

She glanced at the cloth-wrapped parcel—fresh bread, a slice of cheese, an apple. Simple things, but thoughtful. She swallowed. "Thank you."

Callum leaned against the table, arms crossed. "You don't have to leave today."

Eleanor's fingers tightened around the edge of her shawl. She had already planned her next steps. She had spent half the night convincing herself she had no other choice. And yet, the idea of leaving twisted something inside her.

"I can't stay here forever."

Callum studied her, his expression unreadable. "No. But you don't have to keep running either."

She let out a quiet breath, shaking her head. "I'm not running."

He gave her a look that said otherwise.

A silence settled between them, not uncomfortable, but thick with unspoken words. Finally, Callum sighed and pushed himself away from the table.

"If you change your mind, I'll be in the stables."

And just like that, he was gone.

Eleanor sank into the chair by the window, staring at the untouched breakfast. She wanted to believe she was making the right choice. That leaving meant freedom. That staying meant…

Something else.

Something she wasn't sure she was ready for.

She reached for the bread, tearing off a small piece, chewing slowly as she gazed out at the village.

The wildflowers in the field beyond the inn swayed with the breeze, bending but never breaking.

Perhaps she could learn to do the same.