WHICH MAN STAYS?
James sketched the contours of the land, talking about sustainable forestry, about preserving the integrity of the place.
As the sun began to dip, painting the lake in gold and orange, a figure emerged from the trees on the far shore. A woman. She was too far to see clearly, but her posture, the pale blonde of her hair caught in the dying light, was unmistakable.
Clara.
She did not wave. She did not call out. She simply stood at the edge of the water, on her side of the lake, a distant, motionless silhouette. Watching.
My breath seized. Liam's hand tightened on mine. James moved subtly closer to Leo.