He led me by the new armoury, the rebuilt creche, his silence some balm.

At the edge of the birch grove, he stopped. "Where next, Miss Angeline?"

Moonlight glinted off the scar above his brow — a souvenir from fending sixth-form bullies off me. My throat tightened.

"The lake," I whispered. "Our lake. The one where we … where you taught me how to skip stones.”

Malcolm’s smile contained decades of sunsets shared. "Thought you'd never ask."

"Really?" I said softly, as if to myself.

Malcolm's eyes brightened. "Absolutely. But it is no longer the secret haven it used to be. It’s grown popular now. So, what do you say?...