4345.96 · April 6, 2025 AD
Shields and Silence
Moira's face changes when Daniel says the name. Just for a moment—colour draining, hands stilling—before composure returns like a door closing. She knows something. Has always known something. The festival crowds flow past their booth, oblivious to the weight now pressing between three generations of Campbells. The warning carries decades of practice. Whatever she's protecting Daniel from, she's been protecting him his entire life.
His parents arrive with the kind of pace that draws no attention—neither hurrying nor dawdling, moving with decades of practice at careful navigation.
Alasdair's tweed and leather satchel mark the historian. Moira's keen eyes assess the display plants with professional appreciation layered over maternal concern. "They're thriving," she murmurs. "Perhaps too well for public display."
Daniel tells them about the stranger. About the questions. About the name.
Stewart.
The change in his mother is subtle but profound. Colour drains from her face before returning in careful flush. Her hand finds his arm, steadying them both.
"Your father and I have always been careful to shield you from the more complicated parts of our history. But Daniel, you need to be ready."
The words raise more questions than they answer. Before he can press further, Rowan bounds over, and the moment shifts to grandparental warmth—Maeve's sketches admired, Isla's record-keeping praised, Rowan's plant arrangements celebrated.
But beneath the family gathering, warnings have been delivered.
Sunday dinner. Answers long deferred.
And Monday morning, Moira and Alasdair leave for Aberdeen.
Three days away.
Whatever's coming, Daniel will face it without them.
