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Amelia was sweating. She’d never addressed the hall like this. She was not a natural public speaker. But she didn’t have a choice. She had to get them to see.

‘The government doesn’t just want to hear how we’ve survived—they want to know why we deserve to stay,’ she said.

‘So, why didn’t you tell them?’ Harriet asked.

There were some murmurs of agreement with her.

‘I tried. The government woman wouldn’t listen to me,’ Amelia told the hall.

Another murmur rippled through the gathered islanders like a breeze over dry leaves. Amelia felt Tara shift her weight beside her, clearly uneasy under the combined intensity of so many mistrusting stares. Amelia didn’t blame her for being nervous. She’d lived here all her life, and she was seconds from bursting into tears.

Solomon, a farmer, stood, his eyes narrowed like he’d caught a whiff of something foul. ‘And we’re to trust her to speak for us, are we?’ he asked.

‘I trust her!’ Amelia told him vehemently.

Solomon laughed bitterly. ‘This from the woman responsible for the tea fiasco?’

The room broke into hushed chuckles and whispers, and Amelia’s jaw tightened.

‘That was a long time ago,’ she shot back, her tone icy. ‘And it’s nothing to do with th-th-this.’

Solomon snorted, folding his arms. ‘I’m just sayin’. Amelia’s asking us to trust this stranger to save us all. And she can’t even be trusted with a cup of tea!’

Gregory spoke suddenly, his tone unusually irate. ‘That’s enough, Solomon. Unless you’re volunteering to negotiate with the government yourself?’

The islanders laughed louder this time, and Solomon looked down, muttering under his breath.

Harriet cleared her throat, reclaiming the room’s attention. ‘We’ll give it a chance,’ she said, her words deliberate and weighty, her eyes challenging anyone in the room to argue with her—no one did. ‘But don’t mistake that for blind faith,’ she went on. ‘You’re vouching for her, Amelia, and if this goes wrong, it’s on your head.’

Amelia nodded, her shoulders tight. She could feel the eyes, the judgment. Nobody thought she could do this.

Harriet gestured toward the door. ‘The Elders will now convene in privacy to decide how this outsider’s visit will proceed.’

The meeting dissolved into murmurs and shuffling feet. As the hall emptied, Amelia’s hand found Tara’s arm.

‘Come on,’ Amelia said, her voice low.

Tara followed her off the stage, but before they could get out, a familiar voice rang out.

‘Amelia!’

She stopped, stiffening slightly, as her parents approached. Her mother was the first to speak. ‘And just where do you think you’re going without stopping to say hello properly?’

‘Hi, Mum,’ Amelia said, forcing a smile.

Her father joined them with his usual nod.

‘Well. You never do anything quietly, do you?’ her mother said.

‘This is Tara,’ Amelia said, a touch more defensively than she intended.

‘We heard.’ Her mother gave Tara a critical once-over. ‘Well, she’ll have to come for dinner. Both of you. Tomorrow night.’

‘Oh, err, we might be quite busy—'

‘We’ll expect you both at six,’ her mother said, undeterred

Amelia glanced at Tara, whose expression was polite but unreadable, then back at her parents. ‘We’ll see,’ she said evasively.

Her father frowned, but his tone was gentler. ‘Amelia, don’t argue. Your mother’s already set her mind to it.’

Amelia sighed, conceding the battle with a tight nod. ‘Fine. We’ll come.’

Her mother looked satisfied. Her sharp gaze flicked briefly to Tara. ‘Good. I’ll make something hearty. You’ll need it after whatever business you’re up to.’

With that, they walked off.

Tara went to follow.

‘Wait,’ Amelia said. She dropped her voice. ‘I’d like to put more distance between myself and my mother, or she’s apt to realise there’s more to be said.’

Tara smiled for the first time since she’d reached the island.

Outside, the sun was lowering, and the faint glow of lanterns lit their way as they moved away from the hall and found the path to Amelia’s house.

‘So,’ Tara ventured as they walked, ‘is there anything else I should know about your greatest hits other than The Tea Fiasco? The Bread Blunder, perhaps? The Jam Jar Disaster?’

Coming from anyone else, the joke might have stung. But Amelia couldn’t hear malice in Tara’s tone. ‘Keep going, and I’ll make you sleep in the goat shed.’

The path wound its way to Amelia’s modest cottage, tucked under the shadow of a gnarled oak tree.

‘I assume that was non-negotiable?’ Tara asked. ‘Dinner with your lot?’

‘You assume correctly,’ Amelia said, unlocking the door and stepping inside. Amelia dropped her bag onto a low bench by the door and moved to light a lamp.

Tara glanced around at Ameila’s tidy little living room and arched an eyebrow. ‘This is… cosy.’

‘I don’t speak fluent mainlander, but I think you meant to say small,’ Amelia corrected, setting the lamp down and adjusting the wick.

Tara smiled and sat down on the edge of an old, mismatched chair in the corner. ‘No. It’s nice. I’m just being snippy because I was hauled up in front of the entire island of Solhaven and read for filth. I’m sensitive like that.’

Amelia didn’t know what ‘read for filth’ meant, but she could guess from context. ‘You handled it better than me.’

‘What? You handled it great,’ Tara said, offering a smile.

Amelia turned to the fireplace. Some kind soul, probably Finn, had built it in her absence, so it only needed to be lit, which she presently did.

‘That’s kind of you to say, but you saw how Solomon talked to me?’

‘The dick with the soul patch? Fuck him!’ Tara said, her voice heated. She gave Amelia a grin. ‘Sorry, just getting my swearing out now.’

Amelia chuckled despite herself, the tension in her shoulders easing a little. ‘Well, we should eat something. Though I don’t have much…’

‘Whatever is good,’ Tara assured her.

Amelia made them a quick, simple dinner—just some bread and cheese, with a few fruits she had on hand. After placing it on the table, she gestured toward her tiny dining table, just big enough to accommodate two.

Tara sat down and ate everything put in front of her, which Amelia was grateful for. ‘That was bloody good bread,’ she said, patting her stomach.

‘I’ll pass your compliment to our baker, Molly,’ Amelia smiled.

‘Do. Where am I sleeping tonight, by the way?’ Tara asked.

‘You’re in my bed,’ Amelia said instantly.

Tara’s face froze, and Amelia realised what she’d thought she meant. ‘I’ll be in the living room,’ she said quickly.

Tara relaxed. ‘No way. I’m not taking your bed. I’ll sleep wherever.’

‘Tara…’

‘I didn’t give you my bed, did I?’ Tara asked.

That was an excellent point.

‘I’ll set up the bed in the front room for you,’ Amelia said, moving toward a cupboard and pulling out blankets. ‘I don’t have a sofa, so it’ll have to be the floor.’

Tara watched as Amelia spread the blankets out by the roaring fireplace. ‘Well, it's not the Hilton,’ Tara quipped.

Amelia gave her a dry look. ‘I know what that is, you know.’

Tara shrugged. ‘I figured you would.’

‘No, you didn’t,’ Amelia shot back. ‘You thought I wouldn’t realise I was being insulted.’

Tara paused, a flicker of something unspoken crossing her face. She smiled, her tone softening. ‘Sorry. I’m being shitty. It looks good.’

Amelia looked at the clock. It was early, but she was tired. Today had been the longest of her life. ‘I’m off to bed. You should too,’ she said. ‘Tomorrow will be...’

‘Horrific?’ Tara offered.

Amelia tutted, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. ‘Sleep well,’ she said, heading toward her small bedroom.

As the door clicked shut behind her, Amelia thought it might not be the worst thing for Tara to spend an uncomfortable night. She’d had it too easy for too long. A little hardship might do her good.