The wind screamed like it was warning us.
Whoooooosh.
It tore at my hair, my coat, my thoughts—everything—while the sea raged below, black and endless, crashing against the rocks with violent force—CRASH... hiss... CRASH. My heart beat in time with it, wild and out of control.
The flashlights drew closer.
Crunch. Crunch.
Serafin's hand tightened around mine, grounding me just enough to keep my legs from shaking apart. "Don't look back," he murmured.
"I'm not afraid of them," I lied.
"Yes, you are," he said. "And that's okay. Fear keeps you alive."
One of the lights flicked on brighter—click—cutting through the fog like a blade.
"Caoimhe!" a voice called. Male. Familiar in that vague, small-town way. "You don't have to do this."
I laughed, sharp and bitter. "Do what? Stand where I'm standing?"
"You're making things worse," another voice added. "You should come with us."
Serafin stepped forward slightly, placing himself between me and the lights. "She's not going anywhere."
"Then you're part of the problem," the first voice replied.
"Funny," Serafin said coolly. "That's what I've been saying about you."
The flashlights lowered just enough for me to make out shapes—two men, bundled against the cold, faces half-hidden by shadow and fog. Not strangers. Never strangers in this town.
"What do you want?" I shouted over the wind.
"To help you," one of them answered. "Before you hurt yourself."
The implication twisted my gut. "You don't get to pretend you care."
A pause. Then, quieter: "We cared once."
My phone vibrated violently in my pocket—bzzzzt, bzzzzt—like it was panicking along with me.
Unknown Caller.
Serafin glanced at it. "Ignore it."
"No," I said, pulling it out. "I'm done ignoring things."
I answered. "What."
Static surged—sssshhhh—then the voice slid in, smooth and cold. "You're standing on the edge again."
"You watching me now?" I snapped.
"We never stopped."
One of the men stiffened. "She's talking to someone."
"Who?" the other demanded.
I laughed softly, hysteria bubbling just under the surface. "You don't know?"
The voice on the phone continued. "You think this is about the fall. It's not."
"Then what the fuck is it about?" I demanded.
Silence stretched. Then: "What you saw after."
My breath caught. "I didn't see anything."
"Yes, you did," the voice said gently. "And you buried it. Just like we buried everything else."
The call ended—click.
The wind seemed to die all at once, leaving an eerie stillness.
Serafin's jaw clenched. "We're leaving. Now."
One of the men stepped forward. "You can't."
Serafin pulled me back sharply just as a rock skidded under my boot—scrape—sending my stomach lurching.
"That's close enough," he warned, his voice deadly calm.
Flashlights snapped off—click, click—and suddenly we were swallowed by darkness again.
"Run," Serafin said.
We ran.
Boots pounded against damp earth—thud, thud, thud—branches snapping—crack!—lungs burning as we tore away from the cliffs, downhill toward the shoreline. Behind us, shouts echoed—Hey! Stop!—followed by hurried footsteps.
We burst through the fog and into the shadow of an old boathouse, half-rotted and leaning, its door hanging crooked.
Serafin shoved it open—BANG—and dragged me inside just as a light swept past the entrance.
We crouched in the dark, breathing hard.
Drip... drip... drip.
Water leaked from the ceiling, each drop loud as a gunshot in my ears.
"What the hell is going on?" I whispered.
Serafin ran a hand through his hair, frustration bleeding through his composure. "They're scared."
"Of me?"
"Of what you remember," he corrected.
"I don't remember anything," I hissed.
"That's what scares them most," he said. "Memories come back. And when they do, stories unravel."
A noise outside—footsteps crunching slowly—made us freeze.
"Split up?" a voice murmured nearby.
"No," another replied. "She won't go far."
My stomach dropped. "They think they own me."
"They think they own the truth," Serafin said. "And you're standing in its way."
My phone buzzed again—bzzzzt—this time with a message instead of a call.
You're running out of time.
I stared at the screen. "What happens if I remember?"
Serafin met my eyes. "Then they lose control."
"And what do I lose?"
He hesitated. "Everything you thought was real."
The boathouse door creaked softly—creeaaak—someone testing it.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
Serafin leaned close, his voice barely a breath. "No matter what they say next, you don't speak."
A shadow passed under the door.
Then a knock.
Knock.
Slow. Certain.
"Caoimhe," the voice called gently. "We just want to talk."
I swallowed hard, my mind spinning with fragments that didn't quite fit—rain, blood, a shape in the dark that wasn't Liam.
Serafin squeezed my hand once.
And somewhere deep inside me, something long buried began to stir.