Kavi stands at the water’s edge, the wind yanking strands of damp hair from her messy bun, salt clinging to her skin. Her jeans are rolled, bare toes toeing the sand, but her body is tight, energy crackling beneath her oversized thrift store cardigan. She waits, not certain for what, knuckles white at her sides. A pair of strong arms encircle her hips—Drevik’s touch, silent but grounding. He presses his chest to her back, chin brushing her shoulder, his stubble rough and familiar. He breathes in her scent, as if he can anchor himself in her nearness.

She twists in his embrace, searching his face. His jaw is set, expression guarded, but softer than she’s ever seen. There’s a smudge of grease on his sleeve, a stubborn curl flopping over his brow. For a heartbeat, neither speaks. Kavi’s eyes—rimmed red, defiant—drop. She rests her cheek against his chest, hiding the trembling in her fingers. Drevik’s heartbeat thuds slow and heavy. "You don’t have to run," he murmurs, voice low, the words vibrating through her. "Not from me."

Kavi wants to laugh—too bitter, too raw. She closes her eyes. "People always want something I can’t give," she whispers, voice breaking. Drevik’s hands slide to her jaw, tipping her face to his. "I don’t want perfect. I want you," he tells her, thumbs wiping away the beginnings of tears. For the first time, she believes him.

They walk back together—her hand tangled in his, the absence of shame a new, frightening freedom. The lighthouse looms above them and, at its base, the world crackles with tension: Selis standing rigid by the battered doors, fists clenched. Her ponytail is sharp, eyes dark and wild, lips bitten near-bloody. In her hands—Vael’s old leather journal, its corners frayed, a lifeline turned weapon. Drevik’s lips flatten. He pulls Kavi just behind him, protective.

Vael descends the stairs, black shirt half-open, skin showing the tension of someone barely holding on. His smile is a mask now, brittle and false. Mirael stands to the side, arms folded, blazer immaculate, red lipstick smudged with the ghost of a smirk. Tension hums so thick it’s impossible to breathe. Selis lifts the journal, voice shaking: "How long were you going to hide this, Vael?"

Vael’s jaw clenches, but he steps closer, attempting charm. "Let’s not put on a show, Selis." She laughs—a ragged, despairing sound. "Tell them," she demands, head high, tears shimmering on sharp cheekbones. Mirael’s eyes flick between them, a predator scenting blood. She reaches into her bag and produces a battered envelope. "If we’re airing secrets," she purrs, "perhaps you’d like to explain this, Selis. Or should I?" She tosses the envelope onto the steps. Selis pales, entire body rigid.

Vael’s mask slips as everyone turns to Selis. Her face crumples—shame, fury, heartbreak twisting her features. Kavi’s anger falters, pity flickering. Drevik frowns, shoulders squared. Mirael’s victory is short-lived; Vael wheels on her, voice steel: "Enough. You want power so badly? Here—take it." He rips the journal from Selis’s hands, throws it at Mirael’s feet. The act shatters the moment. Mirael’s eyes widen, hands trembling for the first time.

Selis, chest heaving, stands in the silence and looks at each of them in turn. Her voice, quiet but carrying, splits the air: "He killed someone. Read it." She thrusts the journal at Drevik, who recoils, uncertain. Vael stands very still, face haunted, eyes dark with memories.

Kavi grabs Drevik’s hand tightly, her own trembling. Selis faces Vael, journal outstretched, her voice a knife's edge: “Tell them what you did—or I will.”

Lightning splits the sky, illuminating every raw, exposed nerve.

To be continued…