The salt air pressed in through the splintered window as Ivo stood in the shadow-drenched studio, papers trembling in his clenched fist. Marrow Point Radio was coming undone, and so was he; to his right, the ON AIR sign glowered in erratic red, a dying heartbeat. Through the glass, chaos scraped the corridors—Mairen’s voice exploded from every speaker, her confession setting the entire control board alight.

He could still taste her lips from last night, bitter and wild, and his jaw ached where she’d bitten him, but right now his focus was the letter from Lyev in his fist—Resign on air. Pay the debt. Or everything burns.

Veyra’s smoke-soft silhouette hovered at the edge of the room, poised but trembling, her usual iciness shattered into a fretwork of longing and fear. Her fingers fluttered over the soundboard, eyes darting from the meters to Ivo’s face. She was used to fixing things with neat, sharp cuts; emotions, though, spilled everywhere.

“Ivo,” she whispered, pulse thready, “you don’t owe this place more than you owe yourself.”

He didn’t answer, not with words. He strode into the booth as the phones shrieked and the whole town listened—he looked at her, then flicked the switch, his voice rolling over Astren Cove like a tide.

“This is my last broadcast,” he said, husky, raw, “I choose love.” The words didn’t feel like surrender; they felt like survival.

Outside, Mairen’s wild laughter echoed from her own studio—already live, already spiraling. Her eyes were swollen from hours of tears, mascara in inky streaks on her jawline, dress sliding off one shoulder as she stood before the mic. “Tonight,” she said, her voice all broken glass and honey, “no more secrets. No more hiding. I’m in love—with someone who makes me want to be better. Veyra, if you’re listening, this is for you.”

In the hush, Veyra’s throat closed. For a moment she forgot the millions of invisible ears, forgot every wall she’d spent a lifetime erecting. She half-ran, half-stumbled from the control room, through the blue-lit maze of the station, to Mairen’s side.

Mairen looked up—wrecked, hopeful—and Veyra kissed her, hungry and shivering, right there in front of the open mic. Their bodies pressed together, Mairen’s hands grasping Veyra’s hips, Veyra’s desperate fingers tangled in dark hair. The kiss deepened, tongues and teeth, a live wire arcing between them as the town held its breath. The taste of salt—sweat, tears, ocean—lingered in every gasp.

Mairen’s trembling broke in a laugh, forehead pressed to Veyra’s. “We just scandalized Marrow Point,” she murmured.

Veyra looked into her—truly into her—for the first time. “Let them listen,” she said, voice trembling. “For once, I want it all out loud.”

At the diner, Solan exhaled, heart no longer aching with the need to belong to someone who couldn’t see him. Telin met his gaze across the counter, a bare smile quirking their lips. Their hand, rough and warm, whispered against his. Something simple fluttered in Solan’s chest—relief, hope, maybe the very beginning of something that didn’t need to be earned.

Back in the booth, Ivo removed his headset. The studio felt small without his ambition swelling inside it, but for once he was weightless. Free. He crossed the street, sea spray biting his cheeks, and watched as the lighthouse cut a sharp, solemn beam across the dark water.

The broadcast faded to static. Doors slammed, feet pounded the pavement, but for a few dizzy minutes, everyone in Astren Cove was listening to the sound of hope and heartbreak, drifting out into the dawn.

Veyra and Mairen sat side by side in the empty studio, hands entwined. Ivo pressed his forehead to the cool window, letting the world slip away. Solan followed Telin into the uncertain morning, light bouncing off wet stones, nowhere to be but free.

Above them, the radio tower gleamed pale and new in the gold of sunrise, carrying the last confessions out across the water, into the fog, into whatever might come next.