"This will be my last night here."

The words were spoken so matter-of-factly that she almost convinced herself they didn't hurt.

Almost.

Liora's hands stilled in the dough she had been kneading, fingers pressing too hard as the soft mass gave beneath her touch. It had been nearly a week since he'd staggered onto her doorstep-ragged, bloodied, barely standing. She had known, even then, that he wouldn't stay forever.

Of course, he wouldn't.

He was a rogue, a man carved from salt and wind, made to roam. How foolish had she been to think-to hope-that he might linger?

Her heart pounded against her ribs, but she kept her voice steady. "So soon?"

Her gaze flickered toward the window, where rain sang against the glass, a quiet, rhythmic warning.

"The storm is still heavy."

Elias exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "Aye," he admitted, shifting his weight against the wall. "But I have a notion it will lessen the farther I walk toward town." He hesitated, then added, quieter, "I've got the itch in me, lass. The ocean's calling, and I can't ignore her any longer."

The ocean. Not her.

Liora swallowed against the lump in her throat, carefully wiping her hands clean before turning to face him.

"You're going to walk?" Her voice was softer than she meant it to be, the words barely rising above the sound of the wind rattling the shutters. "In this weather?"

Elias met her gaze. Steady. Unyielding.

"Aye."

No hesitation. No faltering. Just finality.

Liora's stomach twisted.

He meant it.

"I'll be gone by morning."

The words struck like a bell tolling in the distance, a warning, a death knell.

She turned back to the dough, kneading it harder than necessary, as if pressing into the soft mass could somehow steady the ache clawing at her chest. Tears burned at her eyes. She blinked rapidly, refusing to let them fall. Her throat was tight, her breaths uneven.

She would not cry.

Not over him.

Not over a man who was never meant to stay.

The lighthouse had been hers alone for four years-just her and the gulls, the wind, the endless crash of the waves. Loneliness had become routine, something quiet, something she didn't have to think about.

But then, like a miracle wrapped in a nightmare, Elias had appeared on her doorstep.

And now, he was leaving.

She couldn't say anything. What was the point? Begging wouldn't stop him. Pretending she was fine wouldn't fool him.

So, she said nothing at all.

Elias lingered for a moment. Maybe he was waiting for her to fight him on it, to ask him to stay, to give him a reason.

But she didn't.

And after a long, heavy silence, he walked away.

They didn't speak for the rest of the day.

The silence was unbearable. Awkward. Terrible.

Heart-rending.

She moved through her evening chores on autopilot, her mind a battlefield between anger and grief. How dare she let herself get attached?

How dare he come into her home, worm his way under her skin, make her believe-even for a second-that maybe she wasn't meant to be alone after all?

How dare he give her attention, touch her like she was something worth holding onto, and then rip it all away like it meant nothing?

She was furious.

At him. At herself.

At the storm, for keeping him here long enough to make her care.

By the time night fell, exhaustion dragged at her limbs, but sleep never came easily. She tossed and turned, staring at the ceiling, listening to the wind howl. And when she finally drifted off, it was only to dream of a ship disappearing into the fog, its sails torn, its captain faceless.

Liora woke to silence.

Not the kind that came with peace, but the kind that came with absence.

Elias was gone.

She sat up too quickly, heart pounding, but the lighthouse was still. No distant footsteps. No grumbling complaints about her too-early mornings. No scent of salt and leather lingering in the air.

Her stomach twisted.

She climbed out of bed, pulling on her boots with jerky, uneven movements, and stepped into the main room.

Empty.

The blanket on the couch was neatly folded. His borrowed clothes were left in a pile beside it. The fire had burned low in the hearth, smoldering embers barely clinging to life.

He hadn't even said goodbye.

She exhaled slowly, pressing a hand to her chest as if that would ease the pressure building there. Fine. She could be fine.

The storm was still raging-worse than before.

Wind slammed against the lighthouse with relentless force. Rain lashed against the windows in thick sheets, making it impossible to see the ocean beyond. The sky was an endless, swirling gray, the horizon swallowed by chaos.

Liora moved with purpose. There was work to be done. She focused on her duty.

Checking the lantern. Securing the shutters. Reinforcing the supply shelves in case the storm dragged on longer than expected.

She would keep moving, keep doing, because stopping meant feeling. And she couldn't afford to feel right now.

Not when every corner of the lighthouse reminded her of him. And then-while shelving books in an attempt to keep herself busy-she found it.

A piece of parchment, tucked between the pages of the old keeper's book.

Her breath caught. She pulled it free, fingers shaking slightly as she unfolded it. It was a letter. Written in familiar handwriting. Too familiar.

Liora's blood ran cold.

She knew this writing.

She had seen it a hundred times over.

But that was impossible.

Heart hammering, she read the words inked onto the aged parchment.

Liora,

If you're reading this, then I've gone.

I won't lie to you. I should have left sooner. I should have walked out that door before I ever got comfortable, before I let myself get used to the warmth of your fire, the scent of lavender tea, the sound of your laughter when you think I'm not listening.

But I was selfish.

I let myself stay.

And now I'm afraid I've done something far worse than linger.

I don't know how to put this into words, but things are not as they should be. There's something about this place. About the storm, about you, that feels tangled with something I can't explain.

The more time I spent in that old keeper's book, the more uneasy I became. His words, his longing, it felt like reading my own thoughts before I ever thought them.

And that last note-if she ever reads this, tell her I kept my promise.

I don't remember writing those words.

But I know my own handwriting when I see it.

Something is wrong, Liora. And if I don't leave now, I don't think I ever will.

Or maybe... maybe I already have.

If I ever break my promise to you, know that I tried. Know that I wanted to stay. But the sea calls for me, as it always has. As it always will.

Take care, lass. Keep your light burning. And if I find my way back to you-again-don't let me leave next time.

-Elias

Her vision blurred.

The parchment slipped from her fingers.

The storm outside raged on.

And for the first time since she had taken up the keeper's post, she realized the storm had never been just a storm.

It was something else.

Something bigger.

Something she was only just beginning to understand.

WC: 1198