Elias walked.

The rain was relentless, driving into his skin like needles, the wind howling in his ears. The road to town was longer than he thought it would be. After a while, the grass tufts all began to look the same, and he couldn't tell if the clouds were changing or if he just wasn't paying close enough attention. Every step called to a fuzzy memory that gnawed at the back of his mind. He couldn't tap into it. He was missing the key, and he didn't even know where to look for it.

Every step felt wrong.

Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was the guilt. Maybe it was the way his chest ached when he thought of Liora. This is for the best. He told himself that over and over, forcing his boots forward, trudging through the mud-slick path. He had stayed too long. Longer than he ever intended. He had let her get too close.

Damn. He needed a drink. Something strong to knock him off his feet and erase all memory of Liora. Perhaps even a tavern wench that could soothe the ache he felt within his chest.

Even the mere thought of some other woman sent his stomach reeling.

The lighthouse, the warmth of her fire, the way she looked at him—like he was someone worth keeping—it had started to feel like home. How long had it been since he'd set roots down somewhere? He hadn't been more than a lad when he'd set off from home, leaving his drunken father behind to tend to his depressed mother.

There were days Elias regretted leaving them. Maybe if he'd stayed, they would have been able to mend their family.

But Elias didn't do home.

Even when he had been a lad, he had known he didn't belong to the land. It ended one way or another, and it always belonged to someone else. Oh, but the sea? The sea was no man's, no matter how much they may try to lay claim to it. It was as wild as he. Yes, Elias Vayne belonged to the sea, to the freedom of the tide. Not to warm kitchens, not to soft-spoken women with ink-stained hands and eyes that saw right through him.

Not to Liora.

She was everything the others had never been. Soft. Gentle. Genuine. She had never wanted anything from him, instead opening her home for him to stay.

Oh, and he had stayed.

The wind whipped at his face, and he cast a weary eye over his shoulder. The storm was darkening. The winds howled overhead.

All he could think of, though, was a gentle touch and a lemon-scented hearth.

Elias cursed himself. Heavens above how he had wanted to grow roots to stay, to be around the lovely home she had crafted from among the crags and rocks. Never in his life had he wanted to stay someplace so badly, but the siren song of the ocean was strong. He had never been one to turn her down.

A gust of wind slammed into him, nearly knocking him off balance. He cursed, adjusting the strap of his satchel, gripping it tighter as if that might steady him.

The storm was supposed to weaken the farther he got. That was how storms worked, wasn't it? You moved away, and they faded.

But this one...

This storm followed him.

Each step he took, the wind screamed louder. The rain fell harder. The weight in his chest grew heavier.

Don't look back.

He had told himself that when he left the lighthouse. But something cold and twisting coiled in his gut, whispering, "You should have stayed."

If she had asked him, he might have. There was a sweetness to her words that made him want to taste them, to drag his teeth along each time-sweetened thing, let it rip him apart and build him back again.

Elias clenched his jaw, pushing the thought aside. Nonsense. He had done what needed to be done. He was a rogue. A scoundrel. A pirate! He needed no one and nothing. The ocean was his home, the tides his keeper. 

The wind roared through the cliffs, and something strange happened. The road...stretched.

Elias stopped mid-step, and his heart pounded hard against his chest.

The town—it should be visible by now. He had walked far enough, hadn't he? It had been hours. At least, it seemed like hours. He had left before dawn, and the sun should be up by now.

But when he looked ahead, all he saw was fog.

Thick. Endless. Dark. Not a ray of sun or moon to be seen in any direction.

His pulse ticked faster. Something was wrong.

He turned around.

The lighthouse should have been farther in the distance.

But instead—

It was closer.

Panic seized his ribs. His breaths came faster, uneven. No. No, that wasn't possible. Lightning flashed across the sky. Thunder clapped. Still, the lighthouse loomed all the larger until it swallowed his vision.

He had walked miles. He had left her behind.

So why did it feel like he had gone nowhere at all?

The storm howled louder, a deafening shriek that swallowed his curses.

His vision blurred.

His knees buckled.

Then—blackness.

Elias woke to the scent of salt and sand.

His body ached. His fingers dug into the damp earth beneath him, grains of sand clinging to his skin.

Slowly, warily, he opened his eyes.

The sky above him was gray, the storm still looming—but softer now, as if it were watching.

The crash of waves filled his ears.

He knew this place.

Elias forced himself to sit up, pushing against the dull ache in his limbs. His heart stopped when he saw it.

The lighthouse.

Close.

Too close.

His blood turned to ice.

No, no, no.

He was supposed to be gone. He was supposed to be free.

But the storm—the storm wouldn't let him go.

He hadn't left.

He had never left.

And somewhere inside that lighthouse, Liora was waiting.

WC: 989