“How’s the side feeling?” she asks, eyes flicking to my injury.
I lift the bandage to reveal the wound—still an angry red line, but otherwise healed. “Much improved. Your stitching technique would impress even the most seasoned ship’s surgeon.”
“High praise from Captain Tentacles,” she says, but her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
We both know what my healing means. The unspoken truth hovers between us like storm clouds on the horizon. My time here is limited—has always been limited. This temporary shelter can’t become permanent, no matter how unexpectedly agreeable I’ve found it to be.
She sips her coffee, glancing at the clock. “I should get ready. Need to check the light mechanism before the kids arrive.”
“Of course.”
She disappears into the bathroom, and I hear the shower running moments later. I allow myself to imagine the water cascading over her skin, remembering the exquisite responsiveness of her body when I’d touched her that first night. The memory sends a ripple of color across me, and I force my thoughts elsewhere.
Instead, I focus on practical concerns. The longer I remain, the greater the danger—to her reputation, her position, perhaps even her safety. This town’s history with sea creatures is written in blood and trophy cases. She can’t be seen as a sympathizer.
The shower stops, and soon Ashe emerges dressed in her official lighthouse keeper’s uniform: dark blue trousers, light blue button-up shirt with embroidered patch, and practical boots. Her damp hair is twisted into a knot at the nape of her neck.
“You look…” I search for an appropriate compliment.
“Professional?” she offers.
“I was going to say ‘authoritative,’” I reply. “Like a proper ship’s commander.”
This earns me a genuine smile. “I’ll take it. There’s more coffee if you want some. And I left some fish in the refrigerator—should still be fresh enough from yesterday.”
“Thank you.”
She checks her watch, then gathers a clipboard from the table. “Remember—”
“Complete silence. Do not emerge until you give the all-clear,” I recite. “I was a ship’s captain for decades, treasure. I understand the importance of following orders.”
“Right.” She hesitates, then nods briskly. “I’ll be back in a couple hours.”
After she leaves, I carefully make my way to the kitchen to retrieve the fish, slipping it past my tentacle beard to consume it raw, as nature intended. Human cooking methods are interesting diversions, but nothing compares to the clean simplicity of fresh catch.
Time passes slowly when confined to a small space. I’ve grown accustomed to the vastness of the ocean, the freedom to move as I please through its depths. This voluntary imprisonment, necessary though it may be, chafes against my nature. But I find a good book and it eases the boredom for a time.
Eventually, I hear the clamor of approaching voices—high-pitched, exuberant, distinctly young. Through the door, Ashe’s voice is confident as she explains the lighthouse’s history and function to her young audience. She speaks of maritime safety, of the light’s purpose as guardian and guide. There’s genuine passion in her tone when she describes how the beam cuts through the darkest storm.
“Can we see where you live?” a child’s voice asks.
My entire body tenses.
“That area’s private,” Ashe responds smoothly. “But I can show you something even cooler. Who wants to see the biggest, brightest light bulb in town?”
A chorus of excited agreements follows, and their footsteps recede upward, toward the gallery. I release a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
But mere minutes later, I hear it—light footsteps on the stairs, coming down rather than going up. A single set, too quick and light to be Ashe’s.
I remain motionless, my entire body coiled in alert stillness as the footsteps approach.
“Hello?” A child’s voice, high and curious, followed by a testing rattle of the living quarters doorknob. “Is this where the bathroom is?”
I press myself against the wall beside the door, careful that no shadow betrays my presence beneath the crack. The knob rattles again, more insistent this time.
“Aw, it’s locked,” the child mutters, disappointed. “Maybe there’s pirate treasure in there.”
More rattling, then the sound of retreating footsteps, quickly replaced by heavier ones descending the stairs.
