She nods once, decisively, then reaches for a waterproof flashlight. “Let’s go, then.”
We make our way toward the main door, and Ashe checks through a window before cautiously opening it. The storm’s fury hits us immediately—horizontal rain, wind that threatens to knock even my substantial mass off-balance.
“Stay close!” Ashe shouts over the tempest, her yellow-clad figure almost comically bright against the darkness.
We make our way down the path toward the boathouse and shoreline, Ashe’s flashlight beam dancing ahead of us. The same route we traveled when she first brought me to the lighthouse, now traversed in reverse. There’s a symmetry to it that feels appropriate, if melancholy.
At the water’s edge, we pause. The waves crash against the rocks, white-capped and angry. To a human, they might appear threatening; to me, they are merely interesting tactical considerations.
Ashe turns to face me, rain streaming down her face despite the hat. “Are you sure you’re strong enough for this? The current’s rough tonight.”
“I’ve navigated far worse,” I assure her. Though I appreciate the concern in her voice, the protectiveness of it.
Lightning flashes, briefly illuminating her features—determined, worried, something else… In that stark white light, I’m struck by how remarkable she is, this human who dragged a wounded monster to safety and stitched him together with steady hands.
“The map,” I remind her, raising my voice above the wind. “Keep it safe.”
“I will.”
“One week,” I say. “If you wish to come.”
She nods, water dripping from the brim of her hat. “One week.”
There should be more to say, I think. Some human custom of farewell that would adequately express… whatever this feeling is that swells within my chest.
But words have never been my strength, especially not human ones with all their complex shadings and implications.
Instead, I reach out, wrapping a tentacle gently around her waist, drawing her slightly closer. She comes willingly, looking up at me with those storm-colored eyes.
“Be safe, Ashe Morgan,” I say, my voice low but carrying through the wind somehow.
“You too, Captain,” she replies, and there’s a warmth in how she says the title that spreads through me despite the cold rain.
I release her reluctantly, already backing toward the churning water. “Watch for me on clear days. I’ll be patrolling these waters.”
“I’ll keep the light burning,” she promises.
With a final nod, I turn and plunge into the sea. The cold embrace of the ocean welcomes me home, salt water healing the last raw places of my wound. I dive deep, powerful tentacles propelling me through the undercurrents with a strength that feels glorious after days of confinement.
Yet as I cut through the dark water, moving ever northward toward my hidden cove, I’m already counting the days until I might see her again. If she comes at all.
Seven days. An eternity to wait, yet hardly any time at all after years of solitude.
Chapter 10
Troubled Waters
Ashe
The lighthouse is too damn quiet now.
I catch myself pausing in the kitchen, coffee mug halfway to my lips, listening for the subtle shift of tentacles against wood floors. For that deep voice with its formal cadence asking questions about modern appliances and technology.
It’s been a week since Roark returned to the sea, and the silence feels like an unwanted resident rather than the comfort it used to be.
I’ve spent years cultivating this solitude, building it around myself like the stone walls of the lighthouse—sturdy, reliable, protective. Now there are gaps in my defenses, and the wind whistles right through them.
“God, get it together,” I mutter, dumping my lukewarm coffee into the sink.
