Sebastian studies me with new interest, like I’m an artifact he can’t quite categorize. “I wasn’t aware you had such strong feelings about marine conservation, Miss Morgan. Perhaps you could channel that passion into helping develop the educational component of our presentation? Ensure we’re being… sensitive.”
The trap is obvious—he’s attempting to neutralize my objection by incorporating me. I open my mouth to refuse when Marina speaks up.
“I think what Ashe means is that we should be careful about tone,” she says smoothly. “Tourism has changed since the GreatUnveiling. Many of our visitors might be uncomfortable with celebrating hunting traditions, even as history. Some might even be monsters themselves, or have monster family members.”
Several committee members nod thoughtfully. Marina has a way of making practical sense that people respect.
“A fair point,” Sebastian concedes, though his eyes remain fixed on me. “We’ll focus on the educational aspect. Perhaps a memorial component acknowledging mistakes of the past?”
Discussions resume around modifications to Sebastian’s proposal while I sit in silence, my earlier outburst still reverberating through me.
What was I thinking? Drawing attention to myself, revealing sympathies that might raise questions about why the previously quiet lighthouse keeper suddenly cares so deeply about sea monsters?
When the meeting finally ends, I rise quickly, hoping to escape before anyone can corner me with questions. Marina follows me outside, waiting until we’re clear of the building before speaking.
“You need to be more careful,” she says, voice low. “Cape Tempest has long memories.”
“You saw those pictures,” I reply, still seething.
She glances around to make sure we’re alone on the steps. “Of course it’s horrible. But your reaction was… personal. People notice things like that.”
My face heats. Is it that obvious? Can she read on my features the memory of Roark’s touch, the way his voice deepened when he called me his “treasure”?
“I just think we should be more respectful,” I mumble.
Marina sighs. “Sebastian was watching you the whole time, you know. Before you even spoke. Like he was waiting for something.”
“What’s his deal, anyway? I swear he’s got a bone to pick with me. Does he think I’m too young to be involved in the Historic Society or something?”
“He’s always been a bit of a bastard.” She pulls her coat tighter against the evening chill. “Listen, whatever’s going on with you—and don’t bother denying something is—keep your head down for a while.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak without revealing more than I should.
“And Ashe?” Marina adds as we reach the bottom of the steps. “If you need anything, you know where to find me.”
Her eyes hold mine, and I see understanding there beyond what she’s saying out loud.
“Thanks, Marina.” My throat tightens with unexpected emotion. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
We part ways at the corner, Marina heading toward her shop and apartment above it, me toward the path that leads back to the lighthouse. As I walk, I can’t shake the feeling of being watched—a prickling awareness between my shoulder blades that makes me glance back more than once.
The street is empty behind me, but the sensation doesn’t fade.
With each step toward home, my thoughts turn to tomorrow. To the secluded cove where Roark’s cabin waits, and the promise of seeing him again.
Whatever risks I’m taking feel increasingly worth it—not just for the heart-stopping intensity of his touch, but for the way he looks at me like I’m something precious when the rest of the world barely notices I exist.
Marina’s right that I need to be careful. But careful doesn’t mean stopping. It just means watching the shadows more closely.
Chapter 11
Captain’s Quarters
Ashe
The trail isn’t on any map.
No wonder. Anyone with a lick of common sense would take one look at this coastal death trap and run the other way.
