“You’ve been working too hard up in that lighthouse,” she says to Ashe, before glancing back at me. “And any friend of Ashe’s is worth feeding well.”
“Thank you,” I say, accepting the bowl. The rich aroma brings back distant memories of harbor kitchens from my captain days.
Marina leans over her counter slightly, lowering her voice. “I’m glad to see you out enjoying yourself, Ashe. You’ve been… preoccupied lately.” Her eyes flick briefly to me again. “But whatever’s been keeping you busy, it seems to agree with you. You look happier than I’ve seen you in a long time.”
Ashe relaxes visibly. “I am. Thank you for… well, for not asking too many questions.”
Marina’s weathered face softens. “You know me. Live and let live, that’s always been my policy.” She straightens up as another customer approaches. “You two enjoy the festival. And ‘Robert’—” her gaze meets mine with unexpected directness, “—take good care of our lighthouse keeper.”
There’s something in her tone that suggests she understands more than she’s letting on, but her smile remains warm as she turns to her next customer.
As we walk away with our chowder, Ashe guides us toward a quiet spot on the edge of the wharf. The wooden planks creak pleasantly beneath our feet, a sound I once knew well from my days on deck.
“Marina’s been like a second mother to me since I came here,” Ashe says, settling onto a bench overlooking the harbor. “Especially after Dad died. She doesn’t pry, but she notices everything.”
I taste the chowder, savoring the rich flavors with my temporary human palate. “She cares for you. Though she’s rather perceptive.”
“That’s one word for it.” Ashe smiles.
I watch a fishing boat rock gently in the harbor as I consider this. “There are humans who understand the world isn’t as simple as others believe. She seems like one of them.”
“Maybe.” Ashe looks at me, studying my human form with curious eyes. “What’s it like? Being like this again after so long?”
I flex my fingers, still marveling at how different they are from my tentacles. “Limiting. And yet… familiar.” I search for words to explain the sensation. “It’s like reading a book you once knew by heart but haven’t opened in decades. The story comes back to you, page by page.”
Before she can respond, a burst of laughter draws our attention to a crowd gathering near the harbor’s central platform. A man in an impeccably tailored blue blazer stands at a microphone, his polished smile gleaming as he welcomes everyone.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the Maritime Museum and Historical Society are proud to present a special demonstration as part oftoday’s festivities! In two hours, we’ll be showcasing traditional hunting techniques from Cape Tempest’s storied past!”
The crowd applauds, but Ashe’s hand tightens around mine.
“That’s Sebastian Walsh,” she whispers. “He’s the one who was pushing for this at the meeting. I thought there was a chance Mrs. Holloway from the preservation committee was going to veto it, but I guess that fell through.”
I keep my expression neutral despite the churning in my gut. Sebastian’s eyes scan the crowd as he continues speaking about honoring tradition and heritage. When his gaze passes over us, I have the unsettling feeling he’s searching for something—or someone.
“We don’t have to stay for that part,” Ashe offers.
“No,” I say, standing and pulling her up with me. “I’d rather see what else the festival has to offer while we have the chance.”
My attention shifts briefly to the water beyond the harbor. Something moves beneath the surface—a dark shape that doesn’t match the rhythm of the waves. The humans, distracted by their festivities, don’t notice.
But I do. We’re not the only sea creatures drawn to Cape Tempest today.
I turn my attention back to Ashe, deciding not to worry about whatever I glimpsed in the water. Likely just fish excited by theunusual activity around the docks—or perhaps a curious seal drawn to the festivities. Either way, it’s not worth spoiling this rare moment of normalcy.
“Let’s explore,” I suggest, deliberately lightening my tone. “Show me what humans do at these celebrations.”
Ashe’s smile returns. “Well, first, we need to get you some proper festival food. Marina’s chowder was just the beginning.”
She leads me through the growing crowd, her hand still in mine. The simple pleasure of walking openly beside her without fear of discovery feels almost intoxicating. Around us, people laugh and talk, completely unaware of my true nature—treating me as just another festival-goer.
We stop at a food stall selling fried seafood, where Ashe insists I try something called “lobster fritters.”
“These didn’t exist in my day,” I remark after taking a bite of the golden-brown morsel. The rich, buttery flavor spreads across my tongue. “We prepared lobster much more simply at sea.”
The vendor, a heavyset man with weathered cheeks, raises his eyebrows. “Your day? You don’t look old enough to be talking like my grandpa.”
Ashe jumps in smoothly. “Robert’s family has been in maritime work for generations. He practically grew up on old sailing stories, didn’t you?”
