The wind roars.
The waves crash somewhere below the cliffs.
The night swallows my breath.
Maybe the dark isn’t here to drown me.
Maybe it’s just giving me somewhere to hide while I figure out what comes next.
By the time Aunt Susan and I get back from the beach, my hair is damp from the mist and my boots are full of sand. The ocean is louder at night, almost angry, but it helped. Not fixed anything. Just… helped.
Inside, the house smells like cinnamon and vanilla. Irene already has mugs lined up on the kitchen counter, steam curling from the tops. Thom has disappeared somewhere upstairs, probably into his office. The fire crackles in the living room again.
“It’s too early for bed,” Irene declares before I can even shrug out of my coat. “Spa night. Non-negotiable.”
Aunt Susan groans. “Oh no. Not the masks.”
“Yes, the masks,” Irene says, grabbing a jar from a basket that looks like it belongs on a Pinterest page. “Sit.”
Susan sits.
Irene slathers a green clay mask across her face with clinical precision.
“Look at this canvas,” she mutters. “Fifty-three, barely a wrinkle. You’re welcome, Susan.”
Susan glares at her. “You’re enjoying this too much.”
Irene turns to me.
“And you… I have plans.”
I blink. “Plans?”
She studies me. Really studies me.
The hair. The hollow eyes. The tremble in my hands I keep trying to hide.
“That haircut is perfect,” she says. “Sharp, clean, modern. But tomorrow morning, I want to feather the ends with a razor. Gives it a don’t-mess-with-me vibe no one will question.”
Aunt Susan snorts. “See? This is why I didn’t let her near you with scissors last night.”
“And,” Irene continues like she didn’t hear her, “your brows are already great but could use a lamination. Lift them. Frame your eyes. Make you look like you own a tiny European art gallery.”
I blink.
“You… want to do all that to me?”
She hands me a mug of cocoa.
“That depends. Do you want to feel like a new version of yourself?”
My throat tightens.
I wrap both hands around the mug. It warms my fingers.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Yeah. Tomorrow is fine.”
“Good,” she says, pleased. “Tonight—just cocoa and company.”
