He’d almost called out—his mouth had opened, breath drawn—but the sound never came. He’d stayed still until the footsteps retreated. In the space of twenty-four hours, Malachi had swung from resenting Dad’s need to escape Riverside, to recognising the pressure for what it was. It clung to the walls, pressed low on the ceilings. He could feel it building in every room.
He couldn’t speak to Dad this morning. Not yet. He needed time. Time to think about Rhys. About the Selkie and how Dad single-handedly almost wiped out a shoal in a rush of fury that still sat heavy in Malachi’s gut.
The wall pressed cold against his thighs. Below, the tide was low, the sea pulled back and deceptively calm. His gaze kept drifting to the water anyway—the same way it had in his dream—waiting for something to surface. His shoulders tightened before he noticed and he forced them down again.
What Dad and Ina were planning tonight didn’t sit right with him. He understood Dad’s anger. It coiled hot in his own chest, but he couldn’t share it. Killing the Selkie wouldn’t fix anything. It wouldn’t bring Rhys back. It wouldn’t untangle the grief that had warped their lives. Trying to carve peace out of cold-blooded murder was wrong, no matter how justified Dad and Ina made it sound. There had to be another way.
If he could persuade the Selkie to leave—really leave—that would be enough. Dad would listen. He always did, eventually. And Ina… she would stand down if Dad did, even if she disagreed.
“You’re here already?” Ally’s voice broke through his thoughts.
Malachi startled, heart ticking fast against his ribs. He hadn’t heard Ally approach. His jaw tightened. He dragged a breath through his nose and forced his focus back into place. Ally wandered into view, theatrically checking his watch.
“You told him?”
Jeff’s voice cut in from behind Ally. He was swinging his car keys around his finger, metal flashing in the sun. “You finally grew a pair and told him?” He thumped Malachi hard on the shoulder, the way he always did—possessive, congratulatory and a little too rough.
A cough tore out of Malachi as pain flared along his ribs. He shifted his weight, jaw locking as he rode it out. Jeff didn’t notice. He never did.
Ina said the ribs were only bruised and that Wolfendens heal fast. But every twist and jolt was a reminder of the knife being too close to his throat, of the river water filling his lungs.
And now, there was a brand-new nightmare—the wall, the water, Jeff’s face twisting into something he didn’t recognise. The first he’d ever had where Rhys wasn’t there. He missed seeing Rhys’ face on the boat before everything went to hell. That alone made the nightmares unbearable, and now he was gone. And he wasn’t ready to say goodbye.
Malachi glanced down at the beach again. Children were building sandcastles, their laughter carrying up on the breeze. The tide was still out. The water looked harmless.
Jeff’s fingers dug into his shoulder.
Malachi shrugged him off. The movement sent a sharp pull through his ribs, breath hissing between his teeth, but the pain wasn’t as intense. He didn’t turn around and look at Jeff.
“How’d he take it?” Jeff ploughed on. “I bet he went mad. Healways tries to take control over everything you do, despite not giving a shit.”
“Hey.” Ally frowned and stepped closer, slotting himself between them. “That’s enough.”
Malachi closed his eyes for a beat. The sea breeze brushed his face. He let the moment pass through rather than rising to the bait.
“You know I don’t mean any harm. I’m sorry.” Jeff grinned, clasping his hands together in a mock apology that never reached his eyes. “I’m just glad it’s done.”
“I’m staying.”
Nothing wavered as Malachi said it. The wall held. The sky didn’t fall. His muscles tightened, bracing for impact, but he didn’t retreat. He hadn’t meant to be so blunt, but it was out now and there was no taking it back. For once he didn’t want to.
“What?” Jeff’s face flushed red, colour climbing from his neck. His hands balled into fists, shoulders squaring like he might swing. “Did he say you couldn’t go? We talked about this. I thought you were finally ready to stand up to him.”
“I didn’t tell him.” Malachi’s fingers curled around the edge of the wall. Stone bit into his palms. His pulse hammered, a sharp insistence urging to get up and run away—the same old instinct. He stayed where he was. “I just don’t want to leave anymore.”
“Why the fuck not?” Jeff flung an arm out, first at the sea, then the sprawling fields behind them. “There’s literally nothing for you here.”
“I’ve just decided to stay.” Malachi smiled at Ally while Jeff’s back was turned. Ally’s face lit up, then smoothed just as fast. They both knew better than to let Jeff see that crack of joy.
“You absolute coward.” Jeff stepped closer, voice dropping. “You’d rather stay and die on this boring rock than live your own life?” His eyes narrowed. “How desperate are you for that hug?”
The familiar pull sparked—the reflex to explain and apologise. It flared and then burned itself out. Malachi refused to reach for it.
“It’s nothing to do with Dad.” He kept his voice steady, even with Jeff pushing his buttons. He looked back out to sea. The tide would be out for hours, yet his skin prickled, the echo of his nightmare tightening between his shoulders. “I don’t want to go. At least not right now.”
Jeff dragged a hand through his hair and paced a few steps, trainers scuffing stone. “Mal, you’ve already decided. You’ll never leave.” He laughed sharply, without any humour or warmth. “We would’ve had such a laugh.”
“Sorry, it’s just?—”
