Marcus felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, even though he told himself it was only Veronica, a torch, and a very well-rehearsed voice.
Beside him, Rowan glanced at him.
‘Cold?’ he asked.
‘Atmospheric,’ Marcus whispered.
One corner of Rowan’s mouth shifted.
Veronica pointed towards the black shape of the lighthouse in the distance, its pale body only just visible against thedarkening sky. ‘They say the lighthouse keeper would walk this route after sunset, a letter folded inside his coat. Every night, he planned to deliver it. Every night, he turned back before reaching Lantern House.’
Someone in the group sighed softly.
‘Some say he was too proud,’ Veronica continued. ‘Some say the family of the woman the letter was intended for would never have approved. Others say he believed she deserved better than a man married to the sea. Whatever the truth, the letter was never delivered.’
Marcus glanced at Rowan without meaning to.
Rowan was watching the lighthouse, his expression unreadable.
‘And long after they passed away, both heartbroken, when the weather changed,’ Veronica said, ‘when the winds screamed down the lane and the waves rose high enough to strike fear into the bravest sailors, people claimed they saw him here. Standing on these very steps. Waiting. Listening. Trying to find the courage he never found in life.’
She snapped off the torch.
The group gave a delighted murmur. One man muttered that he shouldn’t have let his wife talk him into this, which made several people laugh.
Atlas’s head lifted sharply at the sound, but this time he did not jump. He leaned into Rowan’s leg, body tense but controlled.
Rowan lowered his hand, resting it lightly against Atlas’s neck. ‘Good. Steady.’
Marcus held his breath.
Atlas’s ears twitched. His eyes scanned the group. Then, slowly, he sat.
It was not graceful. It was not relaxed. But it was a sit.
A proper sit.
Marcus felt a burst of pride so sharp it almost hurt.
Rowan looked down at Atlas as if he did not quite trust what he was seeing.
‘Well,’ Marcus whispered, because if he did not say something he might do something ridiculous like clap. ‘Look at him.’
Rowan’s throat moved. ‘Yes.’
The word was barely there.
Veronica switched the torch back on. ‘Our final stop is just beyond the harbour wall. Torches on while we walk, please. And do stay close. Seagull Bay is beautiful at night, but she has a habit of making people look over their shoulders.’
The group began to move again, but Rowan did not.
Marcus waited with him.
Atlas remained seated for another second, then rose when Rowan gave the smallest movement of the lead.
‘That was more than small progress,’ Marcus said.
Rowan looked at him then, and the guardedness in his eyes had thinned, just enough for Marcus to see what sat behind it.
