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The golden fire in his eyes blazed. “Never,” he whispered. Underneath it all, though, I saw something else in his eyes—hope.

“Together,” he said, his voice low but certain. “We’ll do this together. Whatever comes next—I’m with you.”

I nodded, my mind a flurry of thoughts, still reeling from the intensity of what had just passed between us.

Whatever comes next.

I knew what that meant and what I needed to do. Things with Ethan had to end, no matter how much it would tear my own heart out to do it.

“But the party,” I said, my gaze hardened. “I have to get on that yacht.”

His knuckles grazed my jaw. “Then that’s exactly what we’ll do, princ—Evelyn.” He smirked. “But, not as Ethan’s date.”

My brow furrowed. “Then how? I know I look different now, and as much of a dumbass that Preston is, even he'd recognize the girl he murdered walking onto his yacht, especially my voice.”

Layne smiled deviously. “Walking onto that yacht is exactly what I think you should do, darling,” he said, eyes gleaming with delight. “You just won't be going as the Evelyn Graymore he remembers.”

I stared at him, puzzled.

“Your glamour, darling. You've only scratched the surface. Changing your clothes is one thing, but your magic is capable of so much more.”

I shook my head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you can wear a different face entirely.” His smile spread, slow and dangerous.

My excitement overshadowed the fact that he was keeping yet another thing from me.

“It…it could work,” I whispered, my eyes wide. “He’d never know it was me.”

A devilish smile spread across Layne’s face. “Preston fucking Willows will shake your hand, pour you a glass of overpriced champagne, all the whi⁠—”

“All the while, he won't see me coming for his fucking heart,” I growled. My eyes gleamed impossibly blue, cutting through the darkness, a sharp smile spreading across my face.

“And you will, Evelyn.” Layne drifted closer, his voice dropping low. “I'll make sure of it. Whatever it takes—his heart will be ours.”

I glanced up to the surface, the faint glow of the Seattle skyline bleeding through the black murk.

Somewhere up there, Preston Willows was sleeping safe and sound. Still living his life, thinking he was completely untouchable.

He’d thrown a girl into these waters.

Now, a monster was coming back for him.

The West Point Lighthouse looked the same as it had for as long as I could remember. Dad used to bring me here when I was younger, especially after Mom died. He'd always told me that his father had done the same for him, back when the Graymore family worked the nearby docks.

Maybe that's why I'd chosen this place? Some remnant of my old life, guiding me to something familiar and unchanging when everything else had been ripped away and replaced with a world I barely recognized anymore.

I’d arrived an hour early, my glamoured form emerging from the Sound onto the rocky beach below the lighthouse. Sun-bleached driftwood littered the rocky shoreline like tiny bones. I climbed up the hill, my stomach already in knots. I tried to take comfort in knowing the Drowned Tree was only a short swim away, but it didn’t seem to lessen my anxiety.

The lighthouse tower rose from the sandy spit, its white-painted cement walls peeling from decades of salt spray. The red-roofed lantern room glowed in the gathering dusk, its beam sweeping across the Sound.

The alternating flashes of light cut through the darkness like a knife:

Two seconds of blood-red.

Three seconds of pure white.

As a child, I was mesmerized by its hypnotic, relentless rotation. I always assumed it was to protect ships from the coast’s rocky geography. A light that protected others from the darkness.