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But then, as if fate conspired in her favor, the mora watched as Petra drew closer to the man named Luka. Watched as they bathed together in the sea, kissed so freely. Even now, she follows Luka to his boat in secret. Petra may be different, not island born, but she cannot escape the sins of her lineage. That darkness runs through her veins.

Revenge, delicious and sweet, is within the mora’s grasp once more.

Thirty-One

Petra

July 2026

Restless waves crash against the pier as we make our way toward Luka’s boat. Before we left Lavender House, he grabbed me a jacket from his home, and I hug it close. After helping me on board, he starts toward the cabin, but I linger on the deck.

“Can we stay out here for a second?” I ask. The salty mist is brisk, bracing, grounding me even more in the present.

“Sure,” Luka says. He moves beside me, leaning against the railing with his arms crossed. We’re both silent for a while, watching the tumble of the dark sea. Then finally he says in a low voice, “I’m sorry for the way my mother acted.”

My body instinctively tenses. I’d been so absorbed with Magdalena, the workshop, that I’d completely forgotten.

I take a step toward the pier. “I shouldn’t be here.” With you.

“No.” Luka reaches out, his fingers grazing my arm. “I’m not worried, remember?”

Maybe you should be. But when I glance at his chest, the necklace is still there. He should be safe.

A small wave crashes against the boat, rocking it. “What happened at the workshop?” he asks, wary. “Did you finish the diary?”

I know I need to tell him the truth of what I learned. But not now. It’s still too close, too raw.

“I did. But can we talk about it tomorrow?”

His gaze searches mine, concerned and probing. But all he replies with is a low, husky “Of course.” Reaching into his pocket, he adds, “Are you sure you’re okay staying here? If not, I can take you back.” He looks down as he extracts his pack of cigarettes, but in the flash of his lighter, I catch a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. He’s afraid, I realize, of what I might say.

The old Petra would have decided to go home, to keep her distance. But after tonight, after what I’ve seen, I feel flayed open, split at the seams. As if Magdalena’s suffering has cut straight to the root of my own. This time, I don’t want to cover it up. Luka’s been so open and honest with me—he deserves to know what’s going through my mind.

But first—“Can I get one of those?” I ask, nodding toward his cigarette. If I’m going to gut myself even deeper, I might as well get a satisfying burn out of it.

His brows lift in surprise. He says nothing, only pulling out his pack again, angling it toward me.

I slide a cigarette between my lips. As he flicks his lighter to life, he leans in, cupping his hand over the flame to protect it from the breeze. His steady proximity is intoxicating, and as I take a long drag, it feels like I’m not only inhaling the tobacco, but him as well.

I exhale slowly, closing my eyes at the acute rush of pleasure swirling to my head. “Fuck.”

“Yeah?” Luka replies, the corner of his mouth quirking ever so slightly.

I shrug. “It’s been a while. You should quit,” I add quickly, cutting him a stern look. “They’re bad for you, you know.”

He smirks, his eyes glinting as they meet mine. As if to say, So are you. “I know.”

As I blow out a steady stream of smoke, some of the tension in my body releases as well. I wait a few beats, catching my bearings again amidst the rocking sea, bracing myself for what I’m about to say.

“Remember how I told you about finding my dad’s camera in my mom’s closet?” Luka nods. “Well, that same day, after I’d gone to bed, I woke up in the middle of the night, hungry. I went downstairs to get a snack, but then I saw my mom sitting at the kitchen table. She couldn’t see me from where I was, crouched on the stairs, but I could see her. Her back was to me.” My voice falls to just above a whisper. “She was crying.”

Not even Lily knows this story. It’s been my dark secret, like a small stone of sadness I’ve always carried in an invisible pocket.

“And not just a little,” I go on. “Like, full-on sobbing.” Shoulders heaving, breath choking. I pause, the memory sharp. “I crouched lower to try to see more, and that’s when I saw my dad’s camera on the table beside her. I felt so . . . sad, but also so guilty. I wished I’d never found it.”

The breeze tousles Luka’s hair as he takes a drag, studying me, his eyes burning through the sleek dark. “It wasn’t your fault,” he says quietly.

“I know.” I turn, peering out over the water. “I realized that eventually, as I got older. But it still . . . stuck with me. It was the only time I saw my mom cry. The first time I saw how dangerous love could be.” I watch as a small wave glides toward the boat, crashing against its hull, sending a froth of mist into the air. I don’t know if it’s the cigarette or Luka’s steady presence, but the words are starting to feel easier to release.