Chapter 9
The morning arrived shrouded in fog. Amira stood at the base of the lighthouse, her eyes fixed on the sea. Something had changed — not just in Elias, but in the air itself. It was quieter, yet heavier, like the moments before a storm.
She found Elias outside, barefoot, staring at the ocean.
"I dreamt of her again," he said. "She looked… lost. But not angry anymore."
Amira gently touched his arm. "Sometimes, grief becomes a place we live in. And sometimes, the only way out… is through the truth we buried with them."
Later that day, the bottle Amira had thrown into the sea washed back ashore. She opened it, expecting her own words — but the page inside was blank, except for a single sentence, written in unfamiliar, trembling script:
"You left me."
Elias turned pale when he read it.
"That's her handwriting," he whispered.
That evening, the lighthouse flickered again — not from power loss, but something older. The whispers returned, not in rage this time, but in weeping.
Elias walked to the edge of the cliff and spoke aloud, his voice shaking but firm.
"I'm sorry, Selene. I should have stopped you. I was afraid… of what you'd become. Of what I was becoming. I thought silence would protect us. But it only built your tomb."
A sudden gust of wind swept through them, followed by an eerie calm.
The sea, which had been restless for days, fell still — unnaturally so. No tide, no ripple. Just silence.
Then a strange shimmer danced upon the surface — as if something had been released.
Amira reached for Elias's hand. "Do you feel that?"
He nodded. "She heard me."
But just as they turned to go inside, a small object washed ashore, glinting in the moonlight. Amira picked it up — a rusted silver locket, half-open.
Inside was a photo of Elias and Selene.
And beneath it… a name scratched faintly into the metal:
"Mirabelle."
Amira's breath caught. "Who is Mirabelle?"
Elias stared at the locket, confusion blooming across his face.
"I've never seen that name before," he said.
But the sea knew. And it had just begun to speak again.