Morning came without sunlight. The house sat in a haze of mist, the sea hidden behind a sheet of pale grey.
Sera woke to the faint hum of footsteps somewhere below.
For a moment she thought it was a dream—until the low creak of the back door echoed through the hall.
She grabbed the first thing she could use as a weapon—an old brass candleholder—and crept down the stairs. The sound of drawers opening, closing. Paper rustling.
"Eli?" she called.
A pause. Then his voice from the library—calm, unreadable.
"Checking your locks."
She exhaled, half-relieved, half-furious. "You could at least say good morning before breaking into every room I own."
He turned, sleeves rolled up, a map of the estate spread across the desk. "There's a blind corner behind the east gate. Perfect spot for someone to wait unseen."
"Are you always this paranoid?"
"Paranoia keeps people breathing."
He marked the map with a small cross. "And I'm not paranoid, Miss Vale. I'm informed."
By afternoon the rain had stopped, leaving the air sharp with the smell of salt.
Sera walked the cliff path for the first time in years, wind tugging at her hair. She needed distance—from the mansion, from the man inside it, from the pulse of unease that followed her since he'd arrived.
Halfway to the lighthouse she noticed tire tracks in the wet earth—fresh, heavy tread, not Eli's SUV.
She knelt, fingers tracing the mark. Whoever it was had been close, watching the house from the road below.
When she returned, Eli was on the balcony, phone pressed to his ear. The tone of his voice was colder, stripped of the politeness he showed her.
"—No, she doesn't know yet," he said. "And she won't, unless they force it."
Her foot scraped the stone. He ended the call instantly, expression unreadable.
"How much did you hear?"
"Enough to know you're lying to me."
"I'm keeping you alive."
"Same thing, isn't it?" she shot back.
He almost smiled—almost. "You sound like her."
"Like who?"
"My mother," he said quietly, and walked past her into the house.
That night, thunder rolled far out at sea. Sera sat by the old radio her grandmother used to keep on the shelf, its dial cracked and rusted.
Out of habit she turned it on.
White noise. Then—three short bursts of static. Pause. Three again.
She frowned, adjusting the knob. The same pattern repeated, rhythmic, deliberate. A code.
Eli appeared in the doorway, silhouetted by lightning.
"Turn that off."
"It's just static."
"It's a signal." He crossed the room, switched it off, and unplugged it in one motion. "Someone's pinging this frequency. They shouldn't know it still works."
"Who?"
He looked at her as if weighing how much truth to give.
"People who don't stop until they finish what they started."
Sleep was impossible. She lay awake listening to the house breathe. Somewhere beyond the windows, the sea kept whispering, the same phrase over and over in her head—you are being watched.
At midnight a soft blue light flared across the garden. A camera flash—quick, precise, gone before she could blink.
Sera ran to the balcony. Nothing but fog and waves.
Behind her, Eli's voice: "Get away from the window."
He was already there, gun holstered, eyes scanning the dark.
"They're closer than I thought."
Her pulse spiked. "Who are they?"
"The reason your grandmother hired me."
He turned toward her, expression unreadable. "And now the reason I can't leave you."
For the first time, Sera saw it clearly—the mix of duty and something darker burning behind his calm.
Not love.
Not yet.
Something deeper, heavier, that might become love—or destroy it entirely.
The next morning the fog hadn't lifted. It moved like smoke across the lawn, swallowing the trees and the edges of the sea.
Eli had been gone since dawn—no note, no explanation—only a faint smell of coffee in the kitchen and the quiet certainty that he would return when he wanted to.
Sera needed air, and answers.
---
1 — The Locked Drawer
Her grandmother's study was the only room she hadn't touched since coming back. The door protested when she forced it open; dust exploded in a silver cloud.
On the desk lay the same ledger that had always been there, bound in cracked leather, initials E.V. pressed into the cover.
Evelyn Vale.
Inside—pages of accounts, shipments, names written in a hurried hand. But tucked near the back was a thin key taped to a photograph.
The photo showed her grandmother standing beside a younger man.
Eli.
No, not Eli exactly—his face is a few years younger, hair shorter, but unmistakably the same eyes.
---
2 — The Tape
The key fits a small drawer built into the desk. Inside: a cassette tape marked K-47 / Knight.
Sera's breath hitched.
She found an old recorder in the corner cabinet, wiped the dust from its buttons, and pressed play.
A voice crackled through the speaker—her grandmother's, softer than she remembered.
"Alex Knight has agreed to continue surveillance on the Vale property.
He believes they will come for the girl when I'm gone.
If you hear this, Seraphina, trust no one—not even him—until you know why he stays."
The tape clicked to silence.
---
3 — Return
The front door opened downstairs. Sera froze, the recorder still spinning.
Footsteps. Calm, measured.
Eli appeared in the doorway, rain dripping from his coat. His gaze moved to the tape deck, then to her hands.
"You found it," he said quietly.
"You worked for her," she accused. "You've known me since—since before I can remember."
"I was supposed to protect you," he answered. "That hasn't changed."
"You didn't tell me the truth."
"If I had, you'd have run."
"Maybe I still should."
He stepped closer, the distance between them thinning to the sound of the storm outside.
"Running doesn't change what's coming," he said. "And you're safer near me than without me."
---
4 — The Promise
He reached for the tape, but she closed her hand around it first. "You don't get to decide what I know."
For a long moment they stared at each other, the air thick with salt and electricity. Then his tone shifted—quieter, almost pleading.
"Then listen to it all," he said. "But promise me one thing."
"What?"
"When it starts to make sense—don't hate me for it."
---
The power flickered. The recorder whirred once and stopped.
And through the window, the fog rippled—as if something large moved inside it.