Chapter 12 – The Storm Inside
Rain crashed against the windows as Damian tore through the dark hall with a flashlight in one hand. Every beam of light bounced off the old mirrors and threw his reflection back at him—haunted, furious.
Amara trailed behind, one hand pressed to her chest. She could still hear Lydia's last words echoing outside: You buried me while I was still alive.
"Damian, stop," Amara said. "You can't chase a ghost in a storm."
"She's not a ghost," he muttered. "She's here, and she wants me to remember."
Lightning flashed. For a second, a shadow moved along the veranda. Damian pushed open the door and stepped into the downpour. The air smelled of salt and smoke.
A voice drifted through the wind.
"Do you ever wonder how it felt, Damian? Watching you walk away?"
Lydia stood near the cliff's edge, soaked through, her hair whipping wildly.
"I thought you were dead," he said.
"You wanted me dead," she answered. "It's not the same."
Amara watched from the doorway, her breath shallow. The two of them stood framed by lightning—the man she loved and the woman who had once owned his heart.
"I lost everything because of you," Damian said.
"No," Lydia whispered. "You lost everything because you didn't trust me."
The wind roared louder, drowning their voices. Lydia turned away, her silhouette blurring against the sea.
"Ethan's not done," she said. "He's coming for both of you."
"Then stay," Damian shouted. "Help me stop him."
But she only looked back once. "You can't save me twice."
Another flash of lightning—and she was gone.
Damian stumbled forward, staring into the empty rain. Amara ran to him, gripping his arm.
"She's alive, Damian. Whatever she's planning, it's not over."
He nodded slowly, his voice rough. "Then neither is this war."
Damian shut the door against the storm. The sound of rain faded to a low hiss, but the echo of Lydia's voice still rang in his ears. He dropped the flashlight on the table and leaned both hands on the wood.
Amara stood beside him. "She mentioned Ethan. Who is he really?"
For a long moment he didn't answer. Then he said quietly, "He was my partner before everything went wrong. We built something dangerous—something people would kill for."
Amara's stomach tightened. "And Lydia?"
"She protected it. Until she disappeared."
The floorboards creaked above them. Damian snatched the flashlight again. A faint trail of wet footprints led up the staircase. He followed slowly, his pulse hammering.
At the top step lay a single black key. Attached to it was a silver tag engraved with one word: REMEMBER.
Amara whispered, "She's toying with us."
Damian turned the key over in his hand. "No," he said. "She's warning us."
Lightning flashed through the skylight, revealing a faint message scrawled on the wall in red chalk:
Ethan was never the enemy.
The chalk dripped like blood. Amara felt a chill crawl up her spine. "Then who is?"
Damian met her gaze, his face pale. "Someone who knew us both. Someone inside this house."
The light flickered, and a door slammed somewhere in the corridor.