I pace the empty beach near my cabin, scanning the horizon for her silhouette against the coastal path. Every shadow, every distant movement sends a rush of excitement through me, only to dissolve into disappointment.
The rational part of me knows she can’t make the treacherous journey frequently—the lighthouse demands her attention, and the path itself is punishing even for someone as capable as she is.
The irrational part of me fears she’s already decided this arrangement is too complicated. Too dangerous. Too much effort for too little reward.
I find myself at the water’s edge and let the familiar embrace of the sea calm my restless thoughts. The cold Atlantic has always been my solace, but now I wonder if Ashe is looking out at these same waves from her lighthouse perch. If she’s thinking of me as I’m thinking of her…
After completing my patrol of the coastline, I collect a basket of fresh oysters and clams for dinner. Perhaps preparing a meal will distract me from this unfamiliar ache of absence. I’ve spent years alone; why does solitude suddenly feel so hollow?
As I approach my cabin, something feels wrong. The air carries a disruption—faint but unmistakable. My tentacles tense beneath me, suckers contracting defensively as my clawed hands flex at my sides.
The door stands ajar.
I set down my basket, body compact and poised for confrontation. I move silently to the entrance, peering through the gap. What I see freezes the water in my veins.
Sebastian Walsh sits in my captain’s chair, examining one of my old logbooks with casual interest. Not in his human form, but in his natural selkie state—stout and round with glossy fur, his mustache-like whiskers twitching as he turns a page.
His bulk fills the chair uncomfortably, and there’s nothing comical about his presence—especially not with those cold, black button eyes that have watched their share of storms and shipwrecks.
“The prodigal captain returns,” he says without looking up. “I was beginning to think you’d abandoned your land legs altogether.”
I push the door open fully, letting my frame fill the entrance. “Breaking and entering is still a crime, Sebastian.”
Sebastian’s grunt holds a hint of amusement. He closes my logbook with surprisingly deft flippers. “Is it a crime to visit an old friend? The door was practically falling off its hinges, anyway.”
“Former friend,” I correct him, arms crossing over my chest.
He hoists himself from the chair, his movements fluid despite his round form. His human clothes—tailored pants and a half-buttoned dress shirt—strain against his girth, giving him the look of a museum director who’s had far too many expense account dinners.
“Still the stickler for details,” he says, gesturing to the logbook. “The Crown of Nova was quite a vessel. You ran a tight ship.”
I move deeper into the cabin, keenly aware of how Sebastian has positioned himself—between me and my most prized possessions. It’s not accidental. Nothing Sebastian does ever is.
“What brings you to my doorstep? I doubt it’s for my cooking.”
“Can’t I simply visit an old colleague?” Sebastian waddles over to my maritime instruments displayed on the shelf. “We both lived as humans once. Both captained ships. Both kept our true natures hidden.”
He runs a flipper over an old barometer. “Though I must say, your situation was far more complicated. Must have been exhausting, pretending those legs weren’t actually these magnificent appendages.”
“The Great Unveiling changed things,” I say, straightening slightly—a captain’s posture I can’t seem to shake even now.
“For some of us.” Sebastian’s whiskers twitch. “Others adapted. I still walk among them. They respect me. Value my contributions to the town’s cultural heritage. Benefits of being a selkie—transformation without magic. Quite convenient when all the glamours failed.”
I notice the careful emphasis on “cultural heritage” and feel something cold slither down my spine. “You mean the hunting displays. The trophies.”
“History,” he counters. “Their history with our kind. Fascinating, isn’t it? They celebrate killing creatures like us while I stand among them, directing their museum, planning their festivals.”
I move to the window, ensuring the path outside remains clear. “Don’t tell me you came all the way here to discuss museum exhibits.”
Sebastian’s expression shifts, becoming something almost genuine. “No. I came to discuss our local lighthouse keeper.”
My entire body goes rigid. A faint ripple of light flashes across my skin before I can suppress it. “What about her?”
“Beautiful woman. Capable. Intelligent.” Sebastian examines his flippers. “She’s made quite an impression on the town. Tourists love her. The Maritime Committee respects her input.” He pauses. “She’s also been putting up quite a fuss about our town’s treacherous past, when before, she’d never speak up about such things…”
“What are you implying, Sebastian?”
“What I’m saying,” Sebastian sighs with exaggerated patience, “is that the lighthouse keeper has been behaving differently. Making waves in committee meetings. Defending sea monsters with surprising passion.” His eyes narrow. “Almost as if she’s developed a personal investment in the matter.”
