Vivienne gathered every ounce of energy she had left, calling to the spirits one more time. “Winston’s going to kill us both anyway,” she said aloud. “At least let me die on my feet, not on my knees.”
“Nice try.” But Winston’s attention wavered for just a second, distracted by the temperature drop and the growing supernatural pressure in the room.
It was enough.
Vivienne threw herself sideways, away from the gun. Winston’s shot went wide, shattering a window. Brooks fired twice—one shot taking Winston in the shoulder, spinning him around. The second went into the wall as Winston stumbled.
The gun clattered from Winston’s hand. Brooks kicked it aside, already moving to secure him. Footsteps thundered up the stairs—Sullivan and FBI agents pouring into the lamp room.
Vivienne stayed on the floor, her bound hands making it impossible to catch herself. Brooks appeared beside her, cutting through the zip ties with a knife from his ankle holster.
“I’ve got you,” he said. “You’re safe.”
She looked up at him, this skeptic who’d just trusted a thought she’d sent across the space between them. “You heard me. In your mind.”
“I heard you.” His hands were gentle as he helped her sit up, checking her injuries. “Or felt you. I don’t know how to describe it. But I knew exactly what you needed me to do.”
“Right now I need my pendant.” Vivienne’s voice shook despite her best efforts. The adrenaline was fading, leaving her shaky and cold.
Brooks found the broken chain, carefully gathering the silver stone and placing it in her palm. The moment it touched her skin, warmth flooded through her. The spirits’ voices grew clear again.
Well done,Lily whispered.Rest now. You’ve finished what I started.
Agent Porter arrived with more FBI agents, securing Winston and reading him his rights. Paramedics appeared,someone draping a blanket around Vivienne’s shoulders. Brooks stayed beside her, one hand on her back, steady and grounding.
“Ms. Hawthorne, are you injured beyond what we can see?” Porter asked.
“Just bruises and the cut on my lip.” Vivienne touched the tender spot gingerly. “I’ll be fine.”
They helped her down the spiral stairs, Brooks supporting her weight as they descended. Out into the rain, where police lights strobed blue and red against the lighthouse’s white walls.
Brooks stayed close, never quite touching her but there. Always there.
“The Maine credit card,” Vivienne said as they waited for the ambulance. “That was a diversion?”
“He never left Westerly Cove. Someone working for him used the card to draw FBI resources north while he doubled back for you.” Brooks’s jaw tightened. “I should have seen it coming.”
“He’s been planning this his whole life. You’ve been here a few weeks.” Vivienne pulled the blanket tighter. “You couldn’t have known.”
“I should have protected you better.”
“You saved my life.” She met his eyes. “That connection—that was real, Brooks. You felt what I was thinking. You trusted it enough to act on it.”
“I did.” He looked shaken, like he was still processing what had happened. “I’ve been feeling it for weeks now. Little things. Knowing when you were about to call. Sensing when you were in the tunnels even though I couldn’t see you. I thought I was imagining it.”
“You weren’t imagining it.” Vivienne’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Something’s been building between us from the beginning. I felt it the moment you walked into my shop—the shop had been preparing for you. My grandmother Emmeline’s journal said you’d be my anchor, and I didn’t understand whatthat meant until tonight. You visited her shop when you were thirteen. The building remembered you. It’s been waiting for you to come back.”
Brooks was quiet for a long moment, his hand still resting on her back. When he spoke, his voice was rough. “I remember that visit. My parents brought me here on vacation after my uncle died. I was angry, confused. Your grandmother . . . Emmeline . . . she gave me a protection charm for my mother. Told me I’d come back someday when I needed to find something I’d lost.”
“What did you lose?”
“I didn’t know then. But now . . .” He paused, his thumb moving in slow circles on her shoulder blade through the blanket. “In Austin, after Traci died, I lost faith in everything. My instincts, my judgment, my ability to protect people. I came here to escape, but maybe I was really coming back to find what your grandmother saw in me all those years ago.”
Vivienne leaned into his touch. “The Hawthorne women don’t just see the future. We see the patterns—how people are meant to connect, how threads weave together. Emmeline knew you’d need me, but she also knew I’d need you. My mother died because she faced her gift alone, with no one to ground her when the voices became too loud. You ground me, Brooks. Tonight, when I couldn’t reach my pendant, when Winston had me and I felt my abilities slipping away, I reached for you instead. And you were there.”
“I felt you calling.” He shifted so he could see her face better. “Not just tonight in the lamp room. Earlier, when he first took you. I was at the station and suddenly I couldn’t breathe, like someone was choking me. I knew something was wrong. That’s never happened to me before.”
“It’s the connection. It works both ways.” Vivienne held his gaze. “I can sense your emotions, feel the shape of your thoughts when they’re strong enough. And you’re developing the ability tosense mine. It’s not the full Hawthorne gift, but it’s real. You felt me drowning in fear, and your mind reached back to find me.”
