Liam stepped inside, his presence filling the doorway like a storm, bringing with it an almost unbearable mix of nostalgia and tension. The scent of saltwater clung to his jacket, and his boots made soft thuds on the wooden floor as he crossed into the hallway. Aila followed, but she kept a few paces behind, not willing to let him get too close.
She could feel his eyes on her as they passed through the foyer and into the sitting room. Her gaze flickered over the familiar space—a room she'd spent countless afternoons in as a child, watching her mother and father laugh, unaware of the shadows slowly creeping in. Everything was just as she remembered, except for the feeling in the air. The house was hollow now, as if the walls themselves had lost their warmth.
"Still the same," Liam said quietly, glancing at the faded curtains and the dusty bookshelf that lined one wall. "Except for the ghosts."
Aila's pulse quickened, her throat tightening. She folded her arms. "You never should've come back, Liam. After everything, you shouldn't have shown up today."
"I didn't want to," he replied softly, his voice raw. "But I had to. Aila… I know you're looking for answers. So am I."
She scoffed. "Answers? I'm not the one who abandoned everyone when things got hard."
Liam winced, his eyes flickering with pain. "It wasn't like that. You don't understand."
"No, I don't," she snapped, her chest tightening with a flood of old anger. "But I'm sure you'll tell me what you think I should."
There was a long silence between them, and for a moment, the only sound was the low hum of the wind outside, pushing against the windows as if urging them both to speak. Liam ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture that seemed so out of place on the man she once knew.
Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "Your mother… she was involved in something she shouldn't have been. And I couldn't let her drag you into it."
Aila froze, her eyes narrowing. "What do you mean, 'involved'? What was she involved in, Liam?"
He shook his head, glancing toward the fireplace as if seeking the right words. "I can't explain everything right now. But I need you to trust me. Your mother's death wasn't an accident. Someone wanted her gone. And they'll come for you next."
The words struck her like a blow to the gut. She stumbled backward, the floor beneath her seeming to shift. "You're telling me that someone killed her?" Her voice wavered with disbelief. "And you didn't think I should know this before?"
"I was trying to protect you," Liam said, his voice rough. "I thought you were better off not knowing the truth. But I was wrong."
Aila shook her head, the pieces of her life—her love for Liam, her mother's death, the quiet warnings in her mother's letter—crashing together in a whirlwind of confusion and anger. "If I'm supposed to trust you, you're going to have to give me more than cryptic threats."
Liam took a step forward, his expression raw and earnest. "I know. I'll tell you everything. But not here. Not now. It's too dangerous. Trust me when I say there are people watching this house right now, waiting for you to make a move."
Aila's heart skipped a beat. She glanced around the room, almost expecting to see someone lurking in the shadows. The air had thickened around them, charged with a sense of imminent danger.
"Where should we go?" she asked, her voice cold but trembling.
Liam's eyes darkened. "There's a place. The lighthouse. It's the only safe place left for us."
She hesitated. The lighthouse was a relic, abandoned for years, a forgotten landmark at the edge of town. It felt like the last place she should trust.
But then again, she wasn't sure who she could trust anymore.
"Okay," she said, her voice tight. "Take me there."