Page 16 of Second Chance with the Half-Elf
“There,” I say. “Good as new.”
Cass leans back, pipe smoke curling around his head. “Ain’t no shame in wantin’ things fixed that don’t have hinges.”
I meet his gaze, voice low. “Some things break beyond fixing.”
He grins, slow and knowing. “Not if both sides bend a little.”
Before I can argue, a familiar voice cuts through the salt-heavy air.
“Cass? Aeron?”
I turn.
Evie stands a few paces off, camera bag slung across her back, wind teasing stray strands of hair across her face.
Something sharp twists in my chest.
“Rowan sent me,” she says. “They need someone to check the old lighthouse lock for the history tour tonight. Guess who pulled the short straw.”
Cass snorts. “And guess who’s the only one with the key,” he says, jerking his thumb at me.
I arch a brow. “You volunteering?”
Evie crosses her arms. “If by volunteering you mean ‘being guilt-tripped into it,’ sure.”
Cass wheezes a laugh. “You two can handle it. Storm’s not due ‘til after sundown.”
His gaze lingers on us both, eyes twinkling with mischief.
I sigh and fish the lighthouse key from my belt. “Come on.”
Evie hesitates, then falls into step beside me as we head down the weathered path toward the cliffs.
The lighthouse looms ahead—a skeletal sentinel against the gray sky, paint peeling, windows shuttered tight.
Most folks avoid it.
Too many ghosts and many old stories.
The wind picks up as we reach the door. I slot the key into the ancient lock, muscles tight against the familiar weight of her presence beside me.
“You sure you’re up for this?” I ask quietly.
Her mouth lifts—half a smirk, half defiance. “You afraid I’ll break?”
“No,” I say. “Afraid you’ll bolt.”
Her eyes flash, but she says nothing.
I push the door open with a groan of rusted hinges.
Inside, the air is cooler, damp with stone and old salt.
Dust motes swirl in thin shafts of light cutting through the grime-streaked windows. The spiral staircase coils upward, each iron step slick with age.
Evie moves ahead of me, camera out, snapping a few shots.
“You used to hate this place,” I murmur.
