Clara adjusted the lantern’s wick, her fingers rough from years of tending the beacon that guided ships through the jagged coastline. The sea roared beyond the cliff, salt clinging to her skin like a second layer. She had never questioned…
The salt-kissed air carried the briny tang of the sea as Clara tightened the last bolt on the lighthouse tower, her calloused fingers numbing against the cold iron. The wind howled through the cracks in the stone, a mournful song…
The sky above Virelia was a bruise of gray, its clouds thick with the scent of rain that never fell. Kaela stood at the edge of the floating island, her boots crunching over gravel as she stared at the horizon.…
The salt air clung to Clara’s skin as she swept the library steps, her broom scraping gravel in a rhythm that matched the waves pounding the shore. The town had always been a place of quiet storms—storms that never broke,…
The salt-kissed air hung thick with the scent of brine and blooming jasmine as Clara stepped off the creaking ferry, her boots sinking into the damp sand. The harbor smelled of oil and old wood, a fragrance that clung to…
The first time Jordan saw Clara, she was kneading dough in a sunlit kitchen, her sleeves rolled to the elbows, flour dusting her forearms like snow. The smell of cinnamon and burnt sugar hung in the air, mingling with the…
Clara’s boots scraped against the gravel as she climbed the path to the lighthouse, the wind tugging at her coat like a restless child. The sea roared below, its waves slamming the cliffs with a rhythm that felt almost deliberate,…
Clara stepped off the creaking ferry, her boots sinking into the damp sand as the tide whispered against the shore. The lighthouse stood behind her, its white tower weathered by years of salt and wind, its beam sweeping the horizon…
The salt-kissed air bit at Elara’s cheeks as she climbed the lighthouse stairs, her boots echoing against the rusted metal. The storm had blown itself out hours ago, leaving the coast in a brittle stillness. She’d come to clear out…
The first time she saw him, the sea was bleeding. A storm had rolled in overnight, turning the harbor into a cauldron of gray waves that crashed against the docks with relentless fury. Clara stood at the edge of the…
The air tasted of salt and possibility when Clara first saw him. He stood at the edge of the dock, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hands braced on the weathered wood as if steadying himself against something unseen. The sun…
The air reeked of ozone and burnt iron as Kael dragged the red-hot blade from the forge, its edge gleaming like a sliver of the setting sun. His hands, calloused from years of shaping steel, trembled despite the heat. The…
The first time Clara saw him, the sea was bleeding. Not literally—though the horizon had that reddish tint some called “blood sky”—but the way he stood at the edge of the dock, shoulders hunched against the wind, made her think…
The first time she saw him, the sea was a bruise of gray, and the lighthouse beam cut through the storm like a blade. Mara stood at the edge of the cliff, her boots sinking into the mud as wind…
The first time Clara saw the lighthouse, it was veiled in mist, its white stone silhouette blurred against the gray sky. She stood at the edge of the cliff, her boots sinking into the damp earth, as waves clawed at…