Chapter 18

The explosion at the lighthouse was the talk of Haven's Cove. News vans lined the streets, reporters shouting questions at anyone who walked by. The evidence we'd uncovered was everywhere—on the news, papers, and even social media. The Mariner's Circle was finished.

But as the town buzzed with chaos, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

It started with the dreams.

Every night, I saw her—Evelyn. She stood on the cliffs, her hair whipping in the wind, her eyes fixed on the horizon. She didn't speak, but her message was clear: It's not over.

Then came the whispers.

At first, I thought it was the wind. But the whispers grew louder, more insistent. They followed me everywhere—on the beach, in the motel, even in the shower.

"The tide takes, but it also gives back."

I tried to ignore them. I focused on rebuilding my life. Jesse and I spent our days cleaning up the town, helping Mara settle into a new apartment, and working with the police to ensure the Circle's members faced justice.

But the whispers didn't stop.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, I stood on the cliffs. The wind was cold, biting at my skin, but I didn't care. I needed answers.

"Evelyn!" I shouted, my voice swallowed by the roar of the waves. "If you're out there, show yourself!"

For a moment, there was nothing. Then, a shadow moved at the edge of my vision.

I turned, my heart pounding.

A figure stood on the rocks below, cloaked in darkness. It wasn't Evelyn. It was taller, broader, its face hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat.

The Ferryman.

But that was impossible. We'd watched him burn. We'd watched him drown.

"Ellie!"

Jesse's voice snapped me out of my trance. I turned to see him running toward me, his face pale.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked, grabbing my arm. "You're freezing."

"I saw him," I said, my voice trembling. "The Ferryman."

Jesse frowned. "Ellie, the Ferryman's dead. You saw him go down."

"I know what I saw," I insisted, pulling away. "He was right there."

Jesse glanced at the rocks below. They were empty.

"Come on," he said gently. "Let's get you inside."

The next morning, Mara showed up at the motel with a box of donuts and newspapers.

"You're famous," she said, tossing a paper onto the table.

The headline screamed: "Local Journalist Exposes Decades-Old Conspiracy."

I barely glanced at it. My mind was still on the shadowy figure.

"Ellie," Mara said, her voice softening. "You look like you haven't slept in days."

"I haven't," I admitted. "Every time I close my eyes, I see him. The Ferryman. Evelyn. The lighthouse."

Jesse sat down beside me, his hand resting on mine. "It's trauma. You've been through a lot. It's going to take time to process."

"It's not just that," I said, pulling the ruby necklace from my pocket. "It's this. It's like… it's calling to me."

Mara's eyes widened. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know," I said, turning the ruby over in my hands. "It's like it's alive. Like it's trying to tell me something."

Jesse frowned. "Ellie, maybe you should—"

The door burst open, cutting him off.

Sheriff Pike stood in the doorway, his face pale and his hands trembling.

"You need to see this," he said, holding up a piece of paper.

I took it, my heart pounding. It was a riddle, written in the same spidery handwriting as the Ferryman's notes.

"The tide takes, but the moon gives.

Seek the eye that never lives.

Beneath the bones of the shoal's bride,

Lies the truth you've tried to hide."

"Where did you get this?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"It was on my desk this morning," Pike said. "Along with this."

He held up a small, rusted key.

The key led us to the old cannery.

The building was a skeleton of its former self, its walls crumbling and its windows shattered. But the cellar door was intact, its surface marked with an anchor.

"This is it," I said, inserting the key.

The door creaked open, revealing a narrow staircase. The air smelled of damp earth and decay.

We descended slowly, our flashlights cutting through the darkness. At the bottom, we found a small room filled with dusty crates and rotting barrels.

In the center of the room was a wooden chest, its surface carved with intricate patterns.

"The eye that never lives," Mara whispered, pointing to a symbol on the chest—a single, unblinking eye.

I knelt in front of the chest, my hands trembling. The ruby fit into a slot on the lid, clicking into place.

The chest opened with a groan.

Inside was a stack of letters, a faded photograph, and a small, leather-bound book.

The photograph showed Clara and Evelyn, standing on the beach with a group of people. Among them was a man I didn't recognize—tall, broad-shouldered, his face hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat.

"The Ferryman," Jesse said, his voice tight.

I picked up the book, flipping through its pages. It was a journal, filled with notes and sketches.

"It's Evelyn's," I said, my voice shaking. "She was tracking the Circle. She knew everything."

Mara picked up one of the letters, her eyes widening. "Ellie… this is from your mother."

I took the letter, my heart pounding.

*"To Evelyn,

I'm sorry. I tried to protect her. I tried to protect you. But the Circle is too powerful. They'll never stop.

If you're reading this, I'm already gone. But Ellie… she's strong. Stronger than I ever was. She'll finish what we started.

Tell her I love her.

Margaret."*

Tears blurred my vision as I clutched the letter to my chest.

"Ellie," Jesse said gently. "We need to keep going."

I nodded, wiping my eyes. "You're right. Let's finish this."

The journal led us to a hidden compartment in the cellar wall. Inside was a small, metal box.

I opened it, my breath catching.

Inside was a map, marked with a series of coordinates.

"What is this?" Mara asked, her voice trembling.

"It's the Circle's network," I said, my voice filled with awe. "Their reach extends far beyond Haven's Cove."

Jesse frowned. "Ellie, if this is true… the Circle's not finished. They're just getting started."

I looked at the map, my mind racing. The ruby, the riddles, the shadowy figure on the cliffs—it all made sense now.

"We need to go public," I said, my voice firm. "We need to expose everything."

Jesse nodded. "Let's do it."

As we left the cellar, I glanced back at the chest. The eye on the lid seemed to follow me, its gaze unblinking.

The tide takes, but it also gives back.

And sometimes, it gives you a second chance.