Chapter 22

The train to Marseille rattled through the French countryside, the rhythmic clatter of wheels on tracks mirroring the restless beat of my heart. Jesse dozed in the seat beside me, his head lolling against the window, while Mara flipped through Evelyn's journal, her brow furrowed.

"This entry mentions a 'lighthouse without light,'" she said, tapping a page. "And there's a sketch of an anchor wrapped in chains. What do you think it means?"

I leaned over, studying the faded ink. "Maybe it's a metaphor. Marseille's old port has a famous lighthouse—Phare Sainte-Marie. But if it's 'without light,' maybe it's abandoned? Or a decoy?"

Jesse stirred, rubbing his eyes. "Or a trap. Let's not forget the Circle's into theatrics."

The train screeched to a halt, jolting us forward. Marseille's station buzzed with travelers, the air thick with the smell of fresh bread and diesel. We shouldered our bags and stepped into the chaos, the ruby in my pocket humming faintly, like a whispered warning.

The old port was a tapestry of noise and color. Fishermen hawked their catches, their voices competing with the squawk of gulls. Sunlight glinted off the water, but the ruby's pulse grew sharper as we neared the Phare Sainte-Marie. The lighthouse stood at the dock's edge, its white paint peeling, its beacon dark.

"Looks like it hasn't worked in years," Mara said, eyeing the rusted door.

Jesse tested the handle. "Locked. But there's a symbol here—see?"

He pointed to a small anchor carved into the metal, chains coiled around it. Just like the journal.

I pulled out the second ruby, its surface catching the light. "Maybe this is the key."

The ruby slotted into a groove beneath the anchor. The door creaked open, releasing a breath of damp, stale air.

Inside, the lighthouse was a carcass of rusted stairs and shattered glass. We climbed, the ruby's glow guiding us until we reached a room littered with rotting crates. A metal chest sat in the center, its lid stamped with the Circle's anchor.

"Jackpot," Mara whispered.

Jesse pried it open. Inside lay a third ruby, nestled in velvet, and a faded map of the Mediterranean. A note fluttered out, the handwriting sharp and familiar.

"Follow the current to where the sirens sleep. Trust the tide, but not the shadows. —E"

"Sirens… like in Greek myths?" Mara said.

"Or shipwrecks," Jesse replied. "Sirens lure sailors to their doom. Maybe it's a wreck site?"

Before I could answer, the hum of the ruby spiked into a shrill whine.

Footsteps.

"Someone's here," I hissed.

We froze. Below, the lighthouse door groaned. Heavy boots climbed the stairs—two pairs, maybe three.

"Out the window," Jesse whispered, pointing to a broken pane.

We shimmied down a drainpipe, hitting the dock just as voices barked above. "Où sont-ils?"

"Split up!" I said. "Meet at the café by the market in ten!"

I ducked into an alley, the ruby burning in my pocket. The narrow streets of Le Panier twisted like a maze, laundry strung overhead flapping like ghostly sails. A shadow loomed at the alley's end—a man in a navy peacoat, his face scarred, his eyes locked on me.

Circle.

I veered into a bustling market, weaving through stalls of spices and silks. The man followed, closing in. I grabbed a clay pot from a vendor's table and hurled it. It shattered at his feet, tripping him.

"Désolée!" I shouted to the vendor, tossing coins as I ran.

At the café, Jesse and Mara were already there, sipping espresso with forced calm.

"We've got company," I panted, sliding into a seat.

A waitress approached, her apron stained with coffee. "Vous êtes Eleanor?" She slipped a napkin onto the table. Scrawled on it: "Vieux Port, Dock 7. Midnight. Come alone."

"Who gave you this?" I asked.

She shrugged. "Un homme. Un pêcheur."

A fisherman.

Dock 7 reeked of dead fish and diesel. Moonlight slicked the water as I approached, the ruby's hum a steady thrum. A figure emerged from the fog—an old man in a weathered cap, his face leathery from decades of salt and sun.

"You're brave to come alone," he said, his accent thick.

"Where's Evelyn?" I demanded.

He chuckled. "She's a ghost, ma chère. But she left something for you." He tossed me a brass key. "Le Fantôme, the old prison ship. Anchored east. You'll find answers there."

"Why help us?"

His smile faded. "The Circle took my son. Sank his boat when he tried to expose them. You'll end them, yes?"

I nodded, the key cold in my palm. "I'll try."

Le Fantôme loomed in the harbor, a hulking wreck of blackened wood and rusted chains. We rowed silently to its hull, the water sloshing like a whispered threat.

The key fit a padlock on the deck. Belowdecks, the air was thick with rot. Flashlights revealed cells lined with shackles, names carved into the walls—victims.

"This is where they kept people," Mara breathed, horrified.

A glint caught my eye. Beneath a loose floorboard lay a fourth ruby and a ledger—names, dates, shipments. The Circle's darkest secrets.

"We've got them," Jesse said, gripping the ledger.

A creak echoed above.

"You really think it'd be that easy?"

A woman stood at the stairs, her blond hair slicked into a bun, her smile venomous. She held a pistol, its barrel steady on Jesse.

"Sophie Renard," she said. "Circle's regional director. You've caused quite a mess, ma petite."

The ruby's hum spiked to a scream.

Trust the tide, but not the shadows.

I lunged, tackling her as the gun fired. The shot ricocheted, splintering wood. Jesse and Mara scrambled, grabbing the ledger and ruby as I wrestled Sophie toward the deck.

She clawed at my face, her nails drawing blood. "You'll drown here, just like your aunt!"

The ship groaned, timbers cracking. Water surged through the hull—Le Fantôme was sinking.

"Ellie, jump!" Jesse shouted, already in the rowboat.

I shoved Sophie against the rail, her pistol skidding into the sea. "Tell the Circle we're coming."

I leapt as the ship vanished into the black water, bubbles rising like a graveside hymn.

Back ashore, we huddled under a streetlamp, the ledger and rubies safe in my bag.

"Sophie said 'regional director,'" Mara muttered. "There are more of them. Everywhere."

Jesse stared at the harbor. "This is bigger than one ship. Bigger than all of us."

I touched the ruby at my neck, its hum now a quiet purr. "Then we go bigger. We follow the current."

The tide lapped the dock, relentless.

Somewhere, Evelyn waited.