Mag-log inAri’s POV Rhea didn’t come by the cliffs the next day. I told myself she was hiding, that it was smart, but my chest stayed tight all morning. The burn on my palm had faded into a faint scar, a pale mark that still hummed when I thought about her voice. By the time I reached the market road, the sun had climbed high enough to turn the boards of the pier almost white. Fishermen shouted, gulls dove, the world moved as if nothing dangerous had ever touched it. But I could feel it the change, the tension. Then I saw her. Rhea stood near the far end of the dock, her back to the sea, sketchbook clutched tight. She wasn’t alone. The man from last night was there again, coat gone now, sleeves rolled up, flanked by two others. One held her wrist; the other blocked her path. Everything inside me went still. The wolf didn’t ask permission. It just rose—quiet, controlled, ready. I walked fast, the boards groaning under my steps. “Let her go.” The man in the center turned. His
Ari’s POV The house was quiet enough for me to slip out without Valeria catching me. She always noticed when I left, always tattled in the morning with that smug grin, but tonight I needed to move. The burn in my palm had eased, but the itch under my skin hadn’t. The wolf wanted to stretch, to breathe. I jogged down the path that curved through the palms toward the beach. The tide had pulled back, leaving the sand slick and dark. I started running faster, half human, half something else clawing up my spine. Then I saw movement near the pier. Not the usual fishermen or tourists. Someone stood beneath the lamplight a man in a black coat too heavy for island weather. He leaned against one of the posts, speaking low to an older vendor who was packing up his stall. Something about the way he moved made my instincts lift. I slowed and stayed in the shadow of the boats. “Have you seen a young woman traveling alone?” the man asked. His voice was smooth, but sharp at the edges, t
Ari’s POV The mark on my hand wouldn’t stop throbbing. I tried to work through it. Fixed the nets, carried tools to the shed, helped my sister chase chickens that weren’t even ours. Nothing worked. The pain pulsed like a heartbeat that wasn’t mine. By noon, I gave up. I walked fast toward the cliffs, fists jammed in my pockets. The path curved along the edge of the sea, sun bouncing off the water so bright it felt like walking through glass. Every step pulled me harder. She was there. Same spot as before. Rhea sat on a flat rock, sketchbook open, the wind catching loose strands of her hair. She didn’t look up at first, but I saw her shoulders tense she knew I was coming. When I stopped a few feet away, she sighed and turned slowly. “You really don’t get tired of this, do you?” “Of what?” “Following me.” “I wasn’t.” “Sure.” She shut her sketchbook with a soft snap. “Let me guess, you just happened to be walking the only empty cliff on the island?” “I could s
Ari She saw me first and tried to pretend she didn’t. Her head turned just enough to catch me in the corner of her eye, then she faced forward and kept walking faster. I followed anyway. “Rhea,” I called. She stopped. Not all the way just enough that the wind caught her hair before she turned. “Hey,” she said, like she’d been caught doing something harmless. “You were in the woods last night.” Her smile flickered. “Was I?” “Don’t do that.” “Do what?” “Lie like it’s a game.” She looked down at her hands, pale against the strap of her bag. “You don’t know what you saw.” “I know what I heard. You were surrounded by wild dogs. You could’ve died.” “But I didn’t.” I stepped closer. “Cause I saved you. Why were you there?” “Because I like walking,” she said, still not meeting my eyes. “Because the beach gets crowded and the forest doesn’t.” “Then why hide in the dark? Why not call for help?” She finally looked up. “Because I don’t need saving.” Something i
Ari I couldn’t sleep. The house was quiet, but my mind wouldn’t stop moving. I lay there staring at the ceiling, listening to the faint tick of the clock and the waves hitting the rocks far below the hill. It felt like something inside me was moving in the opposite direction, restless under my ribs. I threw the blanket off, swung my legs to the floor, and stood. The moon was bright through the window, clean and heavy. It made the walls glow faint silver, and for some reason that light made me ache. I pulled on a shirt, left it unbuttoned, and stepped outside. The air was cool enough to sting. The sand under my feet was soft, cold, alive. I started walking without a plan—just following the sound of the water until the movement turned into running. My breath fell into rhythm, slow and deep. Each step pulled the tension higher. I ran harder. The tide was out, leaving a wide strip of wet sand that caught the moon like a mirror. I ran until the stretch of beach curved and the world
Ari By the time I reached the pier, the smell of fish and salt clung to the air and gulls were screaming for scraps. Father was already there, sleeves rolled, loading nets into the small boat with the other men. He looked up when he saw me, his grin easy. “You’re late.” “I’m here, aren’t I?” “Barely,” he said, handing me a coil of rope. “Let’s make you useful.” The dock creaked under our weight as we pushed off. The boat drifted into open water, the town shrinking behind us. I could see the stretch of beach curve toward the cliffs. A few figures dotted the sand—kids running, couples walking, tourists with cameras. And then her. Rhea stood near the waterline, hair lifted by the wind, skirt tugged at by the tide. She wasn’t sketching this time. She was just watching the sea, calm and quiet, like she’d been born to wait there. My chest tightened. I tried not to stare, but my body ignored me. I waved before I could stop myself. She saw me, smiled small but real and raise







