I don’t answer.
“You did,” she says, nodding like she’s confirming something she already knew. “And he saw you.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in that crap anymore.”
“Ibelievein people dying around cursed relics and that coin smells like grave magic and sea blood, so yeah, I believe in ghosts now. Thanks for asking.”
I run a hand through my hair. “He said my name.”
“Then it’s already started.”
“What has?”
She leans forward. “You’re tethered. Tosomething.The coin, the wreck, maybe him. He’s not just haunting the bay—he’s bound there. And you… you’re the crack in the seal.”
“That’s a poetic way of telling me I’m screwed.”
Mira finally softens. Just a little.
“I missed you, you know,” she says, voice lower.
“I didn’t want to drag you into?—”
“I was already in it,” she snaps. “We both were. You just chose to run.”
She’s right.
She’salwaysbeen right, which is why I stopped calling her. I couldn’t stand to hear the truth through someone else’s mouth.
I pick up the coin.
“I’m not running this time,” I say. “I need to know what it’s doing to me.”
Mira sighs. “I’ll help you. But you have to promise me something.”
“What?”
“If this gets worse—if the dreams get deeper, if he starts showing up in mirrors or shadows—you tell me. No matter what.”
I nod.
“Swear on it,” she says, eyes sharp now. “Like we used to.”
I swallow hard. Hold out my hand.
“Swear,” I say. “On blood and pinky fingers.”
She grabs mine. “Then we start tonight.”
The candle on Mira’s counter burns low, flickering like it’s eavesdropping. She’s pulled out a battered leather journal—her nana’s, judging by the handwriting—and flips through the pages until she finds a yellowed newspaper clipping stuck between two pressed sage leaves.
“Here,” she says, sliding it across the counter. “The Lost Captain.”
I glance at the headline:Shipwreck Mystery Still Haunts Wrecker’s Bay.
Beneath it, there’s a sketch—rough, but clearly a man. Broad shoulders. Long coat. Grim expression under a sea-wind snarl of hair.
“Tell me you’re not chasing this guy,” Mira says.