Page 47 of Ghoul Me, Maybe

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“I’m not your hero,” he says. “Hell, I’m barely human. But I swear to every god and ghost that still listens—I’ll keep you safe. Whatever it takes. Even if it kills me again.”

My throat tightens.

“Don’t say that.”

“You need to hear it,” he growls. “Because this isn’t going to end clean. Not with relics and murderers and half the town’s magic waking up. But I’ll walk through every curse, everyshadow, every damn piece of your father’s broken past—just to make sure you see the end of it.”

The wind gusts. My hair whips across my face.

And Ifeelit.

The bond between us. Not the relic. Not the curse.

Him.

“Elias,” I whisper.

He leans in, slow and sure, until our foreheads touch.

“I won’t lose you,” he murmurs. “Not to him. Not to fate. Not to some haunted piece of gold.”

I close my eyes.

I believe him.

CHAPTER 18

SIENNA

Idon’t come to the lighthouse for closure.

I come because it’s the last place on Jonas’s damn map that isn’t scorched, haunted, or crawling with ley line freakouts.

The door groans like it’s been waiting for someone to remember it exists. Salt wind curls through the cracks. I shove it open, boots crunching over old sand and driftwood and the ghosts of a thousand seagull craps.

The place is falling apart—shingles peeled, stairs half-rotted, and the whole thing listing to the left like it’s got a hangover. But there’s a strange kind of peace in it, too. Like time forgot this place. Or maybe itchoseto.

I head straight to the spiral stairwell.

There’s a trapdoor at the top, stuck fast with rust and secrets. Takes me two full minutes of swearing and shoulder checks to get it open. The lantern room is mostly empty now, save for a busted lens and a bird skeleton in the corner.

And one thing else.

A tin box, tucked beneath the old control panel. Covered in dust. Hinges screaming.

Inside, a folded piece of parchment. Thick. Yellowed. My name scrawled on the front.

Sienna. If you found this, it means I’m already dead.

I sit. Hard.

Hands shaking, breath catching. I should’ve known there’d be something like this. Should’veexpectedit. But still—seeing his handwriting again?

It’s like swallowing a mouthful of glass.

I unfold the letter, careful not to rip it. His words are tight, controlled. Same as they always were when he was trying not to freak me out.

I’ve made mistakes. Too many to count. But this one? This is the one I never outran.

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