The air was clean, but too still—like the world had paused mid-breath. The sea mist clung heavy, almost oily, and the waves crashed with a restless urgency, as though something deep below was stirring. A ship had gone missing, the town murmuring about rogue tides and sudden squalls. But I felt something else. Watching. Waiting.
Maybe the coast had changed. Or maybe I had.
Four summers had passed since I’d been here. The world had shifted beneath my feet, but some invisible tether had drawn me back. I didn’t know what it was—only that it felt like someone. And now that I was here, the feeling was stronger than ever.
Nothing ordinary ever lasted long in this place.
Swimmers lined the beach, hoping for sun that barely pierced the cold haze. They lay still, wrapped in towels like cocoons, their silence disturbed only by the occasional gull. No one entered the water—it had that kind of chill that settled in your bones and shook something loose.
I walked along the rocks, careful, alert. That’s when I felt it: eyes on me. That presence. My heart skipped.
“I solemnly swear I’m up to no good,” I murmured with a grin, the words more armor than amusement. But the feeling didn’t leave. If anything, it grew warmer—familiar.
Dangerous.
Jason.
Seven years. That’s how long it had been since I first met him.
Before Jason, life had been easy—light. I remember the day: early 2013, late for a lecture I can't remember, but I remember the shift. My friend acting strangely. The sudden chill in the air. And Jason, already three steps ahead of me, with my number in his phone before I even knew his name.
I hadn’t seen him. Not until he wanted me to.
I wore a wind-worn jumper, leather shorts, boots. My hair was tangled, sea-salted. We were all new then—fresh out of high school, still pretending we weren’t terrified. But Jason didn’t pretend. He knew things. About the world. About me.
Slick black hair. Emerald eyes that sliced through every lie. A smirk like he’d already lived my story and was waiting for me to catch up. He came from the part of town you only whispered about. And from the second he looked at me, I knew: nothing would be the same.
Days before the café conversation, the three of us—me, Oliver, Mandy—were stretched on the university lawn, soaked in the illusion of peace. The grass was damp from frost, sun low and weak above our jackets. Oliver was tugging at my arm, laughing about some awful group project, when the light dimmed.
A shadow.
He was just there.
The man from my lecture.
He’d sat three seats down, scribbling nothing, eyes always scanning. And now he stood motionless before us, spine too straight, like he’d practiced the moment.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, calm and even. “Mind if I join you?”
Oliver’s laughter died. I felt the shift in the air.
The man didn’t wait. He sat cross-legged across from us with unnerving ease, eyes locking on mine—only mine.
“It’s been a while,” he said softly. “You don’t remember, do you?”
My stomach turned.
He asked my name. Just my name.
And Mandy?
She said nothing.
Later, at the café, I slid into the seat across from Oliver, the corner of my mouth tilted in mock amusement.
“I heard something about you,” I said, stirring my drink.
Oliver glanced up, brow arched. “Should I be worried?”
“That depends,” I replied. “Someone said you’ve been asking about me.”
He leaned back, expression unreadable, but I caught the flicker—hesitation.
“People talk,” he said. “Doesn’t mean I listen.”
“But you did,” I said quietly. “It’s okay if you wanted to.”
A silence settled between us, thick and tight.
He looked around, then lowered his voice. “I heard you’ve been seen. With someone who doesn’t… fit in.”
I froze. “Jason?”
Oliver nodded slowly. “If that’s what he’s calling himself.”
My blood ran cold. “What do you mean?”
He leaned closer. “You’ve known him for five minutes. And Mandy—she knows more than she’s letting on.”
I sat back, heart racing.
Jason. A name from the past. A ghost who had vanished without warning.
And now he was back.
But this time, he wasn’t alone.