Saturday afternoon sunlight spilled over Grayridge like a lazy sigh, warm and golden. But inside Elara's mind, everything buzzed and twisted. The half-smile Jace had given her during the lockdown drill wasn't just a memory anymore—it was a question she couldn't shake, a riddle wrapped in his calm, guarded eyes. Something behind that smile told her he was hiding more than just a name or a past.
So when her phone buzzed with his message—"Want to see something no one else knows about?"—her heart thudded in a way that felt both reckless and inevitable. She hesitated for a split second, the cautious part of her whispering to stay put, stay invisible. But the restless part, the part that had been dormant since last year's heartbreak, screamed yes. She typed back, "I'm in."
They met at the edge of town, where the neat streets gave way to cracked gravel roads flanked by thick woods. The salty sea breeze whipped through the pines, tugging at Elara's loose hair and filling her lungs with a bracing chill. Jace waited by his beat-up bike, the same calm smirk playing on his lips. Without a word, they pedaled side by side, the tires crunching over gravel as they left the hum of the town behind.
Jace led her down a narrow, almost hidden trail she hadn't noticed before. The path wound through twisted roots and brambles, the canopy above thick with leaves that flickered gold and green in the sunlight. Elara's pulse quickened with every step; she felt like she was crossing into another world—the kind she'd only ever read about in old books or seen in movies. This was the Grayridge no one talked about, the gray edges of the map where secrets lived.
Then, suddenly, the trees gave way to a jagged cliff overlooking the churning ocean. Waves crashed far below, white spray soaring into the salty air. And there, perched on the cliff's edge like a forgotten relic, stood the cottage.
It looked like something pulled straight out of a ghost story. Stone walls mottled with moss and ivy, windows shattered and gaping like empty eye sockets, a roof half-collapsed from years of storms. The door hung on crooked hinges, creaking in the wind. Time hadn't been kind to this place, but somehow it seemed alive — a silent witness to whatever had unfolded here long ago.
Jace pushed the door open with a slow, practiced motion, stepping inside without hesitation. The floorboards groaned under their feet, echoing in the dusty stillness. Shafts of late afternoon light filtered through the broken roof, casting jagged shadows that danced on peeling wallpaper and cracked plaster. The air smelled of salt, earth, and something older—faint smoke, maybe, or forgotten memories.
Elara followed, heart pounding, her eyes scanning the room. Against one wall, a collage of faded photographs tacked haphazardly to the cracked surface caught her attention. The photos were sun-bleached and curling, some scorched at the edges, like they'd been through fire and forgotten in the ashes.
She stepped closer, squinting to make out the faces. One picture showed a boy standing on this very cliff, arms crossed, staring out at the sea. He looked no older than ten, with dark hair tousled by the wind and eyes so familiar they stole her breath.
"That's you," she whispered, half in disbelief.
Jace knelt beside a loose floorboard near the hearth and lifted it, revealing a small metal lockbox. Rust stained the edges, but the initials E.M. were still clearly etched into the lid.
"Not mine," Jace murmured, brushing his fingers over the worn metal. "But I'm keeping it safe."
Elara's fingers itched to touch it, but she held back. "Who's E.M.?" she asked, voice barely above a breath.
Jace hesitated, eyes darkening. "Someone who trusted me. Before everything burned down."
His words hung between them, heavy with unspoken pain and warning. He looked up, serious now. "No one knows about this place. Don't tell anyone. Not your friends, not your family."
Elara nodded solemnly, but the fire of curiosity blazed inside her. She wanted to ask who had burned everything down—what had happened here—but she sensed Jace wasn't ready to share. Not yet.
Instead, she studied the photographs again. There were others—faded faces she couldn't place. A woman with kind eyes, a man with a grim set to his jaw. Stories trapped in frozen moments. It was like stepping into a puzzle with half the pieces missing.
Jace finally spoke, voice low. "This cottage... it's the only thing left from my past. From before I came here."
Elara swallowed hard. "Why show me?"
He shrugged, but there was something vulnerable in the gesture. "Because you don't look away. You don't just see what I want you to."
For the first time since she met him, Elara felt the walls around Jace crack. There was a flicker of something raw and real beneath the mystery.
Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the broken windows. A distant gull cried, and Elara felt the weight of the cliff beneath her feet, the wild ocean pulling at secrets she wasn't sure she was ready to uncover.
As they biked back toward town, the sun dipping low behind the hills, Elara's mind spun with questions—and a strange, thrilling sense that everything was about to change.
Because secrets like these never stay buried for long.