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The chill that pervades the lighthouse isn’t just a physical sensation. It’s seeped into my thoughts. As my eyes sweep the room, taking in the lush decor—the pile of velvet cushions, the casual drape of the soft faux-fur blankets, the towering candelabras scattered about—a sharp pang of jealousy gnaws at my insides.

I thought I’d moved past this.

Thought I’d made peace with the fact that Elodie slept with my boyfriend when I still haven’t managed to cross that particular threshold.

But here, in this lavishly adorned space, those old insecurities are fully awake.

Then another thought occurs to me, this one far more unsettling.

If I’m still prone to these petty jealousies, if they’re able to find a foothold in my heart, then what does it say about all that progress I was so sure I’d made?

Did anything I learned at my dad’s actually manage to stick?

Shaking the thought away, I train my focus on Elodie. “How are we supposed to get back? I mean, it must be edging toward dawn. And with this weather, we’ll be icicles before we even make it halfway.”

Elodie rolls her eyes. “Please,” she groans. “A little credit for once. Follow me.”

Together we descend the spiral staircase, the steps groaning loudly under our weight. When we reach the bottom floor, Elodie retrieves a pair of heavy coats from a hook by the door. She’s about to toss one to me when she cocks her head and says, “What the hell is that?” She gestures toward my arm. “Did you and your dad get matching tattoos?”

I follow her gaze to find a single luminous golden circle marking the pale white skin of my inner arm, as my dad’s words replay in my head:I have a feeling the mark will find you.Apparently, it did.

With Elodie still staring, waiting for an explanation, I clear my throat and say, “It’s not a tattoo.” I sneak a glance her way. She looks unconvinced. “Or at least not a real one.”

“Well, whatever it is, you better not let Arthur see it.” Her lips pinch. “He has a real double standard when it comes to those things.”

An icy shiver slinks down my spine.Double standard? Does that mean what I think it does?

Casually, I say, “Arthur has a tattoo?”

Elodie regards me for a long, tense moment. Then, with a shake of her head, she tosses me the jacket and slips into her own.

As we tug the hoods over our heads and duck outside into the bitter cold night, I can’t stop thinking about what she just implied.

Does Arthur bear the mark of the flower of life?

Outside, the wind is a living, howling thing. Fierce and unforgiving, it bites into every exposed bit of skin. I huddle deeper into my coat and look all around, noting how the moon casts a ghostly glow over the rugged terrain, turning the continuous onslaught of waves into an infinite array of silver cascades.

“Don’t tell me we’re walking.” I squint into the distance at the fortress that is Gray Wolf, which, from this point, seems as unlikely a destination as an evening stroll to the moon. “Because even with—”

“Who said anything about walking?” Elodie laughs, the sound swallowed by a loud shriek of wind. “Do you honestly think this is the first time I’ve done this?”

I shoot her a sidelong glance. “Last time you dragged me along, you used a car. But I don’t see one now.”

“That’s because I have something even better.”

I follow her as she circles to the back of the lighthouse. Opening a small shed that blends so well into the landscape I never noticed it until now, she swings the door open to reveal a vintage pink Vespa.

“You’ve got to be joking,” I say, pretty sure that thing will barely make it out of the shed, much less tackle such a steep climb.

“Do you have a better suggestion?” She swings a leg over and settles onto the seat. When she turns the key and revs it to life, despite the sound of its engine purring defiantly into the night, I still have my doubts.

And yet, unable to come up with a better plan, I climb on behind her. Circling my arms around her waist, I say, “You sure this thing can actually make it all the way up that hill?”

Elodie laughs. “Hold on,” she says, veering the Vespa onto the narrow road, its single headlight piercing the darkness. “And get ready for the ride of your life.”

Miraculously, we survive the journey. There were times when I wasn’t so sure.

I wait as Elodie stashes the Vespa, then we head for the large iron door. She presses her thumb against the electronic keypad, and with a soft whir, it swings open.