Page 18 of Ghoul Me, Maybe

SIENNA

I don’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 it chose to.

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’ve expected it. 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.

The relic wasn’t just some enchanted coin, or ancient curse passed down like bad luggage. It was part of something bigger. Something older.

The fae created it.

Before the peace. Before even the First Sundering. It was a test—an experiment in what they called “anchored consciousness.” They wanted to bind memory to object. Soul to stone. So they made it. A relic that could remember for you. Carry grief for you. Keep the parts of you too painful to bear.

But it worked too well.

The first subject didn’t just lose his pain—he lost himself.

Became a ghost with nothing but rage and habit.

He murdered his own kin and never understood why.

The fae tried to destroy it, but by then it had learned how to hide.

It fell through centuries, passing hands, always seeking someone to latch onto.

And then it found Elias.

He was already broken when it touched him. Haunted by betrayal, grief. Easy prey.

I tried to unbind him. Gods, I tried. But to sever the relic from him would’ve meant sacrificing him entirely. And I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t strong enough.

So I locked it away.

I lied to you. To everyone. Told them I was hunting treasure, chasing myths. But it was always about this.

And now it’s yours.

I’m sorry, Sienna. I wanted to protect you. But I think I only delayed the damage.

If you’re reading this… you might be the only one left who can stop it.

You have his heart.

Use it wisely.

—Dad

I sit there for a long time.

Long enough for the light to change. For the sun to dip low. For the salt air to press hard into my lungs like I forgot how to breathe without it.

The letter’s still trembling in my hand.

Elias didn’t just die near the relic.

He is it.

Or part of it.

Bound by something fae-made and ancient and absolutely not meant for mortal hands.

I wipe my eyes with the back of my wrist. I’m not crying. Not exactly. It’s more like my face forgot how to hold still.

“You son of a bitch,” I mutter to the letter. “You could’ve told me.”

But I know why he didn’t.

Because I would've tried to save Elias, too.

And maybe I’d still have made the same choice.

There’s a creak behind me.

Boots on old wood.

I don’t have to turn to know it’s him.

“I felt it,” Elias says softly. “You read something.”

I hold up the letter.

He kneels beside me, careful. Reverent.

“Jonas,” he says, looking down at the page. “Always ten steps ahead. And three off the map.”

I laugh, and it breaks in the middle. “He knew. He knew what you were bound to.”

Elias doesn’t flinch.

“I figured. The dreams. The pull. The way the relic feels like it remembers more than I do.”

“He could’ve severed it,” I whisper. “But he didn’t.”

“Would you have?”

The answer sits heavy in my mouth.

“No,” I say finally. “But it wasn’t his choice to make.”

Elias closes his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Sienna.”

“For what?”

“For being what keeps you hunted. For being the anchor you can’t drop.”

I reach up.

Cup his face.

“You’re not the anchor,” I murmur. “You’re the reason I haven’t sunk.”

He leans in, forehead touching mine. No ghosts. No magic. Just skin. Warm and trembling.

“I don’t know how this ends,” he says. “But I’m not letting the relic take you. Not again. Not ever .”

I nod.

“Then let’s figure out how to destroy it.”

Together.

We sit in silence for a while after the storm of truth passes.

The lighthouse hums with old wind and history, the kind that gets into your teeth and won’t let go. Elias doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. He just keeps his eyes on the letter, like it might shift under his gaze and give him different answers.

He says, “I thought he left me.”

I glance over.

He’s still, but something in his voice is unraveling.

“I thought when I died, Jonas locked me in that wreck to forget me. To bury me. That it was easier to pretend I’d never mattered.”

I bite my lip. “Elias?—”

“But he didn’t,” he says, barely louder than a breath. “He kept me alive. Even when it meant lying to you. To everyone. Because he couldn’t kill me. Because I wasn’t just a relic. I was his friend. ”

The words hit me like a wave. Gentle. Crushing.

He swallows hard. “I never got to say goodbye.”

“You weren’t supposed to,” I whisper. “He didn’t want to lose you.”

“And he did it anyway. To protect you. Me. Both of us.”

His jaw clenches. His hand trembles once, then stills.

I reach for it. He lets me take it.

“You matter, Elias,” I say. “You always did. And he knew that.”

He looks at me then, raw and open and a little bit broken.

But there’s something else in his eyes, too.

Resolve.

A promise stitched from grief and fire and something that feels a lot like love.

He grips my hand tighter.

“Then we finish what he started.”