Page 32 of Masked Intentions in Pelican Point

I read the lines and think of the history attached, and I imagine the life it might open. London is a return to a place I call home, a city as wired into me as duty. A job there would be sensible shorthand for a life still in motion. But the better question is who I'm doing it with.

"I'll go," I say. I take his hand, not because I owe him an answer, but because I want to choose. "If that's what you want."

He squeezes my fingers and looks up at Ryan before kissing me, quickly and softly. "Then we're on."

Later, we pack and leave. The drive back to the plane is brief and silent. Ryan clasps our shoulders, his gratitude steady in a way that doesn't need rhetoric. Saltmoor already seems to be folding back into itself, but the mark of the night is indelible on both of us.

At the private airstrip, waiting under the blue sky, I look at Nolan and feel the impossible: that I can allow this; that I can build a life that contains him. He slides his hand over mine and the smallness of the gesture matters more than any declaration.

We do not promise forever. No one can, not honestly. But we promise effort. We promise to show up for the next sunrise. And that's not nothing.

On the plane, I rest my head on his shoulder in the rarest of refuges. He hums softly. When I close my eyes, I do not see the faces that haunt me. I see the way he holds me, the steadying press of his hand, the how of the nights to come.

Back in London, life is different and certain in new ways. There are exhibitions to plan, reports to write, and a hundred tiny crises. There will be nights when I'm required elsewhere and days when his work takes him to archives. There will be compromises. We will fail at some of them. We will repair others.

But when dawn breaks the next day, he is still there. When the storm comes later, and it will, I know I will not stand alone. He won't either.

On a small terrace at dawn overlooking the Thames, our silhouettes are outlined against a city that smells of rain and possibility. Nolan reaches up and kisses me with a hunger softened into devotion. I answer in kind because I can. I do not promise forever, but I promise tomorrow, and for now, that is enough.

But this morning, holding Nolan as the first light touches the Thames, I know we've found something more valuable than any treasure: partnership that transcends the boundaries between life and death, love that bridges cultures and centuries, and purpose that will guide us through whatever shadows lie ahead.

In the pre-dawn darkness, I feel the mask's presence even though it's secured in the museum's vault. The spirits within it rest quietly now, their ancient vigil shared with guardians who understand both worlds. Tomorrow will bring new challenges, new artifacts that need protection, new threats that require both tactical expertise and spiritual wisdom.

The blood remembers, just as the warrior told me. And now, finally, so do we.

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He left with a dream. Now he’s back with a niece, a busted shoulder, and a second chance he never saw coming.

After an injury ends his major league career, Logan Maddox returns to Pelican Point to raise his four-year-old niece and revive the town’s struggling minor league team. The last thing he expects is to move in next door to Heather Winslow, the sassy librarian, who used to ace every pop quiz and once held his heart without even knowing it.

Heather hasn’t forgotten the town’s golden boy who left without a backward glance. Now he’s back, with a kid, and zero parenting instincts. She doesn’t have time for his messy life, but somehow gets drawn in by Violet’s sweet smile, by Cookie, her opinionated corgi who bonds with Violet, and most dangerously, by Logan himself.

What starts as playful bickering turns into late-night talks, community projects, and something that feels dangerously close to home. They never made it work back then, but maybe this time, love is pitching them a second chance.