Chapter 6: The Cottage by the Sea

Cane’s place was more isolated than Driftwood, crouched alone on another stretch of cliff—wood plank walls, tin roof, a few life vests hanging by the door.

“Bathroom’s at the end of the hall. Hot water for ten minutes only.” He tossed her a dry towel. “The bedroom’s yours. I’ll take the couch.”

“Why are you helping me?” Lila stood in the middle of the living room, not moving.

Cane was boiling coffee, his back to her. His shoulders were broad; there was a long scar on the back of his neck, as if something had whipped him.

“I’m not helping you.” He said. “I just don’t want to pull another body off the reef tomorrow morning.”

“You’re lying.”

He spun around. The anger flared up fast, a crack splitting the cold surface of his eyes: “Then what do you want me to say, huh?”

The two of them stood off. The coffee pot on the stove hissed.

Cane was the first to look away. He walked over, turned the heat down, and his voice dropped with it:

“Twenty years ago, this town reported five girls missing. The police said runaways. Said they jumped in the sea. Said they left on their own.” He paused. “One of them was my sister.”

Lila held her breath.

“So you see, Ms. Mason.” He turned, and for the first time, something human came into those gray-green eyes—then was quickly pressed down. “I want the answer more than you do. I just… already know what part of the answer costs.”

“What does it cost?”

He didn’t answer. He walked to the window, lifted a corner of the curtain, and looked out.

“From the moment you drove into town,” he said quietly, “that car out there has been following you for three hours.”

Lila’s blood went cold. She slowly turned and looked out.

In the fog, two hundred feet down the road, a black Ford sat without its headlights on.

Then the headlights flicked on, like a signal. The truck pulled slowly off the shoulder and vanished into the fog.

Cane dropped the curtain, fast—fast as if afraid the other side might see.

“Starting tonight,” he said, “after ten o’clock, no matter what you hear, don’t open the door.”

“What if it’s you?”

He glanced at her. The corner of his mouth twitched—not quite a smile.

“If it’s me, I’ll give three owl calls first.”

He paused, then added:

“But in this town, nobody knows how to owl.”