The message arrived at 2:47 AM.
Elena stared at her phone screen, the blue light harsh against the darkness of her bedroom. The text was from a number she didn't recognize: I know what you did at the lighthouse.
Her hands went cold. The lighthouse. Three years ago. The night everything changed.
She sat up, pulse hammering in her ears. Only two other people knew what happened that night, and one of them was dead. The other—James—had moved to Vancouver and sworn never to speak of it again.
Who is this? she typed back, fingers trembling.
The reply came instantly: Meet me at Pier 12. Tomorrow. Noon. Come alone.
Elena's mind raced through possibilities. Blackmail? Revenge? Or something worse? She thought about ignoring it, blocking the number, pretending it never happened. But she'd learned three years ago that some things don't stay buried, no matter how deep you dig.
She pulled up her contacts and scrolled to James's name. Her thumb hovered over the call button. If someone knew, he had a right to know too. But what if it was James? What if this was his way of breaking their pact?
Her phone buzzed again. Another message: Don't call James. He can't help you.
Elena's breath caught. Whoever this was, they were watching. Right now.
She moved to her window, peering through the blinds at the empty street below. Nothing. Just parked cars and the orange glow of streetlights. But somewhere out there, someone was waiting for her response.
She looked back at her phone and made her decision.
I'll be there.
The typing indicator appeared. Stopped. Appeared again.
Good. Bring the key.
Elena's heart stopped. The key. The rusted brass key they'd found that night, the one they'd thrown into the ocean from the lighthouse rocks. The one that couldn't possibly still exist.
Unless someone had been there. Watching. Waiting. All along.
#fiction #mystery #thriller #serialstory