The rain had started again, a light drizzle that made everything in Darkmoor glisten under the pale moonlight. Harper couldn’t shake the feeling that the village was full of secrets—secrets that people wanted to stay buried. As she walked back to her cottage from the archives, her thoughts were interrupted by the sudden appearance of someone standing at the gate.
It was a man, tall and broad-shouldered, with messy dark hair dampened by the rain. His face was sharp, with deep-set eyes that gleamed under the streetlamp. He seemed familiar, and Harper’s pulse quickened as he stepped closer.
"Harper Blackwood?" His voice was deep, yet calm, with a hint of curiosity.
"Yes," Harper replied, her guard up. "Who’s asking?"
"James Thornton," the man said, extending a hand. "I’m a private investigator. I heard about the murder at the lighthouse, and I think our cases might be connected."
"Connected?" Harper raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "What’s your angle?"
Stolen story; please report.
James sighed, running a hand through his wet hair. "I’ve been looking into a series of unsolved murders along the coast, all involving old lighthouses. The deaths are always marked by that same strange symbol you saw today."
Harper’s heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t expected someone else to be digging into the same mystery, let alone a man like James—someone who clearly carried his own ghosts. "What do you know about the symbol?" she asked, her curiosity taking over.
"Not much, but enough to know that it’s linked to an old seafaring cult. They believed in using lighthouses as channels for… something else. Something dark," he said, his eyes searching hers.
"Do you think Silas was part of this cult?" Harper asked, stepping closer to James, her mind racing with possibilities.
James shook his head. "No. I think he was a victim, just like the others. Someone’s recreating rituals—rituals that summon forces better left alone."
The tension between them crackled in the air, and Harper found herself drawn to James, despite the danger and mystery surrounding him. His presence was a mix of reassurance and enigma. But she had to stay focused. There was no room for distraction, not when a killer—or something worse—was still on the loose.