Chapter 32 #3
A steady ocean breeze slipped through Julian’s borrowed clothes, cool enough to keep him alert without being uncomfortable.
His attention lifted.
The lighthouse rose above the coastline to the right of the cottage, tall and steadfast against the clearing sky.
Two black bands marked the white tower—one near the top and another near the bottom—and somehow he knew they were there so ships could identify which lighthouse it was from farther out at sea.
The realization stopped him cold. How the hell did he know that?
His pulse picked up as he stared higher toward the dark lantern room. Of course it was dark—it was daytime, and the storm had passed, so there was no reason for the light to be on. Another thing he somehow knew without understanding why.
He slowed without meaning to.
Something about the lighthouse reached inside him. Not a memory. Not exactly. More like a feeling pressing against the edge of his mind, trying to break through.
Then fractured images ripped through him.
Violent seawater heaving beneath a storm-black sky.
The lighthouse beam sweeping across the ocean through sheets of rain.
Freezing waves dragging him under before throwing him back toward the surface.
And through it all, that light.
His attempt to reach it had been futile.
He sucked in a shallow breath as the flashes vanished almost as quickly as they’d appeared, leaving his pulse hammering hard against his ribs. The icy seawater seemed to linger in his lungs.
“Hey, you okay?” Brett asked from beside him.
He dragged his gaze away from the tower. “Yeah. I just…” He frowned, frustrated by how impossible it was to explain. “It feels familiar somehow.”
Brett didn’t answer right away, and Julian caught the way his expression shifted—careful, almost cautious.
That strange pull between them surfaced again, subtle but impossible to ignore. Julian didn’t understand it. If logic prevailed, none of this should feel familiar—not the lighthouse, the town, or Brett.
Especially not Brett.
And yet standing beside him felt oddly natural, as if some part of Julian had known him longer than a single night.
He tried pushing harder against the emptiness in his head, searching for anything useful. A name. A face. A reason he’d ended up in the Atlantic during a hurricane and how he’d made it back to shore.
Pain flared behind his eyes instead. He exhaled sharply and rubbed at his temple.
“You sure you’re up for a walk?” Brett asked, his tone cautious.
“Uh, yeah. I’m good.”
“Okay. The clinic’s this way.”
They started down the narrow coastal road together.
Most of the town looked old enough to have stories buried beneath every building.
Weathered clapboard structures lined the road ahead—the harbormaster’s office, a library, the post office, and a small restaurant with chairs still stacked inside from the storm.
Their signs swung in the breeze while briny ocean air mixed with damp wood and seaweed, and gulls cried overhead.
Brett nodded toward a gravel lot across the street from the library, where vendors were already setting up tables and canvas canopies while brushing aside small branches scattered across the ground. “That’s the farmers’ market.”
Continuing on their walk, Brett was greeted by several people as they passed, but Julian noticed the lingering looks aimed his way afterward, as if they were trying to place him without outright asking who he was.
“Told you everybody knows everybody,” Brett muttered.
Julian huffed a quiet laugh and glanced across the street—then froze.
A man stood near the small park just beyond the farmers’ market—tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in an impeccably tailored black three-piece suit that probably cost more than most people’s monthly rent.
His dark hair swept back from a face sharp enough to belong on the cover of a magazine, though there was nothing approachable about him.
And his piercing stare was locked directly onto Julian. Not curious. Knowing.
Something cold slid through Julian’s chest. Pressure spiked sharply between his temples. His step faltered, and for a second, the world tilted.
Brett caught his arm, warm, firm fingers wrapping around him before he could lose his balance. “Julian?”
The name slammed into him.
Wind screaming across black water.
A voice shouting his name somewhere through the chaos.
Fear. Panic. Freezing seawater crashing over him.
He sucked in a sharp breath as the fractured images hit hard enough to make his stomach turn.
Then they vanished as abruptly as they’d appeared.
The street returned all at once—the cool ocean breeze, distant surf, and Brett’s grip still steady on his arm.
His pulse hammered in an uneven rhythm beneath his ribs as his gaze darted back toward the park.
The man was gone.
“You remembered something?” Brett asked.
Julian pressed a hand against his temple, scanning the sidewalks and vendor tables again. “Did you see that guy?”
Brett frowned as he glanced around. “Which guy?”
“I thought I saw someone…” Unsure if he’d imagined the whole thing, he shook his head. “Never mind. How far is the clinic?”
“Just one more block.”
“Let’s go.”