Chapter 23
Malachi
Malachi sat on the wall overlooking the sea legs dangling over the drop, the stone cool beneath his palms.
He’d managed to leave the house without Ina escorting him like a prison guard—a minor miracle. The thought earned a faint, humourless huff. He’d promised to meet his friends at Lucky Crumbs, knowing full well she wouldn’t want him anywhere near the water.
A half-truth wouldn’t hurt. Not when the beach below was already filled with holidaymakers—families spreading towels, dogs tearing along the sand, children shrieking as the cold surf nipped at their ankles.
Too many witnesses for anything to happen.
Too much daylight. The Selkie wouldn’t surface here, and if Jeff was going to kick off, better here than inside a café with half of Latharna there to witness it.
He was usually the one running late. Today, he’d left early, needing distance from Riverside before it closed in on him again. Dad had paced the floor outside his bedroom for most of the morning, floorboards creaking in the stop-start rhythm of footsteps Malachi knew too well.
He’d almost called out—his mouth had opened, breath drawn—but the sound never came.
He’d stayed still until the footsteps retreated.
In the space of twenty-four hours, Malachi had swung from resenting Dad’s need to escape Riverside, to recognising the pressure for what it was.
It clung to the walls, pressed low on the ceilings.
He could feel it building in every room.
He couldn’t speak to Dad this morning. Not yet. He needed time. Time to think about Rhys. About the Selkie and how Dad single-handedly almost wiped out a shoal in a rush of fury that still sat heavy in Malachi’s gut.
The wall pressed cold against his thighs. Below, the tide was low, the sea pulled back and deceptively calm. His gaze kept drifting to the water anyway—the same way it had in his dream—waiting for something to surface. His shoulders tightened before he noticed and he forced them down again.
What Dad and Ina were planning tonight didn’t sit right with him.
He understood Dad’s anger. It coiled hot in his own chest, but he couldn’t share it.
Killing the Selkie wouldn’t fix anything.
It wouldn’t bring Rhys back. It wouldn’t untangle the grief that had warped their lives.
Trying to carve peace out of cold-blooded murder was wrong, no matter how justified Dad and Ina made it sound. There had to be another way.
If he could persuade the Selkie to leave—really leave—that would be enough. Dad would listen. He always did, eventually. And Ina… she would stand down if Dad did, even if she disagreed.
“You’re here already?” Ally’s voice broke through his thoughts.
Malachi startled, heart ticking fast against his ribs. He hadn’t heard Ally approach. His jaw tightened. He dragged a breath through his nose and forced his focus back into place. Ally wandered into view, theatrically checking his watch.
“You told him?”
Jeff’s voice cut in from behind Ally. He was swinging his car keys around his finger, metal flashing in the sun. “You finally grew a pair and told him?” He thumped Malachi hard on the shoulder, the way he always did—possessive, congratulatory and a little too rough.
A cough tore out of Malachi as pain flared along his ribs. He shifted his weight, jaw locking as he rode it out. Jeff didn’t notice. He never did.
Ina said the ribs were only bruised and that Wolfendens heal fast. But every twist and jolt was a reminder of the knife being too close to his throat, of the river water filling his lungs.
And now, there was a brand-new nightmare—the wall, the water, Jeff’s face twisting into something he didn’t recognise.
The first he’d ever had where Rhys wasn’t there.
He missed seeing Rhys’ face on the boat before everything went to hell.
That alone made the nightmares unbearable, and now he was gone. And he wasn’t ready to say goodbye.
Malachi glanced down at the beach again. Children were building sandcastles, their laughter carrying up on the breeze. The tide was still out. The water looked harmless.
Jeff’s fingers dug into his shoulder.
Malachi shrugged him off. The movement sent a sharp pull through his ribs, breath hissing between his teeth, but the pain wasn’t as intense. He didn’t turn around and look at Jeff.
“How’d he take it?” Jeff ploughed on. “I bet he went mad. He always tries to take control over everything you do, despite not giving a shit.”
“Hey.” Ally frowned and stepped closer, slotting himself between them. “That’s enough.”
Malachi closed his eyes for a beat. The sea breeze brushed his face. He let the moment pass through rather than rising to the bait.
“You know I don’t mean any harm. I’m sorry.” Jeff grinned, clasping his hands together in a mock apology that never reached his eyes. “I’m just glad it’s done.”
“I’m staying.”
Nothing wavered as Malachi said it. The wall held. The sky didn’t fall. His muscles tightened, bracing for impact, but he didn’t retreat. He hadn’t meant to be so blunt, but it was out now and there was no taking it back. For once he didn’t want to.
“What?” Jeff’s face flushed red, colour climbing from his neck. His hands balled into fists, shoulders squaring like he might swing. “Did he say you couldn’t go? We talked about this. I thought you were finally ready to stand up to him.”
“I didn’t tell him.” Malachi’s fingers curled around the edge of the wall. Stone bit into his palms. His pulse hammered, a sharp insistence urging to get up and run away—the same old instinct. He stayed where he was. “I just don’t want to leave anymore.”
“Why the fuck not?” Jeff flung an arm out, first at the sea, then the sprawling fields behind them. “There’s literally nothing for you here.”
“I’ve just decided to stay.” Malachi smiled at Ally while Jeff’s back was turned. Ally’s face lit up, then smoothed just as fast. They both knew better than to let Jeff see that crack of joy.
“You absolute coward.” Jeff stepped closer, voice dropping. “You’d rather stay and die on this boring rock than live your own life?” His eyes narrowed. “How desperate are you for that hug?”
The familiar pull sparked—the reflex to explain and apologise. It flared and then burned itself out. Malachi refused to reach for it.
“It’s nothing to do with Dad.” He kept his voice steady, even with Jeff pushing his buttons. He looked back out to sea. The tide would be out for hours, yet his skin prickled, the echo of his nightmare tightening between his shoulders. “I don’t want to go. At least not right now.”
Jeff dragged a hand through his hair and paced a few steps, trainers scuffing stone. “Mal, you’ve already decided. You’ll never leave.” He laughed sharply, without any humour or warmth. “We would’ve had such a laugh.”
“Sorry, it’s just—”
“You will be,” Jeff cut him off cleanly, eyes locking onto Malachi’s with practiced precision. Then his face cracked into that familiar wounded look—the one that he had perfected. “Are you sure you won’t come with me?”
“I’m not going, sorry mate.” Malachi didn’t dress it up to placate him. “We’ll see you loads before you leave. We’ve still got a few weeks.”
“No need to hang around now,” Jeff shrugged, already pulling away. “I’ve been packed for ages.”
“What about your exam results?”
“Who cares?” Jeff kicked a stone, sending it skittering down the path. “I don’t need them.”
Malachi watched him without speaking. Something inside him settled—not relief, exactly, but clarity. In his nightmare, Jeff had dragged him off the wall. Here, in daylight, Malachi stayed exactly where he was.
Ally sucked in a breath, sharp and small.
Malachi understood Ally’s reaction. Exams weren’t just results—they had been everything.
Years of pressure, revision timetables pinned to bedroom walls, students holding their breath for envelopes that decided who you became next.
The end of school. The last summer before real life began.
It should’ve felt huge. Instead, it felt oddly flat.
Dulled by knowing what else existed, hidden in the shadows of Latharna.
“I’m sure your mum will let you know how you got on.” Ally’s eyes fixed on the scuffed toes of his trainers.
Jeff didn’t look at him. His fists clenched again, knuckles whitening as his stare stayed locked on Malachi. Expecting him to look away, to give Jeff the dominance he craved. For once, Malachi didn’t look away. He held the gaze, steady as the wall beneath him. Jeff scoffed and turned away.
In that moment something shifted. The grip that Jeff always had—the unspoken authority, the expectation that Malachi would always bend—cracked and fell away.
A friendship that had shaped most of his childhood hovered on the brink of ending. Something old and familiar loosened its grip. Malachi’s shoulders eased. The tension he’d carried for years drained away, as if he’d finally set something heavy down.
He wasn’t relieved, but he understood Jeff’s desperation. There was nothing for him here. No safety net, no plan beyond leaving. Jeff hadn’t applied to college or any trade school on Latharna or the mainland. He was running, full tilt, and Malachi had finally stopped trying to keep up.
Ally had never needed to run. He’d been in the kitchen learning a baker’s trade since he was old enough to hold a wooden spoon and recently joined the local rugby club, pushing himself out of his comfort zone.
He’d naturally carved a place for himself—baking at dawn, rugby bruises worn like badges of honour.
He was growing into himself, solid and unashamed.
Proof that staying didn’t mean stagnating.
Malachi had worked summers in The Wolf’s Den for years, enduring Nomi’s sharp tongue, knowing it was temporary even when he didn’t know what came next. His predicted exam results opened doors at all the universities he applied to.
After last night, the choice was simple. Journalism at Latharna University. A last minute application submitted just before the cut off.
A shiver ran through him—not fear this time, but something close to excitement. He stood, stretching to his full height. Jeff took a step back.
The realisation landed softly. Malachi felt a flicker of guilt—he’d let Jeff down. He was sorry for that. But beneath it was something lighter, cleaner.
Freedom. The chance to be more than the sidekick role Jeff had pressed into him years ago.
“What about one last night out before you go?” Malachi forced a grin, nudging Ally with his elbow. “We could camp at the Maidens. See if we can find the banshee?”
His stomach soured, the joke landing wrong inside him. The Otherworld wasn’t a story anymore. Joking about the dark felt careless, especially when it had already shown its teeth.
Ally’s eyes lit up. The Maidens were sacred ground to the Banshee Brigade. Spotting one would buy him weeks of reverence from its members at their next meeting. His dad founded the group years ago, and they’d poured countless evenings into the hunt—all enthusiasm, zero results.
“Maybe,” Jeff fumbled in his pocket, keys clinking as he dragged them free. He smiled, but his eyes were empty. They always were. There would be no final camping trip. “I’ll text you and we can sort it.” He turned before Malachi could respond and jogged towards his car.
Malachi watched him leave. In the nightmare, Jeff pulled him off the wall. Here, Jeff walked away—and Malachi stayed standing.
Gravel spat beneath spinning tyres as the car tore out of the car park.
“When d’you think we’ll get to the Maidens?” Ally flinched as the engine roared into the distance.
“I don’t think we will.” Malachi eased himself back onto the wall hard, pressing to his torso, waiting for the sharp bite in his ribs. It never came. Ina was right, Wolfendens do heal quickly. “But we could plan something ourselves.”
Ally nodded, eyes still tracking the empty road before turning back to him. Steady as always. “What do we do now?”
“Lunch?” Malachi grinned. “I owe you for cancelling yesterday.”
The conversation with Jeff hadn’t exploded the way he’d expected. No shouting. No final blow-up. Just… distance. Jeff had always been controlling and louder than he needed to be. For a long time, it had been easier to follow Jeff rather than figure out who he was without him.
Now, sitting on the wall with the sea behind him and something bigger waiting ahead. Jeff felt small; a chapter in his life he’d finally outgrown.
“I’m glad you’re staying.” Ally’s shoulders loosened. “Sad Jeff is going though.” He added a bit too quickly.
They both glanced back at the car park, half expecting Jeff to return and finish the argument he’d tried to start.
“Me too.” Malachi hopped down from the wall and stretched, testing the pull in his torso. It held, stronger than he’d expected.
“Lunch is on me,” Ally wrapped him up in a hug that knocked the breath clean out of him. Rugby had turned him into something solid and unyielding.
Malachi winced, then held on anyway. His eyes burned. If tonight went wrong—if the Selkie refused to leave and things turned violent—this could be the last time he ever saw Ally.
He held on a second longer than Ally, letting the sea stay behind him where it belonged.