Chapter 4 Octavius
IWAS NOT FOLLOWING HER.
At least, that was what I told myself as I made my way back to my cove, the same one that just so happened to sit directly below the cliff where her shack—I mean cottage—stood.
It had been a long day, though lighter than most, but still enough clients to leave a residual weight in me, enough that I could justify coming down to the water to bleed it out.
That was the story I let myself settle into, layered with a lingering suspicion about what Kara might be hiding, because I knew there was still something more.
So maybe standing watch was me doing my civic duty to the town.
But no, that wasn’t truly it either. Yes, I was suspicious of her, and yes, I had some built-up emotions to drain from the day’s work, but the real reason I was here was one I wasn’t used to feeling, not organically at least. Somewhere deep inside me, something had settled there.
Worry.
She was new to this town and might not fully understand why that home had stayed vacant for so long, why, against all odds, it was even still standing. Because if the storm building in the air broke the way I knew it would, her cottage, perched far too close to the edge, might not hold this time.
I drew in a slow breath, already catching the scent of rain on the wind. It would arrive within the hour, I had no doubt, starting slow before turning into something far worse.
Still, I remained where I was, seated along the edge of the cove, glancing up toward the cliff every few minutes, just to make sure her home was still standing. Because there was no telling whether her repair efforts had made things better or, more likely, much worse.
Kara irritated and intrigued me all at once, but I couldn’t let her know I was down here checking in on her. Not when she’d meet it with that false, easy cheer and tease me about it, or worse, challenge me on it, and I wasn’t in the mood for another round of snark with her.
Mina was the only one who knew I came here after my sessions.
And when she found out Kara lived in the cottage above the cove, paired with the storm building and my “sudden need” to drain what should have been an easy day, something told me she knew I was here for other reasons. Like she could see straight through me.
That was Mina, though. My all-knowing little sea serpent secretary.
Surprisingly, she hadn’t questioned it, which in itself was suspicious, and I was fairly certain she had already constructed a version of events that involved far more emotional investment than I was willing to admit to.
She was, no doubt, already imagining outcomes that would never in a million years happen between me and Kara because, one, I wasn’t sure I could trust her, and two, I was a grumpy bastard set in my ways.
I had been alone for so long that it had become my default.
I hadn’t even been on a date since moving to Crescent Cove.
The last traces of anything resembling a love life had been left behind in Okinawa—relationships built on shallow attraction and physical desire I could always feel radiating from my partners whether I wanted to or not.
Feeling people’s emotions wasn’t always the kind of superpower people liked to imagine.
Sometimes it was a curse, one that made me feel like I was prying into someone’s life without their knowledge while I kept up my human act.
Other times, it left me hollow, especially when I picked up on feelings that didn’t match the sincerity my partners tried to sell with their words.
Over time, I got better at shutting it down, like flipping a switch. It took a lot of practice, but the truth was always there, and I couldn’t always ignore it. Pretending otherwise had always ruined any chance of something real lasting.
It was difficult to build anything real when you could sense that what the other person offered was surface level at best. At the time, I had convinced myself that was enough, that I could take what I needed, offer the bare minimum in return, and walk away without consequence.
But even that had been a lie, one that had left its own quiet strain behind, building over time in ways I had only fully understood after I left Okinawa.
That was why I had chosen this life, one of solitude and control. An existence built on purpose rather than attachment. I helped where I could, took on what others couldn’t carry, and in return, I kept my distance. It was simply easier that way.
So why was Kara slipping past that so easily?
I had touched her once—twice, if today counted—and already, it felt different.
She felt different, and I couldn’t deny that it was part of the reason I sat here now, watching the cliff, ready to remain through the coming storm in case my concerns about the cottage blowing over came true and I needed to step in and help.
Because she had secrets, that I was sure of, secrets I’d never uncover if she blew away in the wind or was crushed by a roof I was convinced wasn’t actually patched the way she claimed.
Yeah, that was why I was here. Part of my self-appointed, ongoing investigation, and not at all because of the constant worry tugging at me to make sure she survived the storm.
No, this was about my obsessive need to be right.
And I was sure I was, because I knew she was hiding something.
What I’d actually do with that information once I found it, I had no idea, but that didn’t stop the pull to uncover it.
The storm came slowly at first, just a few scattered drops, a subtle shift in the wind, and all the while I remained where I was, seated in the sand, watching as the water darkened beneath the sky.
I tilted my head back, letting the rain hit my face, closing my eyes for a brief moment as the sound settled into something almost soothing.
For a second, it felt manageable, the kind of storm that threatened more than it delivered.
Perhaps I had overestimated it and maybe I was out here for nothing.
It wouldn’t have been the first time a so-called “storm of the century” turned into little more than a gust of wind and a few scattered splashes. The cove had a way of dramatizing its warnings, so maybe this was just another one of those times.
Above me, the silhouette of the cliff remained steady, her cottage still perched where it had been, dark against the shifting sky but otherwise intact.
Maybe she would be fine.
Maybe she was more capable than I had given her credit for.
It was entirely possible she had managed more repairs than I had assumed, or that the cottage itself wasn’t in as poor condition as I had initially judged.
There had been a stubbornness about her, a refusal to yield even when it would have been easier, and that kind of determination had a way of compensating for a lack of experience.
The thought had barely settled when the sky split open.
Lightning tore across the horizon in a jagged, blinding line, illuminating the entire cove in stark white, followed immediately by a crack of thunder that shook the air.
And just like that, the soft, steady rain I had been enjoying turned into a heavy downpour, the wind driving the droplets in every direction.
My gaze snapped upward, locking onto the cliff, the faint outline of her cottage barely visible now through the rising storm. From where I stood, it still looked upright, but distance had a way of disguising damage, and the way the wind struck that side of the cliff at that moment...
My jaw tightened, because I knew there was a very real possibility that the next gust would rip the structure straight from the cliff with her still inside it.
Maybe she was already trapped beneath something that had given way, something I couldn’t see from down here.
Or maybe she was completely fine, asleep and unaware of any of it, using the sound as her own personal ASMR.
Or she was asleep because she was unconscious, because she had underestimated just how dangerous that place was.
The worry in my bones only grew, but I told myself to stay where I was.
It wasn’t my place, and if she had chosen to take on the repairs herself, then the consequences of that decision belonged to her and her alone.
I had offered help, and she had refused, so therefore my responsibility ended there.
Yet something in me refused to settle. A quiet insistence pressed beneath my ribs, my tentacles shifting slightly at my back as if they felt it too, the same instinct that had brought me here in the first place.
I exhaled sharply. Fine. I would go up, check, confirm that the house remained structurally sound and standing, and then I would leave. That was all. Nothing more.
My feet found the path without hesitation, moving quickly over the slick stone, then faster as I hit the incline. The climb pulled at my muscles as the rain soaked through my clothes, the wind pushing hard against me with each step, but I didn’t slow.
By the time I reached the top of the cliff, I was already soaked through, my muscles sore from fighting to keep my footing as the wind threatened to knock me straight off my feet. That would have been a sight, coming all this way to “save” her only to tumble down the cliff and land flat on my ass.
The entire situation and journey up this hill had bordered on absurd, and yet I had made it.
As I approached, a quiet sense of relief settled in my chest. The cottage was still standing, if only just barely.
Though I’m sure it had likely looked like this before the storm ever rolled in.
The structure leaned in a way that was undeniably unsafe, the wood darkened and swollen with moisture, the windows rattling violently in their frames as the wind battered against them.