Chapter 23: Jake
By the time we hit the halfway point, the sea is snarling like it wants something from us.
The sky’s still clear, deceptively so — sun glinting sharp off every crest and trough, giving the water a sheen like broken glass. But the wind’s relentless. It keeps climbing, gust after gust carving into the boat’s sides and spilling icy water over the rail.
Reid was right not to let her come on.
I won’t tell him that, though. He’s smug enough when he’s wrong.
The deck’s a war zone. Every conversation’s a yell. I see Liam catch a blast of spray square in the chest as he wrestles with one of the buoy mounts, and Finn’s knee-deep in the cooler bay, trying to secure the storage latches before they blow open.
Sloane’s off today, so I’m captaining, which was never part of the plan. I was supposed to be back on the road this afternoon. Instead, I’m manning the wheel like it’s a beast that needs taming.
I glance over my shoulder at Reid, who’s kneeled near the data console, logging something with a scowl carved deep into his face.
Two hours in, we spot the whale.
A flash of silvered skin just below the surface, then the long arc of its back rising from the chop — slow, majestic, stubborn against the current.
“She’s tagged,” Finn calls over the wind, already lifting the binoculars. “Tag still on.”
“Drone?” I ask, not taking my eyes off the water.
Reid gives a sharp nod. “Launch it now. Before we lose her.”
They get it up — barely. The wind fights us, pulls hard on the drone’s tiny wings. It skitters above the waves like it’s drunk. But it holds long enough to snap the shots we need: tail fluke, dorsal, body length. Enough for the ID database.
I grab the longview, center the tag, and write down the number on the clipboard next to the helm. It’s one we’ve seen before — a female who passed through two years ago, smaller than she should’ve been. But this time she looks fuller. Stronger.
That’s something.
Reid calls out measurements, coordinates, surface behavior, while the rest of the crew scrambles to finish the checklist. I’m only half listening. The other half of me is already measuring the time it’ll take to get back.
By the fourth hour, everything hurts.
Saltwater coats every surface, and the sun's lost its friendly shine. It’s work now — just work. Wet, cold, heavy.
Finn drops into the bench by the stern and slumps, soaked through.
“I’m retiring,” he mutters.
Liam limps over next to him, barely standing. “You said that last time.”
“Yeah, well. This time I mean it.”
I laugh — just a low breath through my nose — and haul the last tether line into place. “You two gonna make it, or do I need to get Reid to carry you?”
They groan in unison.
Liam wipes a streak of grime off his cheek with his sleeve. “Can you be on the boat more often? He’s a drill sergeant. You at least insult us with some personality.”
I chuckle, stretch out my back. “Maybe. Once the new girl gets settled, I might stick around more.”
Finn raises a brow. “You mean Madeline?”
I nod.
He grins, lazy and knowing. “You’re gonna like her.”
“Do you?”
“She’s cool,” Liam chimes in. “Smart. Chill. You’ll see.”
I file that away.
In truth, I’ve already been thinking about staying longer. For days. Ever since that night.
The girl at the light.
Her.
It’s not like me to get stuck on someone I haven’t even spoken to. But she’s been pinned to the back of my mind like a note I keep meaning to read again.
The way she stood there — still and certain under the moon, waiting for a light that didn’t matter. Her coat too thin, her hands in her pockets. That faint look of wonder on her face.
I remember thinking she didn’t look like she belonged here. But not in the way most tourists don’t. She looked like she was trying to belong — like she wanted this place to fit her. Like maybe she needed it to.
And then she said it.
I live here now.
Her voice had been soft. Clear. The kind of voice that doesn’t know it’s captivating.
And then the light changed.
And I drove off.
I haven’t seen her since.
Which shouldn’t bother me, but it does.
I haven’t had time, anyway — I left the same night, back to Halifax, back to meetings and paperwork and too many people wanting things. That’s how it is. Two weeks in the city, two weeks in Northhaven. Back and forth. Split down the middle.
But now I’m back, and now I've got to deal with my new employee, one I've never met, and my brother not getting along.
God help me.
Reid says she’s not ready. I’m not sure I buy that. He’s many things — smart, impossible, loyal to a fault — but his bar for “ready” is basically sainthood. The thing that caught me off guard wasn’t his decision. It was the reason he gave.
“She looked cold.”
Since when does Reid give a shit if someone looks cold?
But I didn’t argue. I’ve learned with him, some things are easier left alone.
I’ll meet her eventually.
Soon.
I pull us into the harbor, slow and careful, as The Vigil lurches against the dock. Finn and Liam throw the ropes down, and I help them loop and fasten before the boat rocks us again.
Reid’s at the bow already. I toss him the clipboard with the sample log.
“I’ll bring the papers to the new girl,” I say, brushing salt off my sleeves. “If you tell me where she went.”
But he just waves me off. “You’ve got a drive. Get home before the roads freeze.”
I could push back.
But he’s already walking away.
So I don’t.
He’s always been the one with the ice in his blood. That cool, sharp silence that makes everyone else uncomfortable. I’ve seen what it protects. I’ve also seen what it breaks.
I’ll have time with her later. A few days from now, I’ll be back.
And maybe then, I’ll figure out why that girl at the light has been haunting me like a song I only half remember.
I get in my car, boots heavy against the pedal, salt crusting the edges of my jeans.
Northhaven rolls past my window in silence.
Until I reach that intersection.
The only traffic light in town.
It’s red.
Out of instinct, I look left.
And for a half second, I think I see her — the shape of her, or maybe just the memory of her, standing there in the stillness.
But there’s no one.
Just empty sidewalk and swaying trees and the glint of the harbor behind them.
I sigh and ease through the green, heading for the highway.
Back to the city.
Back to the version of my life where girls like that — bright-eyed, unreadable, walking straight into a storm — don’t exist.