She didn't expect him to follow her. So when Milo's voice called out softly, "Lina," behind her, she froze.
Her shoulders tightened as she turned, her face lit by the wavering glow of the porch light. "Don't," she said. "Don't come out here unless you're ready to tell me the truth."
Milo stayed where he was. "You think I'm lying to you?"
"I think you're hiding something. And I think I've let it slide because it was easier than admitting how deep I am in this—whatever this is."
He stepped into the night, the gravel crunching beneath his boots. "I'm not hiding anything that matters."
"That's not how secrets work, Milo. Everything matters."
She moved to the low stone wall that overlooked the sea and gripped it with both hands. The wind pushed at her hair. "Do you know what I remember now?" she asked. "That night… the storm. He pushed me. I hit my head. I bled. But I don't remember what I did after."
Milo came closer, but not too close. "You think you killed him."
"I think I could have."
Silence stretched. The only sound was the sea.
He finally said, "Do you want me to tell you you're wrong?"
"No. I want to know if you'd stay even if I wasn't."
Milo exhaled sharply. "That's not a fair question."
"I'm not asking for fairness."
"I would stay," he said, voice rough, "if I thought you wanted to save. But I think you want to burn. And I've spent too long trying to outrun my own fires."
Lina's eyes stung. "So go."
He didn't.
Instead, he came to stand beside her. "You think I'm here because I pity you? No. I'm here because you don't lie to yourself. Not well. And because you look at me like I'm not broken beyond repair."
She turned, eyes on him. "You're not."
"Neither are you."
They stood in the dark, not quite touching, two damaged people daring not to look away.
"I don't want to be a ghost anymore," she whispered.
He reached for her hand. "Then let's start with being human."