The ocean greeted Ariana Delgado with silence, as if it, too, remembered the night her world had fallen apart.
The ferry to Isla de la Luz sliced through the Caribbean Sea like a knife through silk, the only sound being the gentle churn of waves against its rusted hull. The sky above was streaked with the final blush of sunset, a haunting orange fading into deep indigo. She stood alone at the front of the deck, wind tangling through her dark curls, eyes fixed on the outline of the island that had both made her and broken her.
Ten years. A decade away from the place she once called home. And still, it called to her softly and insistently like the tide pulling on a wounded shoreline.
Ariana clutched the handle of her duffel bag tighter, the weight of her decision pressing down on her like the humidity thick in the air. She wasn't here for nostalgia. She was here for answers; answers no one else dared dig up.
The boat's horn gave a low, mournful cry as it neared the dock. Fishermen glanced up from their crates of sea bass and conch, and locals paused their conversations to watch her disembark. Their eyes lingered. Recognition mingled with whispers.
"That's her," someone murmured. "Delgado's daughter. The one who left."
She walked past them with practiced indifference, her boots striking the wooden planks with certainty she didn't feel. The scent of salt, mango, and grilled shrimp filled the air. Sweet and nostalgic music floated from a nearby cantina, and a man stepped in front of her as she reached the end of the pier. Slim, sun-worn, with a cigarette dangling from his lip.
"Thought you drowned with your sister," he said, smirking.
Ariana didn't flinch. "Not yet."
He laughed, startled, then stepped aside. "Welcome back, Delgado."
She passed him without a word.
Her destination was the old lighthouse on the east cliff, her father's last project before he vanished into a bottle and silence. It had been uninhabited for years, but she'd arranged to stay there, needing space, needing distance. From the people. From the memories.
A beat-up Jeep was waiting for her at the base of the hill, just as promised. She loaded her bag, slid into the driver's seat, and started the engine. The gears ground like a beast waking from sleep, then lurched forward.
As she wound up the narrow road, the ocean stretched out endlessly beside her. At the top of the cliff, the lighthouse stood like a sentinel; whitewashed, cracked, and lonely.
She parked and climbed out. The air was cooler here, the breeze stronger. She could smell the sea in every breath.
The door creaked open with effort. Dust clung to the windows. Her footsteps echoed inside. Faded maps, forgotten photographs, and an old desk still sat where her father had left them. She touched nothing. Not yet.
Instead, she stepped outside and walked down to the small cove below, a private inlet of glowing blue water, surrounded by volcanic rock and overgrown palms. Isla de la Luz's famous bioluminescent bay. The one place that had always felt sacred.
Ariana dropped her shoes and stepped into the warm, glowing tide. With each movement, the water lit up around her in waves of pale blue, as if the stars had fallen to earth.
She waded deeper, until the water lapped at her hips. She closed her eyes and let herself float, remembering the laughter, the nights her sister, Celia, would race her across the beach, screaming with joy.
Until that night.
The night Celia never came back.
A sudden sound cracked through the stillness; a boom like thunder, but too sharp, too violent.
Ariana's eyes flew open. The glow of the bay pulsed as if startled. She scrambled upright in the water and looked out to sea.
Then she saw it.
A boat erupted in a flash of fire just off the reef. The explosion lit the sky orange, and debris scattered across the water like broken stars.
Ariana froze. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears.
Someone screamed on the beach above. Flashlights danced in the distance. She ducked low, staying hidden in the shallows, her body trembling with adrenaline and fear.
The burning boat drifted toward the cove, listing to one side. Black smoke curled into the sky, curling like fingers. No one was jumping overboard. No one was swimming away.
Someone had been on that boat.
And someone wanted it and them destroyed.
She pulled herself out of the water, barefoot and shaking, and sprinted back to the lighthouse. Her feet left glowing prints in the sand as the bioluminescence clung to her skin.
Sirens began to wail in the distance. Police.
And yet, a part of her knew that not everything would be reported. Not everything would be explained.
This was Isla de la Luz.
And nothing was ever what it seemed.
The next morning, the island buzzed with rumors.
"Drug runners," said a fisherman at the market.
"Insurance fraud," whispered an old woman under a wide straw hat.
"Fireworks accident," claimed the mayor's secretary with a bright smile that didn't reach her eyes.
No one said the word "murder." But Ariana heard it in every pause. Every sideways glance.
The police had already cleared the scene by sunrise. No body had been recovered. Just scorched wood, gasoline residue, and a single life vest with the name Manta II stitched into the strap.
Ariana recognized the name. That boat had once belonged to the Navarro family.
Her stomach turned cold.
She hadn't seen Kai Navarro in ten years. But she knew that name. That boat.
Why had it exploded just hours after her return?
Coincidence?
Or warning?
She turned a corner, heading toward the dive shop where she'd be registering her research permit, and then she saw him—Kai Navarro.
Standing by the open door of his truck, speaking to two men in faded uniforms. He was taller than she remembered, broader, darker. His hair was longer now, pulled back into a low knot, and his jaw was covered in scruff.
But his presence, it hadn't changed.
As if sensing her, Kai turned.
Their eyes locked.
A beat passed. Then another.
Emotions of rage, grief and longing surged into Ariana's chest. A hurricane of memory. The taste of his mouth. The sound of his betrayal.
He didn't smile.
Neither did she.
Instead, Kai said one low, measured and unmistakable thing:
"You shouldn't have come back."
And just like that, Ariana Delgado knew: the lies hadn't been buried.
They'd just been waiting for her return to wash ashore.