The village felt different now. Not because it had changed, but because Lina had. The glances were heavier, or maybe she'd just gotten better at noticing them. The way people turned away a fraction too late, the way conversations dipped when she passed. But that morning, she didn't care.
She walked straight down to the harbour.
Milo caught up to her before she reached the last jetty, his footsteps fast and uneven against the cobblestone.
"You shouldn't go alone," he said.
She didn't slow. "I'm not asking for permission."
"That's not what I meant."
She finally turned to him, sun in her eyes, hair whipping in the wind. "Then say what you meant."
He hesitated. "I meant I'm coming with you."
They took the boat out, the same one she'd been found in the night Alex died. It had been cleaned, repaired, and scrubbed of all signs. But it felt like a coffin with oars.
The sea stretched wide and open, the silence that begged to be broken.
"I remembered something," Lina said, her voice low.
Milo's hand tightened on the tiller. "Tell me."
"There was shouting. Not just me and Alex. Someone else was there."
He looked at her. "You're sure?"
She nodded. "I remember a second voice. Male. Angrier than Alex. And Alex was scared. Not of me."
Milo slowed the boat, letting it drift. "Who else knew you were coming that weekend?"
"Almost no one. But... we argued in public a few days before. Someone could've followed us."
They sat in that for a moment. The sky overhead was a bruised silver.
Lina pulled a crumpled photo from her pocket. "This is from Alex's phone. Taken the night he died. Look in the background."
Milo studied it. Behind Alex, mostly shadow and sea—but just barely visible: a figure standing by the rocks. Watching.
"You think that's the killer?" Milo asked.
"I don't know," Lina said. "But it's not me. I didn't remember this until yesterday. I wasn't alone."
Back on land, they went to the only person in the village who might talk: Tomaso, the harbour master.
He looked older than time, skin like driftwood, eyes too clear for someone who'd seen so much.
"Tomaso," Lina said, placing the photo before him. "Do you recognize this spot?"
He peered at it, then pointed. "Behind the old salt warehouse. No one goes there now. Except maybe Arturo."
Lina stilled. "Arturo?"
"Your fiancé's business partner. They argued that week, didn't they? Over money, maybe?"
Milo and Lina exchanged a look.
"You think he followed us?" Lina asked.
Tomaso shrugged. "People do stupid things for pride. For revenge. For love."
They left the harbour with more questions than answers.
That night, Milo was unusually quiet. He stood by the window, watching the sea.
"He was in love with you," he finally said.
"What?"
"Arturo. I saw the way he looked at you that summer. And the way he talked about Alex like he wanted to be him or destroy him."
Lina sat down, heart hammering. "I thought it was just tension over money. Alex had a habit of promising more than he delivered."
"People kill for less."
The door rattled. A knock.
Lina froze.
Milo opened it, hand behind his back, already tense.
A package. No note. Just a flash drive taped to a cardboard square.
Lina plugged it into her laptop. One video file. Labelled with a date: the night of the storm.
She hit play.
The screen showed shaky footage. Rain, waves crashing. And then voices—Alex's and another.
Arturo.
"You were always weak," Arturo was saying. "Letting her lead you around like a dog."
Alex shouted something back, unintelligible, furious.
A scuffle. Then a sickening crunch. The phone fell. The lens caught a sliver of moonlight and the outline of a body slumping.
Lina's breath caught.
Milo knelt beside her. "You didn't kill him."
"No," she whispered, hands trembling. "But I watched him die. And I did nothing."
They sat there, the truth heavy in the room. No more fragments. Just one long, brutal piece.
Outside, the sea didn't crash. It sighed.
As if it already knew.