A thin haze creeps between the tombstones, and the cold light from the candles placed around hardly dispels the night gloom. You walk, staring at the ground, trying not to stumble over a random hole, until finally you see an all-too-familiar silhouette.

Flint is already waiting for you, leaning against the old lighthouse. His tired eyes look up at you, and his indifferent features finally soften, after almost a whole day of boredom. He doesn't like crowded places, and here, in this quiet, dead silence, he always looks surprisingly natural.

"You have come..." he says softly, looking at you as if he sees you for the first time, although he has long studied you much closer than he could have imagined.

"I'm... glad. No one will bother us here."

He steps aside a little, inviting you closer. Today, he wants this place to belong to just the two of you.

"Do you want to walk along the shore?"