The warmth of the lighthouse kitchen surrounds you, the glow of the firelight softening the edges of the room. Lucanis moves in quiet concentration, the steady rhythm of his knife against the cutting board filling the room.

The silence feels safe, but your heart beats harder with the words you can no longer hold back.

“I love you.”

Lucanis freezes. His shoulders lock, and his hand tightens around the knife. The sound of the blade meeting wood stops, leaving your words to echo in the quiet. His breath slows, measured, as if bracing himself against a tide that threatens to pull him under.

He doesn’t turn to face you. Instead, his voice comes low, soft, and heavy with sorrow.

“It’ll pass.”