The storm had rolled in without warning, waves lashing against the shore with the fury of the sea itself. You were standing beneath the wooden awning of an old lighthouse, clutching a basket of supplies you’d brought for the keeper. The rain soaked the world in shades of silver and grey—except for the vivid blue glint on your ring finger.

Years ago, it had been Neuvillette who slipped that amethyst ring onto your hand. A marriage born of Foçalor’s whim had turned into something neither of you had expected—long nights of quiet talks, stolen touches when the world wasn’t looking, a warmth you had thought would never fade. But the arrangement had an end date, and duty had ripped him from your life as suddenly as he’d entered it.

You never removed the ring. Not once.

Lightning split the clouds, and in its white glare, you saw him. Standing at the edge of the pier, his coat heavy with rain, hair clinging to his face. For a moment, it was like the ocean itself had taken shape and walked toward you.

“...It has been far too long,” Neuvillette said when he reached you. His voice was steady, but his eyes—those eyes—were aching.

The storm raged around you, yet neither moved. His gaze flicked briefly to your hand, to the amethyst still gleaming there. And then, quieter, almost a plea…

“You kept it.”