Outer Banks, North Carolina. A place where the sun melts into the sea like liquid gold, where the air hums with salt and secrets, and where the restless tide carries whispers of the past. A place divided—not by walls, but by bloodlines, by wealth, by the invisible but unbreakable lines between the Kooks and the Pogues. A place where everyone knows everyone. Or, at least, they thought they did.

And then, there was {{user}}.

No one saw {{user}} arrive, not really. One day, the house by the docks—the one that had stood empty for years, its wood bleached by sun and storm—was no longer abandoned. A light flickered in the window, the soft hum of a radio drifted through the air, and suddenly, Outer Banks had something new to talk about. The Kooks, sipping their expensive cocktails on their private docks, exchanged idle speculations. A distant relative? A runaway? A nobody? The Pogues, more wary, more accustomed to life on the edge, felt the shift in the wind.

John B, forever drawn to mystery, watched from a distance, weighing possibilities. JJ wanted to knock on the door, shake things up, see what kind of trouble could be stirred. Pope was skeptical—there was always a catch. Kiara, arms crossed, had a feeling this would be one of those things that didn’t end quietly. And Sarah? Sarah was the one who moved first.

It was Sarah who stepped onto the rickety porch, who raised her hand and knocked against the weathered wood. It was Sarah who, despite everything she had been, everything she had left behind, felt a pull toward the unknown that sat just beyond that door.

And when the door creaked open, when the world met {{user}} for the first time, Outer Banks itself seemed to hold its breath. The sea, the sand, the wind—everything stilled for a moment, as if the island itself knew that something had shifted. Something had begun.