Margot didn't speak much on the drive from the train station.
She didn't need to.
There was something about her — not just the silver eyes or the calm voice, but something beneath her skin. A hum. A rhythm. My wolf couldn't name it, but it recognized it.
And it didn't flinch.
The further we walked, the louder the world became — not with noise, but with feeling. The air here was thick with emotion. Like the land remembered everything that had ever happened on it, and whispered it back with every gust of sea-wind.
By the time we reached her cottage, my head throbbed from too much scent, too much sound. I could feel everything — the salt in the air, the gulls circling overhead, the heartbeat of the sea pulling at the edge of my bones.
Margot opened the door with a soft creak. "Come in."
Her home was warm, sea-worn, and alive. Dried herbs hung in the corners. Shells lined the windowsills. A woven tapestry stretched across one wall — dark threads and crashing waves. A small fire cracked in the hearth.
But what struck me most was the scent.
Not the herbs.
Not the wood.
Her.
Margot smelled like the sea.
But not just the top layer — not just salt and wind and spray. She smelled like deep water. Like stillness below a storm. Like a lullaby that had never been sung out loud.
It made something in my chest ache. Ache and... ache back.
"I kept it simple," she said gently. "No human clutter. Just space to breathe."
"Thank you," I managed, voice rough.
She nodded, then placed a hand lightly on my shoulder.
Her skin was warm.
Her touch... familiar in a way that made my eyes sting.
"I'll start supper soon," she said. "But if you'd like to go down and see it... there's a path just behind the back garden. It leads straight to the cliffs."
I blinked. "See what?"
She smiled — a knowing, slow, moon-pulled kind of smile.
"The sea."
My breath caught.
I didn't move at first. Just stood there in the doorway while her words hung in the air like fog.
Then I turned.
And followed the path.
It wasn't long — the trail behind her cottage. Just a narrow stretch of mossy earth and crushed shells. Wind threaded through the wildflowers. My braid whipped against my back as the air thickened with something... ancient.
The scent reached me before the sight did.
Salt. Deep stone. Cold fire.
And then—
I stepped onto the cliff's edge.
And I saw it.
The sea.
Endless.
Moving.
Alive.
I stood there frozen, eyes wide, heart still. It was nothing like the rivers back home, nothing like the lakes the triplets used to splash around in. This wasn't a body of water.
This was a being.
A low wind swept past me, tugging at the collar of my coat. My lips parted.
The waves rolled and broke and rolled again, and each one sounded like a heartbeat I'd forgotten.
I stepped closer to the edge.
My wolf whimpered softly — not in fear, but in reverence. And something else — the thing inside me I'd never named — pressed gently against my ribs. Like it had been sleeping. Like it recognized this place.
Like it had been waiting.
Tears slid down my cheeks before I knew they were coming.
I didn't sob. I didn't cry out.
I just stood there, as the wind sang, and the sea moved, and the hollow space inside me answered back.
For the first time since Kael's rejection...
I felt full.
I didn't know what I was.
I didn't know who my mother truly was.
But I knew this:
Whatever I came from...
She came from here.
Everything inside me was too much.
The scents. The sound. The pull in my chest I didn't understand.
It wasn't pain exactly.
But it hurt.
I didn't know how long I sat there. I didn't notice Margot approach until she crouched beside me, silent and careful, like she knew this wasn't a moment that needed noise.
Still, she spoke, voice soft as the wind.
"First time seeing it?"
I nodded, unable to speak.
Margot didn't press.
She just looked out at the waves with me.
For a while, we were quiet. The ocean did all the talking — crashing, breathing, whispering with each pull of the tide.
Then she asked, "What does it feel like?"
I didn't know how to answer.
So I tried anyway. "Like I forgot something. And just remembered it."
Margot's eyes flicked toward me. Her expression didn't change, but something behind it... shifted.
"It has that effect," she said.
The wind caught strands of my hair and flung them into my face. I pushed them away with shaking fingers.
"I feel like it knows me," I whispered. "But I don't know why."
Margot's voice stayed calm. Careful. "Maybe that's something you'll learn."
I turned to her, suddenly needing more. "Has anyone ever felt this before? Like... the ocean sees them?"
She studied my face. Her silver eyes didn't blink.
"Yes," she said. "But not often."
I looked away first.
The waves crashed again.
My voice was barely a breath when I asked, "Am I crazy?"
"No," she said. "You're awake."
I didn't know what that meant.
But I believed her.
The waves crashed behind us, the wind curled in my braids, and Margot simply walked at my side as I followed the narrow path back toward her cottage — feet unsteady, chest too full.
She didn't rush me. Just stayed close, close enough that I could hear her coat brushing the sea-grass, feel the quiet steadiness she carried like a cloak.
The sun had nearly dropped behind the cliffs. The light was soft now, tinted rose and gray.
When we reached the back step, she opened the door and glanced over her shoulder. "You like root vegetables?"
I blinked. "Um. Yeah. I guess."
Her mouth twitched. "Good. I'm not cooking anything else."
Inside, the air was thick with warmth and the scent of thyme, garlic, and something richer—rabbit maybe. The windows were fogged around the edges, firelight flickering in the corners of the small room.
I slipped off my coat and boots, moving slow. I felt like the wind had pressed something deep into my bones. Like the sea had stirred a memory I didn't know I had.
Margot ladled stew into two bowls and set them on the table — mismatched wood chairs, mismatched bowls. Everything in the cottage felt lived in, but not cluttered. Nothing felt fake.
"Eat," she said, sitting. "Talk after."
I obeyed.
The stew was hot and thick and exactly what I didn't know I needed. The bread was warm too, crusty on the outside, soft in the center. I tore off a piece with my fingers, dipped it straight into the broth.
We sat in silence for a while, just the crackle of the fire and the clink of spoons.
Finally, Margot leaned back and said, "The first time I stood at that cliff, thought the sea would swallow me whole."
I glanced up at her. "And did it?"
She smiled faintly. "Not that day."
I held her gaze a second longer. "But someday?"
Her eyes darkened a shade. "Maybe."
I lowered my spoon. My voice came out smaller than I expected. "Is it supposed to feel like that?"
Margot tilted her head. "Like what?"
"Like... it knows me. Like it sees me."
She didn't answer right away.
Then: "The sea sees everything, Dwyn and it remembers everyone."
That made something in my chest throb.
"Do you think it remembered me?" I asked.
She met my gaze steadily. "I think the way you couldn't breathe when you saw it says more than I ever could."
I looked down.
My fingers tightened around the edge of the bowl. "I don't know who I am anymore."
"You're not supposed to," Margot said simply. "Not yet."
I swallowed. "But I feel like something's missing."
"Maybe it is," she replied. "Or maybe it's just been asleep."
We finished the meal quietly after that.
Not uncomfortable quiet — just full. Tired. Brimming.
I didn't ask her more. And she didn't offer.
But when I stood to help clear the dishes, she caught my wrist gently.
"You're safe here," she said.
I nodded. "Okay."
Her eyes stayed on mine a second longer.
"Even if you change," she added.
I didn't know what to say to that.
So I said nothing.