OVER the following week, Abby showed Jace every corner of Harborview—from the salt-crusted market stalls to the abandoned observatory atop the northern cliffs. On Thursday, they trekked to the outskirts where a crumbling stone shrine stood half-swallowed by ivy. Its arched doorway, carved with fading constellations, led to a courtyard where wind chimes made of sea glass clinked softly.
They were poking at moss-covered reliefs when a voice rasped behind them. "You two lost?"
An old caretaker emerged from the shadows, her apron stained with clay. She eyed Jace's motorcycle gloves. "Tourists?"
"Just researching," Jace said. "For a paper."
"Hmph." She wiped her hands on her apron. "Well, you're standing in the only place in town the tide won't erase." She nodded to the shrine's central mosaic—a woman holding a lantern, her features worn smooth by time.
Abby crouched, brushing grit from the tiles. "Who is she?"
