The laughter of his friends faded into the background, becoming nothing more than a distant hum against the rhythmic crashing of the waves. Max sat on the log, the warmth of the fire on his face, but a sudden, inexplicable chill traveled down his spine.
He looked up past the flames, past the smiling faces of Malina and Eren, and toward the jagged silhouette of the cliffside that bordered the northern edge of the private beach.
There, jutting out of the rock like a broken tooth, stood an old lighthouse. It was a relic of the pre-Guut era, its white paint peeled away to reveal grey, weeping concrete, its glass lantern room dark and dead. It looked abandoned, a skeletal monument to a time when ships, not monsters, were the primary concern.
But as the pale light of the moon cut through a break in the clouds, it illuminated the railing at the very top of the tower.
Max froze.
Standing on the catwalk, staring down at the beach, was a figure.
It wasn't a ghost. It wasn't a shapeless shadow. It was distinct. The figure was wearing the sharp, tactical cut of an HPF Officer's uniform. The high collar, the rigid shoulder pads, the silhouette of a sidearm on the hip—it was unmistakable.
Who is that? Max thought, his pulse spiking. Zog? Jod is right here. Is it security?
The figure didn't move. It stood with perfect, unnatural stillness, watching the campfire. Watching them.
Max glanced around the circle. Eren was trying to balance a stick on his nose. Edy was lecturing Raina about combustion points. Malina was poking the embers, relaxed.
If I tell them, Max realized, the vacation ends. The panic returns. Weapons come out.
He couldn't do that. Not when Eren had just started smiling again.
"I'll be right back," Max mumbled, standing up. He made a show of stretching, feigning a yawn.
"Don't fall in!" Eren shouted.
Max forced a grin, waved a hand, and walked away from the light of the fire, heading toward the darkness of the tree line.
As soon as he was out of sight, his demeanor changed instantly. The slouch vanished. His shoulders squared. The sleepy teenager was gone, replaced by the Level 2 operative.
He moved silently through the palm groves, his boots making no sound on the sand-dusted grass. He circled wide, keeping to the shadows, his eyes fixed on the lighthouse. He didn't run; running attracted attention. He stalked, moving with the predatory grace he had learned in the desert.
The lighthouse was further away than it looked. The terrain shifted from soft sand to jagged, slippery volcanic rock. Max climbed over the crags, the salt spray misting his face. The closer he got, the more imposing the structure became. It was a monolith of decay, smelling of wet rot and rusted iron.
He reached the base of the tower. The entrance was a heavy steel door, welded shut by decades of salt corrosion. But next to it, a service hatch hung off its hinges, swaying slightly in the wind.
Creak. Creak.
Max pressed his back against the cold stone wall, listening.
Nothing but the wind and the ocean. No footsteps. No radio chatter.
He slipped through the service hatch, entering the belly of the lighthouse.
The interior was pitch black. Max blinked, his eyes adjusting. He didn't dare use a flashlight or ignite his Void aura for light; if the observer was hostile, a light would be a target. He relied on his other senses.
The air inside was stale, thick with the smell of old oil and dead birds. The ground floor was cluttered with rotting crates and coils of rusted chain.
Max moved to the center of the room. He looked up.
A spiral staircase made of iron grating twisted upward into the gloom, disappearing into the darkness above. It looked fragile, the metal eaten away by rust.
If he's up there, Max reasoned, he has the high ground. He'll hear me coming.
Max took a breath, centering the Void inside him. He didn't draw on it fully, just enough to sharpen his hearing and lighten his steps.
He began the climb.
Step.
The iron grate groaned softly under his weight. Max froze, waiting for a reaction from above. Silence.
He continued. Step. Step. Step.
The climb was agonizingly slow. Max kept his hand on the cold central pillar, his eyes trained upward, searching for a silhouette, a gun barrel, anything. The wind howled through cracks in the masonry, creating a mournful, whistling sound that echoed down the tube. It sounded like voices whispering in a dead language.
Who are you? Max's mind raced as he climbed. Why are you watching us? Are you the one who wiped the Mimic's memory? Are you the one who tore the pages from the book?
He reached the halfway point. A small window let in a beam of moonlight, illuminating a landing. Max paused, checking the corners.
Dust. Thick, grey dust coated everything.
Max looked at the stairs he was about to climb. The dust there seemed... disturbed? It was hard to tell in the dim light. There were no clear footprints, but the layer of filth looked uneven, as if something had brushed against it recently.
Someone was here, Max thought, his jaw tightening.
He pushed upward. The stairs narrowed as the tower tapered. The air grew colder, the wind louder. The sound of the ocean below was a dull roar now, vibrating through the metal of the staircase.
Max's heart was hammering against his ribs. He wasn't afraid of fighting; he was afraid of what he couldn't see. The enemy in the Rose District had been a monster he could punch. This... this felt like chasing a phantom.
He reached the final landing.
Above him was a trapdoor leading to the lantern room and the catwalk. It was closed.
Max stood on the step just below it. He listened.
From beyond the trapdoor, he heard a sound.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
It was rhythmic. Like a finger tapping on a railing. Or a boot heel hitting metal.
Max's eyes narrowed. The Void hummed in his veins, coating his hands in a faint, invisible layer of protective density. He wasn't going to knock.
He crouched, coiled his muscles, and sprang upward.
He slammed his shoulder into the trapdoor.
BANG.
The rusted latch gave way. The door flew open.
Max burst through the opening, rolling onto the floor of the lantern room, coming up in a combat stance, his fists raised, violet energy flickering around his knuckles.
"Freeze!" Max shouted, his voice echoing in the glass chamber.
He spun around, checking every angle.
The lantern room was a circular cage of glass and iron. The massive fresnel lens in the center was shattered, shards of glass crunching under Max's boots. The wind ripped through the broken panes, whipping Max's hair across his face.
The room was empty.
Max rushed to the heavy iron door that led to the outside catwalk—the place where he had seen the figure standing.
The door was unlatched, swinging wildly in the gale.
Max kicked it open and stepped out onto the narrow walkway, the wind nearly knocking him off balance. He grabbed the railing, looking left, looking right.
"Show yourself!" Max yelled over the roar of the ocean.
Nothing.
The catwalk was empty. The rusted grating stretched around the circumference of the tower, desolate and bare.
Max ran to the railing, leaning over to look down at the base of the lighthouse. Had they jumped? Had they flown?
The rocks below were empty, washed by the churning white foam of the sea.
Max gripped the railing, his knuckles turning white. He looked back at the door. He scanned the roof. He checked the blind spots behind the lantern housing.
There was no one.
"Impossible," Max whispered. "I saw you. I saw the uniform."
He knelt down on the catwalk, examining the floor.
The metal was damp with sea spray. But there... near the edge.
A smudge.
It wasn't a footprint. It was a smear in the grime, as if someone had been standing there and turned on their heel. And next to it, caught on a jagged piece of rusted metal on the railing, was a tiny shred of fabric.
Max plucked it loose.
It was a small, black thread. Synthetic material. The same material used in standard-issue HPF tactical vests.
I'm not crazy, Max realized, clenching the thread in his fist. Someone was here. And they vanished the second I started climbing.
He stood up, looking out over the coastline. From this height, he could see the campfire down the beach—a tiny, warm spark in the vast darkness. He could see his friends, small dots moving around the light.
The watcher had been studying them. Analyzing them.
A cold dread settled in Max's stomach. This wasn't a random spy. To escape this quickly, without a trace, from a tower with only one exit... that required power. Fluid power. Or technology far beyond what Max understood.
Max stayed on the catwalk for another ten minutes, shivering in the wind, watching the shadows of the cliffs, waiting for movement. But the night remained still.
He realized he couldn't find them. Not tonight.
Slowly, reluctantly, Max retreated into the lantern room. He descended the spiral staircase, his descent faster than his climb, fueled by frustration and unease.
He slipped back out through the service hatch at the base, checking the perimeter one last time. The lighthouse loomed above him, silent and mocking.
Max pocketed the tiny thread of black fabric. It was evidence, but evidence of what?
He made his way back across the jagged rocks, moving from the cold, hostile world of the lighthouse back toward the warmth of the resort.
As he approached the tree line, he stopped. He took a deep breath, shaking the tension out of his shoulders. He smoothed his hair down. He forced the Void back into its cage. He unclenched his jaw.
He stepped into the light of the fire.
"You fell in, didn't you?" Eren called out, tossing a stick into the flames. "You were gone for like twenty minutes!"
Malina looked up at him, her eyes scanning his face. She was sharper than Eren. She noticed the slight shortness of breath, the tension around his eyes, the way his hand was curled in his pocket.
"Everything alright?" she asked quietly.
Max looked at her. He thought about the figure on the tower. He thought about the fear he had felt in the Rose District. If he told them, the laughter would stop. The vacation would be over. They would spend the next two days patrolling in shifts, paranoid and afraid.
They deserved this peace. Even if it was an illusion.
Max forced a smile. It was a good one.
"Yeah," Max said, sitting down on the log and grabbing a skewer. "Just... bad sushi from last night. Had to take a detour."
"TMI, dude!" Eren groaned, covering his ears. "I'm eating here!"
"My apologies for your digestive distress," Edy said sympathetically. "Did you stay hydrated?"
"I'm fine, Edy," Max laughed, though the sound didn't quite reach his eyes.
He leaned back, watching the sparks fly up into the night sky. He joined in the conversation, he laughed at Eren's jokes, and he ate the burnt sausages.
But every few minutes, when no one was looking, Max's gaze flickered back toward the north, toward the dark, silent silhouette of the lighthouse, wondering who was hiding in the dark, and when they would reveal themselves.