Home Isn’t what it used to be

The ferry rocked gently as it pulled into port, sending small sprays of brine against the hull that Riley Maybank didn't bother to wipe off her jacket. She leaned over the railing, copper hair whipping into her face in loose strands. The Outer Banks hadn't changed—at least, not the parts you could see from here. Wind-split docks, sun-bleached buildings, salt-crusted windows. But memory twisted reality, and Riley felt the shift deep down: this place was not the same because she wasn't the same.

"You going to say it or should I?" Julianna Routledge asked, appearing beside her like a specter with perfect posture and a voice made for secrets.

"Say what?" Riley replied, squinting toward the coastline.

"That this is a mistake."

A smile ghosted across Riley's lips. "It's our mistake."

They disembarked together, boots clanking against wood worn soft by years of salt and sun. There was no welcome party, no dramatic sunset reunion—it was just the two of them against the skeletons of home. JJ didn't know Riley was coming back. John B had no clue where Julianna had been, let alone that she was now walking distance from the Chateau.

The Academy had done its work. It had reshaped them both, turned the reckless fires of their teenage selves into something quieter but deeper. They'd buried things in that place—memories, shame, broken pieces—but the Outer Banks was where it all had started. And it was calling them home not with warmth, but with questions.

The walk to the Chateau was familiar but foreign, like tracing steps in a dream. They passed the Wreck—still half-alive with the smell of fried shrimp and the distant thud of classic rock—and Riley felt something tighten in her chest.

She could hear the past in everything.

At the Chateau's entrance, Julianna paused. "We're really doing this?"

Riley nodded once and pushed the door open.

Inside, JJ was slouched on the couch, a beer in one hand, some reckless plan surely rolling through his brain. His eyes flicked up, and for a moment, they didn't register her—not because he didn't see her, but because his brain couldn't connect the image of Riley in front of him to the sister he'd buried behind old fights and the silence she left behind when she boarded the plane to Veilstone.

"Riles?"

His voice cracked on her name.

"Hi, JJ."

He stood too fast and knocked over his drink, but didn't notice. He stared at her as if she were a painting come to life—too fragile to touch, too unreal to trust.

Behind him, Pope emerged, blinking in surprise. "Dude—this is really happening?"

Riley swallowed the lump in her throat. "Looks like it."

JJ didn't speak. He closed the distance between them and pulled her into a hug so fierce it stole her breath. "I thought you were never coming back."

"I needed to," she whispered.

Julianna, hovering just inside the doorway, was met by an equally stunned John B minutes later. There was no embrace there—just years of layered tension held together by silence. "You're alive," John B said flatly.

"And very sunburnt. Thanks for asking."

They settled into the awkward rhythm of reunion, but Riley knew better than to mistake proximity for healing. She unpacked her things in her old room, finding everything where she had left it—except for one detail. Beneath the mattress, where she used to hide contraband letters and bad poetry, was a folded note she didn't recognize.

It was addressed to her—in JJ's handwriting.

> I know you probably hate me for how it ended, but I never hated you. I just didn't know how to stop watching Dad destroy everything. I didn't know how to save us both. I hope Veilstone taught you how to save yourself. I hope you come back.

> Love always, JJ.

Riley sat on the edge of the bed, note trembling in her hands. Julianna found her there an hour later, silent and still.

"You okay?" she asked gently.

"I think I finally heard him," Riley replied, voice raw. "And I think I finally forgave him."

The next few days unfolded in slow motion. Word got out—Riley and Julianna were back. Old friends appeared at the Boneyard with beers and stories. Kie cornered Riley one evening, eyes soft and steady. "He was different when you left," she said. "Like he forgot how to be mad without you to balance it."

Riley nodded. "I forgot how to be brave without him."

They sat together watching waves eat the edge of the coast. Julianna was across the sand, talking with John B—not arguing, not unraveling, just talking.

Later that night, Riley stood in front of the dock where she and JJ used to sneak out as kids. He joined her there, flipping his beer cap into the water.

"You found the letter?"

"I did."

He exhaled. "I meant every word."

"I know."

They didn't talk about their dad. They didn't talk about the years she spent at Veilstone watching herself harden like glass just to survive. They talked about nothing and everything. And when JJ leaned his head on her shoulder—just for a second—it felt like home again.

But secrets never stayed quiet in the Outer Banks.

Riley received a call from Veilstone the next morning. An anonymous tip had surfaced implicating her in a scandal she thought buried—a stunt she and Julianna pulled freshman year, one they promised each other they'd never speak of.

"What does it mean?" JJ asked when she hung up.

"It means someone didn't want me coming home."

She looked at Julianna, who'd gone pale. "We should've burned that tape," Julianna said, voice hollow.

"That was your responsibility," Riley snapped.

"I kept it safe. I swear."

"We were stupid," Riley muttered. "We were trying to be powerful."

Julianna faced her, eyes fierce. "We were powerful. We still are."

They couldn't hide. Not anymore.

Together, they walked into the Boneyard that night, heads high, hearts pacing. People turned. Conversations shifted. Rumors spread like wildfire.

But Riley Maybank wasn't a secret anymore. She was a storm.