Porch Lights and Promises

Rain threatened but never arrived.

Instead, the sky bruised over the Outer Banks, streaked with burnt orange and lavender as the sun dipped low behind the trees. Riley sat on the porch step of the Chateau, knees hugged close, chin tipped toward the horizon like it held answers. Her hair had tangled in the day's humidity, strands curled and sticking to her skin, but she barely noticed.

The wooden planks beneath her creaked with an old kind of comfort, the kind that said you're still here—even when everything else changed.

Julianna appeared, barefoot and silent, two mugs of tea balanced in one hand. She passed one to Riley before sitting beside her, legs stretched long in front of her, toes tapping the rail.

"Chamomile," she said. "Stolen from Kie's pantry. Like the old days."

Riley grinned, tired and grateful. "The old days were louder."

"They were reckless," Julianna replied. "But we made it look like poetry."

They sipped in silence for a long moment, watching the fireflies drift like floating sparks across the grass. The air smelled like rain waiting, wood warmed from the day, and memories unspoken.

"You think we're handling this?" Riley finally asked. "Everything with Veilstone... the notes, the photo... it feels bigger than us."

Julianna ran a hand through her hair. "It is bigger than us. But not bigger than all of us."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean Ace. Ophelia. Aveline. Freya."

Riley turned sharply, eyes narrowing. "You've been thinking about them too?"

"I think about them every day," Jules whispered. "Ace would already be searching property records. Ophelia would've distracted us with six glitter pens and a dramatic reading of conspiracy theories. Aveline... she'd make us sit down and breathe, and Freya would've punched someone just on principle."

Riley laughed. "Ophelia would've come in with matching notebooks and demanded answers with a crown made of paperclips."

"Freya wouldn't even need the full story. She'd catch a vibe, pop her earrings off, and prepare to throw hands."

"Ace wouldn't ask questions. He'd just show up, quiet and steady. That's his love language—being there, oh and his weird obsession with murder of course"

Julianna took another sip and leaned her head against the porch post. "And Aveline would look us dead in the eye and say, 'I knew you needed me. So I came.' No judgment. Just love."

Their laughter faded into softness. The kind of silence only found between people who have survived things together.

"We should ask them to come," Riley said.

Julianna hesitated. "You sure?"

"I miss being part of something that felt like it could actually hold me," Riley murmured. "OBX is loud and beautiful, but they knew the broken pieces. They never tried to glue them back together wrong."

Jules nodded slowly. "We don't just need help. We need them."

"Then we send the call," Riley said. "One message. Four names. Our real cavalry."

Julianna stood, brushing sand off her knees. "They're going to change this place."

Riley's voice was quiet. "That's the point."

---

Inside the Chateau, JJ watched them through the screen door, something unreadable in his expression.

"She looks lighter," he said, half to himself.

John B glanced up from his beer. "Julianna or Riley?"

JJ shrugged. "Both. When they're with each other, it's like the weight distributes."

"You ever feel like you're watching them prepare for war?"

John B snorted. "With those Veilstone friends? It's not war. It's a calculated rescue mission."

JJ leaned against the counter, pensive. "Good. Because Riley... she deserves people who stay. Even when it gets ugly."

---

That night, Riley sent the texts. Short. Honest. "Need you. Come to OBX. It's bad."

Ace replied within minutes: "Packing now."

Ophelia: "Should I bring glitter or gas masks? Both?"

Aveline: "We're already coming. I love you."

Freya: "Tell me who I'm fighting and where I park."

Riley put her phone down and curled into her blanket on the porch, a tiny smile tugging at her lips.

They were coming.

And secrets didn't stand a chance.