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“Really?” Kaitlin asked, half smiling in fascination.

“During the séance we ran, remember those two dominant energies came through? We’re calling one the Mariner, and the other the Veiled Woman.”

Mason looked pleased with their enthralled faces. “The season arc will follow both threads: the documented history and the phenomenon we’ve recorded. We’ll vary the episodes from week to week and line them up with the actual history.”

Sully straightened. “So you’re assuming a historical connection to whatever hocus pocus you’ve found?”

“I wouldn’t put it quite like that, but yes, precisely,” Mason said. “And if the premiere lands the way I think it will, the network will want a full double order. That’ll mean a double payout for you, Amy.”

Kelsey let out a low whistle. “That’s incredible.”

Amy nodded, but her expression stayed measured. She was proud—and also wary. A hit series meant publicity, but it also meant scrutiny.

“That’s great news,” she said carefully. “Let’s just make sure the timing doesn’t slow the opening schedule.”

Mason gave her a knowing grin. “We have just about everything we’ll need in the next couple of weeks. We’ll be invisible, promise. And you’ll thank me in the end.”

She smiled thinly, not entirely convinced. Mason snapped off the monitor and slipped out to talk to his crew.

Kaitlin turned to the group. “Well, whether or not they’re ghosts, this place has stories to tell. I say we toast to that. And speaking of toasts,” Kaitlin said, checking her phone, “are we all free tonight for an impromptu cookout? My place? Nothing fancy. I’ll throw something on the grill. Bring some sides and whatever you want to drink.”

Amy chuckled softly. Clearly Kaitlin wanted to discuss her findings thus far. “All right,” she said. “Let’s wrap the day on a high note. I’ll bring dessert.”

The evening was mild, the kind of coastal night when the sea air smelled clean and the sky felt wide. Kaitlin’s backyard lights, strung between the trees, gave everything a comfortable glow. The grill hissed; plates and bottles clinked; laughter came easily.

Amy balanced her plate on one knee, barefoot on the deck rail. Kelsey and Mac sat beside her. Mac half listened while answering work texts. Sully, beer in hand, had finally relaxed into one chair near the fire pit.

Matt arrived home last, still in his sheriff’s uniform, heading straight for the cooler before joining them. “Noah’s at Tyler’s?” he asked Kelsey.

“Yes,” she said. “Movie night.”

“Good,” he said. “Means we can talk shop.”

Kaitlin set a folder of printed pages and notes on the table, her eyes shining. “All right, team.” She tapped the cover. “You will not believe this.”

Amy exchanged a look with Sully.

Kaitlin flipped to the first photocopied journal page. “Verity’s writing spans from a year or so before Captain Blackwell was reported lost at sea until about five years after. And these later entries,”—she tapped the lines with her pen—“change everything.”

The group leaned in.

“Listen to this one,” Kaitlin said. “It’s from three months after the Seafarer accident.” She read aloud: “Measures taken. Protection secured. Sullivan has placed the markings as instructed. He understands the necessity, having witnessed my husband’s fury firsthand. The symbols beneath the thresholds must hold, should the impossible occur.”

Sully’s fork paused halfway to his mouth. “Sullivan,” he drawled. “That would’ve been a relative. We were known for their carpentry work on the island’s older homes—lathe work, door frames, even carvings.”

Kaitlin nodded. “That checks out. Verity clearly trusted him. These next entries suggest something darker. As the months pass, she’s not grieving a lost husband—she’s bracing for something sinister.”

“She writes with relief,” Kelsey murmured, scanning one of the copied letters. “Not sorrow.”

“Exactly,” Kaitlin said. “Here. This one’s dated just a few days before that.” She slid a copy of the letter toward Amy, the ink faint but legible under the porch light. “It’s more confession than correspondence. She writes of a storm, the captain’s return, and discovering him not dead—but changed. Deranged. Jealous.”

Amy read silently for a moment: He came to me wild-eyed and raving. I could no longer recognize the husband I had loved. The sea had taken his mind, and he would have taken my life and the life within me.

“That confirms her pregnancy,” Amy whispered.

Kaitlin nodded. “Obviously so—and it tracks with the town records that Verity’s daughter grew up and married into a local family. And when the attack Verity expected came, she and Sullivan fought him off. Whatever happened next, it wasn’t clean.”

Mac sat back, his expression tightening. “You’re saying they killed him?”