Kaiya Zyla traced the weathered stone of the walkway, the sea spray cool on her face. Tonight wasn’t about fear; it was about him. Each rose she'd placed—a dozen crimson blooms—represented a memory. The jack-o'-lantern, carved with clumsy affection years ago, pulsed with a soft pink light, mirroring the heart that still ached. She hadn’t lit a signal fire, not exactly. This glow wasn’t for rescue, but remembrance. A promise whispered on the wind: she'd keep his memory alive, even amidst the storm and shadows. The ship out there? Just a fleeting echo of journeys past, a reminder that some loves sail beyond reach, yet never truly fade.