The road to the Old Point Lighthouse was a crumbling ribbon of asphalt that hugged the jagged edge of the cliffs. In the summer, it was a place for teenagers to watch the sunset; in October, under a sky the color of a bruised plum, it looked like the end of the world. Rain lashed against Clara's windshield, the wipers struggling to keep up with the rhythmic thump-thump that felt like a secondary heartbeat.
She found Kai's bike ditched in the tall, dead grass near the rusted perimeter fence.
Clara killed the engine and sat in the sudden, deafening silence of her car. Her hands were still locked on the steering wheel at the ten-and-two position, her knuckles white. Logic told her to wait for the rain to let up. Logic told her that a girl in a yellow raincoat had no business climbing a cliffside in a storm. But the 40%—that terrifying, irrational pulse Kai had awakened in her—was screaming that every second he spent alone in the dark was a second he was drifting further away from her.
She grabbed his camera bag from the passenger seat, tucked it under her coat to keep it dry, and stepped out into the gale.
The lighthouse was a hollow tooth of white stone, its lantern room long since shattered. She found him at the very top, sitting on the rusted iron gallery that circled the tower. He was drenched, his hair plastered to his forehead, staring out at the white-capped fury of the Atlantic. He didn't turn when the heavy iron door groaned open.
"You're going to catch pneumonia," Clara shouted over the wind. "And you're currently trespassing on federal property, which is a Class C misdemeanor."
Kai let out a short, jagged laugh that was swallowed by the sea. "Is that the 60% talking, Clara? Or are you actually worried about me?"
"Both," she said, stepping onto the metal grating. It shivered under her boots. She sat down next to him, ignoring the way the cold dampness immediately soaked through her clothes. She pulled the camera bag out and set it between them. "You forgot this."
Kai looked at the bag, then back at the horizon. "I don't want it. Miller was right. I'm just hiding behind it."
"Then stop hiding," Clara said, her voice steady. "Tell me about the quarry. Tell me about Maya."
For a long time, the only sound was the roar of the waves hitting the rocks a hundred feet below. Then, Kai started to speak. His voice was flat, devoid of the warmth he usually carried. It was the voice of a man reciting a police report.
"It was the end of junior year. Three years ago. We were at the old limestone quarry—everyone was there. It was the night after we won the state semifinals. I was the star. I was the 'Golden Boy' with a full ride to a D1 school waiting for me. I felt invincible."
He closed his eyes, and Clara saw his jaw tighten.
"Maya was my best friend. Not like us, Clara—she was like a sister. We grew up on the same street. We were leaving the party. I was driving. I wasn't drunk, but I was... I was high on the win. I was driving too fast on the gravel roads, showing off. I took the turn by the embankment at sixty. The tires lost grip. The world just... flipped."
Kai opened his eyes, and they were wet, though it was impossible to tell tears from rain.
"The car rolled three times. I had my seatbelt on. I walked away with a bruised shoulder and a scratch on my face. But the passenger side... it hit a boulder. Maya didn't walk away. She hasn't walked since."
The weight of the words settled over the lighthouse like lead. Clara reached out, her fingers brushing the cold, wet fabric of his sleeve. She thought of the 98% grade on their project. She thought of the "Human Perspective." She realized that while she had been documenting the town's history, Kai had been living in a private purgatory, replaying those three seconds of gravel and glass every single day.
"Her parents sued my family," Kai continued, his voice trembling now. "Not because they hated me, but because the medical bills were millions. My dad lost the business. We moved to the small house on the edge of town. I quit the team. I couldn't stand the way people looked at me—either with pity or with the kind of hate Miller has. So I bought that camera. I figured if I was the one looking through the lens, nobody would look at me."
"Is that why you won't take the 'Student Heritage' money?" Clara asked softly. "Because you think you deserve to lose everything?"
"I destroyed her life, Clara! I was the one behind the wheel. I got to go to school, I get to walk, I get to breathe this air... and she's in a facility in the city, learning how to use a straw with her teeth. How am I supposed to be 'the hero' of your project after that?"
Clara felt a lump in her throat so large it felt like it would choke her. She looked at Kai—the boy who taught her how to see the "blue hour," the boy who saved her from a life of sterile perfection—and she didn't see a criminal. She didn't see a disappointment.
"You're not the hero of the project, Kai," she said, her voice gaining strength. "You're the heart of it. And the heart is messy. The heart breaks. The heart makes catastrophic, life-altering mistakes."
She turned toward him, forcing him to look at her. "You think being a 'ghost' is an apology to Maya? It's not. It's just another way of being gone. Miller wants you to stay in that wreck forever because he's small and he's bitter. But Maya... would Maya want you to stop living?"
Kai looked away, his shoulders shaking. "She doesn't talk to me. Her parents blocked my number years ago."
"Then live for the version of her that was your best friend," Clara urged. "Show the world the truth, Kai. Not just the pretty sunsets and the old fishermen. Show the 'Human Consequence' that Miller was talking about. If Phase 2 is about the city, then let's show the real city. The rehab centers, the scars, the parts people want to look away from. Don't hide behind the camera—use it to speak for the people who can't."
Kai finally looked at her. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, and a pale, watery light was beginning to break through the clouds on the horizon.
"You'd risk your reputation for that?" Kai asked. "The school board won't like a documentary about a car wreck and a broken girl. It's not 'Evergreen' enough for them."
Clara stood up, pulling him with her. She looked like a lemon-yellow beacon against the grey stone. "I spent seventeen years worrying about what people 'like.' I'm tired of being a gold star on a chart, Kai. I'd rather be a person. Your person. If that means we turn in a project that makes people uncomfortable, then let's give them the most uncomfortable A+ in the history of this school."
Kai stood there for a long moment, the wind whipping his hair. Then, slowly, he reached down and picked up the camera bag. He slung it over his shoulder—the familiar weight returning to its rightful place.
"The 60/40 rule is officially dead, isn't it?" he asked, a ghost of a smile touching his lips.
"Completely," Clara said. "From now on, it's 100% of whatever this is."
As they descended the lighthouse stairs, the silence between them was no longer a barrier. It was a foundation. Clara knew the road ahead would be brutal. Miller wouldn't stop. The town would whisper. Her parents would likely lose their minds when they saw the direction the project was taking.
But as she reached the bottom and felt Kai's hand slide into hers—cold, wet, and firm—she realized she wasn't afraid of the unknown anymore. She had an empty suitcase, and for the first time in her life, she was excited to see what they would find to put inside it.