Three days later.

Caleb brought Lydia to the seaside.


On the post-rain beach, the air felt moist and fresh. Evening sunset painted sky and sea in gentle, golden-red warmth.

They walked barefoot, side by side on the sand, neither speaking.

Sea breeze tousled Lydia's hair as she tucked strands behind her ear. She wore a simple white dress Caleb had bought her, face bare of makeup—an ordinary girl on a date with her boyfriend.


She glanced at Caleb beside her. He'd traded his workwear for a clean white shirt, sunset light softening his usually tense features.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked first.


He stopped, turned to face her, and took something from his pocket, holding it in his palm.

"I'm thinking this should be returned to its rightful owner."

He opened his palm to reveal the Cherry Red Mustang's keys.

Since that night in the Hamptons, the car had remained parked below his apartment building.

He looked at her, then with almost reverent gesture, gently placed the keys in her palm.

The action carried ritual symbolism.

He wasn't just returning a car. He was handing back the "steering wheel" of her life. From now on, she could go anywhere, controlled by no one.

Lydia looked down at the keys, metal edges gleaming in sunset light. Her eyes unexpectedly filled with heat.

"That story about death is over, Lydia."

His voice came clear and firm through the sea breeze.

She looked up, meeting eyes deeper and gentler than the sea before them.

"Now," he looked at her, asking deliberately, "are you willing to... start something new with me?"

Lydia didn't answer.

She stepped forward, stood on tiptoes, wrapped her arms around his neck, and gave him a genuine, gentle kiss carrying neither desperation nor hesitation.

This kiss tasted of salty sea breeze and sunset warmth. Not the desperate bites from the hotel or fearful entanglement from the apartment—just a pure, feather-light touch. Caleb responded with his characteristic awkward care.

Lydia pulled back first, their breathing quickened. She studied the man before her—gaze hazy from their kiss, usually clear eyes now misty, ears tinged with faint blush.

Looking at his innocent expression, as if she'd "taken advantage" of him, her face finally revealed a genuine smile with that characteristic Lydia Thorne mischief.

A new story?

She thought.

It sounds... not bad at all.