The weather only worsened deeper into the night. Glugs and gurgles broke from the saturated earth as it fought for breath against the downpour, the glimpses of unbroken dark cloud through the canopy offering little hope of respite. Streaming between patches of wild overgrowth, torrents of runoff water blasted the land with waves of old, decaying mud, dense and dark enough to bury the few paths through the forest. A booming, barking wind tore past the trees, its fierce chill leaving the drowned foliage shivering.

     Elise blew shreds of her body's dwindling heat over her numbed fingers. The flood and gloom concealed all but the next stroke of forest, and a rotten stench smothered her nostrils until she keeled over into a string of gasping, hacking coughs. She had travelled this way often, yet in the storm, the lakeside woodland was a different world, a hostile realm turning its every weapon against wanderers.

     A stray fallen twig snapped by Elise's ear, and a lone brown rabbit lunged onto the path ahead. Glittering rivulets of rain trickled down its long, flattened ears, fanning droplets in all directions as the animal stood to attention mere steps away from her. Even in the forest's low light, its big eyes gleamed with urgency, and a series of fast, focused twitches worked through its nose. It did not react to Elise's undivided attention.

     "Guess we both picked a pretty rough night to be stuck outside, little guy," Elise muttered to the rabbit's tall shape. The mud squelched and frothed beneath her foot as she inched forwards, wiping the rainy blur from her eyes. "What dragged poor old you out here, then?"

     The rabbit froze, then suddenly darted, its lean body seamlessly slipping between the lurching wild grasses. Squinting through the murky air, Elise snatched a glimpse of the creature fleeing beside another, smaller rabbit. She watched for the fleeting moment it took for the animals to disappear from sight, the ruthless chill that gripped her fingers briefly forgotten. "You go, bunny pals."

     No other life scurried between the storm-lashed trees. Without any break in the stagnant gloom, Elise had no clue how long she had walked for or how much distance remained ahead of her. There was only rain, and mud, and trees, and shadows, and her.

     And then there was the smallest, loneliest speck of golden light, and a resurgent flare of hope fired through Elise's core. Ignoring the brutal winds and treacherous terrain, she put all her energy into running towards the light, her gasping breaths transforming into a relieved grin as the lakeside cabin's shape emerged from the dark. The light escaped from behind the curtain in Florence's study, meaning that she was both home and unlikely to hear Elise entering through the back door. It was as perfect a situation as she had imagined during her self-inflicted struggle of the walk over.

     As Elise rounded the house, another light flashed before her, this one cleaner and brighter than the study's glow. Her rain-slicked hands rubbed the dazzle from her eyes to find a black saloon car hidden behind the glare, both its front passenger doors left open to the elements. Confused, Elise swivelled her gaze around to the back door, and the way it carelessly swung on its hinges in the wind burned her eyes harder than any headlights. The day had left her body battered and drained, yet she still fell into a primal panic in a heartbeat.

     Peering through the back door into the kitchen, the thump of Elise's pulse quickened. What if Florence was hurt? Should she call out for her? More questions rushed through her head as she stepped into the cabin, their courses winding and interweaving into a vast, garbled mess. Should she call the police first? Did her phone have any battery left? Did her phone even still work after all the rain and cold and bruising and mistakes and –

     A door whipped open ahead of her, and a loud gasp sucked the air from the corridor. "Christ. It's just you. You scared the hell out of me, Ellie," James said, a hand clutching at the chest of his wrinkled, rain-spotted shirt. He pressed a black laptop bag to his side under his other arm, and a thin layer of dust rubbed onto his jacket sleeve from its fabric. "What are you doing out here so late? It's not the time or the weather for a quick house call."

     "I could ask you the same thing, along with why you're leaving every door open behind you like you're baiting a burglar," Elise answered as her fears made way for a fierce, self-sustaining frustration. No movement disturbed the rest of the cabin, and no shape appeared in the corridor with them. "Is everything okay? Where's Florence?"

     James' eyes widened, then dimmed behind a quick adjustment of his glasses. "She's in her study, packing the rest of her things," he said with a cursory flick towards the door he had just left through. He curled back at the concern that appeared on Elise's face, and the shadows of his face darkened in the flickering kitchen light. "I take it she hasn't mentioned this to you."

     "No, she hasn't." Elise's cold, tired, suddenly starving body begged to collapse into the nearest chair, yet the desire held no power over her as she slipped past James into the study. Clumps of dust churned in the room's low light, imbuing the air with a thick musty flavour. "Florence? It's Ellie. Are you alright?"

     Perched over a faded, dated suitcase, Florence did not move at Elise's entry nor her voice. "I told you, I'll be done in a minute, you pain!" she cried, her voice amplified by her case's solid walls. Beyond the thin folders and sparse selection of folded clothing that lined its base, the suitcase was largely empty. "Bloody man-child, thinking he can boss me about..."

     Elise eased the study door shut, holding the handle for a moment longer to keep it closed. When nothing tried to turn the handle on the other side, she moved to kneel by Florence's side. "No, Florence. It's me, Ellie, and trust me, I know better than to try and boss you around," she said as she laid a hand on Florence's shoulder. She feared the vicious sting of the author's hand rapping against her knuckles, yet the woman simply looked at her, clarity taking a moment to illuminate her eyes. "What's going on? Why do you need a suitcase?"

     "I'm not going to leave all my things here while I flounce off to some poncey cottage, am I?" Florence rolled up her usual blanket and bundled it into the suitcase, spots of blood still marring its tartan coat. Her hand found a small silver brick that, with a turn of her wrist, revealed itself to be an old, basic mobile phone. Its screen told of a large number of missed calls, yet the author simply scrunched her nose at the device before setting it back on the side table. "He claims it'll help me magic up some 'inspiration'. As long as there's some whisky magicked up too, I'll go along to shut him up," she explained, finally turning to face Elise. Examining the drenched clothes that stuck to the girl's shivering frame, she cocked an eyebrow and snorted her amusement. "Come crawling out the sea, have you?"

     "Just a terrible day on dry land, actually. Haven't you seen the storm outside?" Elise asked as the gale fired another round of freezing raindrops against the cabin's strained roof. A draught from the window pinched at the light from the nearby oil lamp, and the flames that survived inside its bowl flowed with less enthusiasm. Peeling her slick hair from around her eyes, Elise took a deep breath of years-old must and fresh rain. "Look, Florence, I'm happy for you to get out the house, but can't this wait until the morning? This isn't the time or the weather for a trip, especially not for someone who just came out of the hospital."

     The long-deferred scowl finally lurched onto Florence's face, yet during her hospital stay the expression had lost the barbed bite that sharpened Elise's hairs to fearful points. After so many unwelcome surprises, the author's disapproval landed with an oddly comforting familiarity. "I'm no frail old carcass, girl. I walked to school in plenty worse storms than this in the seventies," Florence said with a bitter cackle. She nestled a small stack of paperback volumes between the packed clumps of clothing, wagging a finger at Elise over the case. "Wait until morning, and the cliffs over Redcarne Bay will be nought but boating lakes. They always are after rain. It's best we stop fretting and get a move on now, and spare James the faff of changing his booking."

     Lukewarm rainwater seeped between Elise's fingers as she bunched her dripping skirt up in her fist. Though the author spoke confidently, she twitched and fidgeted on the spot, dithering as if uncertain what to do with her hands, eyes, and self. Florence could not recall whether she had chosen to go on this trip, and that insight chilled Elise into silence.

     "Are you almost ready, Florence?" James called, leaning in from the corridor and wiping a fresh coat of rain from his brow. He beamed at both the author and Elise, yet a sudden, inscrutable darkness descended over his cheer as he paced into the study. "Sorry for rushing you around like this. I meant to come earlier, but then I had the bright idea of getting ahead of paperwork, and...well, you know how that stuff piles up."

     "Wait, you can't just disappear in the middle of the night without warning," Elise protested as she folded her arms. Too tired to hold her peace as she often did in seminars, she glared at James over the suitcase and gave her thoughts voice. "Where are you taking Florence? When will she be back? Does Cade know about this? Because I sure didn't until just now."

     With a scoff, Florence zipped her suitcase shut and clambered to her feet. She tugged her tattered olive raincoat around her, burying her thin frame in its oversized folds. "Last I checked, this was my house, not Cadence's. I don't need to explain anything to you brats," she answered, and a muffled curse fled from her lips between breaths. A glimmer of clarity lit up her eyes, and for the first time she turned her gaze towards Elise with real purpose in her look. "Heaven knows that horror never bothers to tell me nought about what she's doing. Where is she, even?"

     Elise silently shrugged. If her friend had not yet caved to the police's efforts to contact her mother, then she was not about to expose Cadence's arrest herself. Florence had enough stress to process without Elise introducing her to the choking vines of her father's narcissistic delusions.

     The suitcase's zips tapped together as James hoisted it to his side. "I assure you, Ellie, I'll take good care of Florence. It's not the first time we've taken a trip together, after all," he said with a slight smile that fell as quickly as it had arrived. His attention darted to the door behind Elise, and his body occasionally floated towards it as if pulled by a ghostly force. "And if this goes well, then we can work it into her future schedule. Between us, we'll get her writing as well as she can in no time."

     "I'm not seeing much 'between us' happening here." There was not much of an emotional thread to bind her and Florence, yet Elise snatched for it regardless. She stepped in front of Florence, clasped her hands together, and softened her tone. "Do you really want to go?"

     "You what?" A well-worn snap sounded at the end of Florence's words, its potency undermined by the uncertainty that fogged her eyes. Something hooked her tongue as she moved to speak again, releasing her only after a passing glance at James. "Well, I'm not being dragged out kicking and screaming, am I?"

     "Maybe not, but you're hardly rushing out either," Elise countered as a growing tiredness dogged her tone. She leaned on Florence's usual chair, shifting her balance to accommodate the slow rock of its curved feet under her weight. "I'm not going to stop you leaving, Florence. I just want you to really enjoy something for once. It feels like it's been a while since you let yourself have fun, and I think it could be a big help for your work."

     A set of skewed, yellowed teeth shone behind Florence's parting lips, chattering as if in anticipation of imminent sound. Before she could speak, James rapped his knuckles on the suitcase's side and directed the writer to the door. "I'll make sure that Florence has everything she needs to unwind," he said, running a hand through his wind-tossed hair. In a blink, his affable air made way for the focused, forthright scrutiny of the supportive seminar leader. "For now, go and get some rest, Ellie. It really looks like you could use it."

     On cue, exhaustion fried the lengths of Elise's calves, and her rain-clogged clothes pinched around her stressed, sore skin. "You can say that again," she whispered with one hand squeezed around her upper arm. The desk jostled as she backed into it, and she released a long, hoarse sigh. "I'll tell Cade where you're going. She'll be back...soon, probably."

     The pair of authors left the study, and James paused to shut the door behind them. Elise kept her eyes low and her grip tight, her doubts growing into worries, then into fears, then into a roaring panic that razed her senses to dull ash. In a single day, she had stomped out any green shoots of reconciliation with her father, uprooted Robin and Natalie's budding relationship, and sent Florence beyond her home without any means of contacting her. A cool, leaden silence closed around her, reminding her again and again of the most painful absence of all. Cadence, her constant, unshakeable rock, was gone, and without her, Elise had nowhere left to turn. She was alone, and she was terrified.

     Elise let her hand fall on the desk, and her wrist struck the sharp, solid corner of a ring binder. Positioned with its spine against the wall, its thin black cover peeked out from underneath a medley of cast-off papers, its face free of the age, wear, and tear that characterised the rest of Florence's belongings. It struck too loud a chord in Elise's mind for her to leave it untouched.

     Holding the binder out, Elise placed it in her memory in a heartbeat. It was the folder that James had brought on the day of Florence's mini-stroke, and the large stack of contents held along its rings added a considerable heft to its weight. Elise set the binder down, opened it, and skimmed through its initial pages. She spotted familiar reading lists from James' writing workshops, printouts of personal emails between him and Florence, and other loose papers that failed to hold her attention for long. Behind the documents, a clear plastic sleeve winked in the dancing light, and Elise indulged her last fit of curiosity in turning to it.

     A wave of colour unfurled across the pocket's front page. On line after line, streaks of yellow and pink highlighter ink bled into green, looping annotations scrawled in green ballpoint pen. Elise withdrew the sheets from their sleeve, soon gleaning that the papers were part of a photocopied draft that James had reviewed. In intricate, extensive notes nestled on the margins, the comments assessed the narrative and structural merits of the paragraphs as well as indicating potential areas for improvement. Like with his class feedback, James had taken pains to personalise it for Florence, attesting to his desire to help his friend and mentor however he could.

     Except the story draft in Elise's hands was not Florence's. It was hers, and there were at least a dozen other sleeves in the binder all equally stuffed with papers that also claimed to be copies of Florence's work. A harsh drought swept over Elise's mouth at the sight of the title Letters Beneath the Lighthouse set in large, proud text at the front of the next draft – the name of Natalie's stolen story. Like Melody before them, James had targeted Elise and Natalie for their stories, then manipulated Florence's condition to make her believe she had written them herself.

     Elise slumped into the rocking chair, nausea scorching the back of her throat. He had used them. He had used her, and wherever he had taken Florence, he was planning to use her too. If she got the police or university involved, his reputation and Florence's apparent consent would snuff out any investigation before it began. He would get away with it, like he had many times before.

     Except this time would be different. It had to be different. This time, Elise had caught him in the act, and she knew someone she could always count on to hunt down trouble before it found her.

     All Elise had to do was break Cadence out of her cell, and for that, she needed the help of the last person in the world she ever wanted to see again. She needed to go back to her father.