They didn't go home immediately after the docks.
Neither of them said it out loud, but the air at the harbor had grown too heavy. Too many memories. Too many shadows between the containers.
So Arman rode the motorcycle along the coast road instead.
The city lights faded behind them as the road curved beside the water. The sea stretched endlessly beside them, dark and restless under the night sky.
Samantha sat behind him.
Like before.
But tonight something was different.
She stayed closer.
Not because she was cold.
Because something about the memory had shaken her.
Arman felt it too.
Even if he couldn't physically feel her arms around him, the space she occupied behind him had become familiar. Comforting.
He slowed the bike when they reached a quiet stretch of beach.
There were no buildings here.
Just sand.
Ocean.
And the steady sound of waves.
Arman parked the motorcycle near the edge of the road and removed his helmet.
"You needed air," Samantha said softly.
"Yeah."
He ran a hand through his hair.
"That conversation with your murderer… not exactly relaxing."
Samantha stepped off the bike.
The sea breeze moved gently through her hair as she walked toward the sand.
The moonlight reflected faintly through her form.
Arman followed her.
The waves rolled onto the shore in slow, rhythmic breaths.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Samantha stared out at the water.
"I used to come here sometimes after work," she said quietly.
Arman looked at her.
"Alone?"
"Sometimes."
"And sometimes with friends."
She smiled faintly.
"But I always stayed too long."
"Why?"
"The ocean is peaceful."
She tilted her head slightly.
"It makes everything feel smaller."
Arman looked out at the water.
"I wish murder mysteries felt smaller."
That earned a quiet laugh.
The sound faded into the wind.
Then Samantha looked at him again.
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For staying."
Arman frowned.
"I'm not going anywhere."
"You could have."
"I could have run away from the ghost girl who appeared in my bedroom?"
"Yes."
"True."
She studied him carefully.
"But you didn't."
"No."
"Why?"
Arman hesitated.
He kicked lightly at the sand.
"I guess…"
He stopped.
Samantha waited.
"I guess you matter to me now."
The words settled gently between them.
Samantha looked down for a moment.
Then back up.
"That's dangerous."
"Probably."
"Because when I remember everything…"
Her voice softened.
"…I might disappear."
The thought hung quietly in the night air.
Arman shook his head.
"We don't know that."
"It's possible."
"Yeah."
"But we're not there yet."
She looked at him.
"You're very determined."
He smiled faintly.
"I'm stubborn."
Samantha stepped a little closer.
"You're kind."
"Don't spread that rumor."
She laughed again.
Then her expression shifted slightly.
Thoughtful.
Something in her mind had stirred again.
The memory.
"I remember his voice," she said suddenly.
Arman's attention sharpened.
"The second man?"
"Yes."
She closed her eyes slowly.
The ocean faded.
The wind faded.
The memory returned.
The truck outside the café.
The crates.
The guns.
The killer standing beside the truck.
And the tall man in the dark coat.
The killer had turned toward him.
"What about the girl?" he asked.
The tall man's voice had been calm.
Controlled.
"Leave it to me."
"But she saw the crates."
"I said leave it."
The killer hesitated.
Then asked—
"What if she talks?"
The tall man's answer came quietly.
"She won't."
Samantha's eyes snapped open.
Arman stepped closer.
"What is it?"
"I remember something he said."
"What?"
Her voice was barely above a whisper.
"The killer asked about me."
"And the tall man said…"
She swallowed.
"…'Leave it to me.'"
Arman frowned.
"So the tall guy ordered the murder."
"Yes."
"And the killer just followed instructions."
"Yes."
Arman paced slightly across the sand.
"So that means the tall guy is the real problem."
Samantha nodded.
"Yes."
Then her expression tightened.
"There's something else."
"What?"
She pressed her fingers against her temple.
"I heard the killer say his name."
Arman stopped moving.
"What name?"
Samantha struggled to hold onto the memory.
The sound of waves.
The smell of the sea.
The truck door slamming.
The killer's voice again—
"Yes, Mr. Vance."
Her eyes opened.
Arman stared at her.
"You remember it?"
"Yes."
"What was it?"
Her voice trembled slightly.
"Vance."
Arman blinked.
"Mr. Vance."
The name echoed in the quiet night air.
Samantha looked at him.
"That's the man who ordered my death."
Arman felt the pieces moving again.
The smuggling.
The docks.
The guns.
A man named Vance.
"Okay," he said slowly.
"That's something."
Samantha looked down at her hands again.
The faint glow around them flickered slightly.
Arman noticed.
"You're stronger tonight."
"Yes."
She looked at him.
"Maybe remembering is what's doing it."
"Probably."
She hesitated.
Then lifted her hand.
"Can we try again?"
Arman knew what she meant.
Touch.
He stepped closer.
"Okay."
Samantha slowly reached forward.
Their hands moved closer.
Closer.
This time, her fingers met his.
Cold.
But real.
Not passing through.
Just barely touching.
Arman's breath caught.
Samantha's eyes widened.
"I'm doing it."
"Yeah," he said quietly.
"You are."
The contact lasted a few seconds longer than before.
Then it faded.
Her hand slipped through his again.
But the warmth of the moment remained.
Samantha smiled softly.
"For a moment… I felt alive again."
Arman looked at her.
"You are alive."
"Not technically."
"Emotionally."
She laughed quietly.
"That's a strange definition."
"It works for me."
They stood there beside the ocean.
Closer than before.
And now.....
They had a name.
Mr. Vance.
The man who had ordered Samantha's death.
But neither of them knew yet.....
Just how powerful that name really was.