Chapter 2: Aftershocks
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The applause faded into murmurs as people glanced at one another, uncertain whether to return to their festivities or confront what had just happened. Marlowe stood beside the stage, cheeks flushed, breath shallow. She hadn't planned the speech—hadn't even thought about what she'd say. But now the words were out there, no longer locked behind years of expectation.
Magnus approached first. His jaw was set tight, eyes narrowed not in anger, but something more complicated—betrayal, perhaps. Or disbelief.
"You could've told me," he said quietly, the music from the band tuning up a distant hum in the background.
"I wanted to. I just... didn't know how," Marlowe replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
His gaze flicked toward Caspian, then back to her. "You know what people are going to say."
"I don't care anymore," she said. "Maybe I should've sooner."
Magnus didn't respond. He just gave a curt nod and walked away, disappearing into the crowd like driftwood in a tide.
Ophelia appeared moments later, linking her arm through Marlowe's. "You were brave," she said, eyes shining. "And you needed to do that. No matter how messy it gets now."
"I just hope it wasn't too late," Marlowe murmured, scanning the crowd. She caught sight of Caspian standing near the edge of the square, half-hidden behind the cider stall. He looked stunned—still, but not unmoved.
Ophelia gave her a little nudge. "Go."
Marlowe crossed the grass quickly, slipping between clusters of neighbors and classmates and fishermen with their sun-scorched hands and small-town opinions. Her boots sank slightly into the damp earth, the weight of every glance prickling at her skin. But she didn't stop until she was in front of him.
"Hey," she said softly.
"Hey," Caspian echoed, blinking like he wasn't sure he was awake.
"I meant what I said."
He exhaled slowly. "You—you said it in front of everyone."
Marlowe nodded. "I'm tired of hiding."
Caspian studied her, as if trying to decide if this was real. Then something in his shoulders relaxed, and he stepped closer.
"I didn't expect you to do that," he said. "But I'm glad you did."
"I didn't expect it either." She smiled, nervous but genuine. "But I've spent too long worrying about what everyone thinks. About my family, my name, what I'm supposed to want. I just... I needed to say it. Out loud."
He reached out, brushing his fingers lightly against hers. "Then let's not go back."
They stood like that for a moment, the hum of the festival pressing in around them but not quite touching them. Fireflies blinked lazily between the lantern lights, and somewhere nearby, someone laughed too loudly, oblivious.
Then the spell broke.
A shrill voice rang out over the square. "Marlowe!"
She turned to see her mother striding toward them, Catherine Waverly's expression a mix of worry, anger, and something else—fear, maybe.
"Come with me," her mother said, grabbing her arm.
"Mom—"
"Not here." Her voice was low and urgent, her eyes darting to Caspian and then the growing circle of onlookers. "Now."
Reluctantly, Marlowe followed her, giving Caspian a quick glance before disappearing into the shadows beyond the cider stall.
They stopped in the alley between the fishmonger's and the old post office, the sea breeze cutting sharply between the buildings.
"You embarrassed your father," Catherine snapped. "And yourself. Do you have any idea what you've done?"
Marlowe squared her shoulders. "I told the truth."
"The truth?" Her mother's voice cracked. "You think that's all it takes? This town doesn't care about your version of truth. They care about appearances, about legacy. About—"
"About control," Marlowe said, cutting her off. "About making sure the Waverly name doesn't stray too far from its perfect little image. I'm not going to live that way."
Catherine hesitated. "You think this is brave? It's reckless. You just made yourself a target."
"I already was," Marlowe said. "So was Caspian."
Her mother's face hardened, but beneath it, something flickered. Regret? Pain? It was hard to tell.
"You're young. You don't understand how this place works."
"I understand it too well," Marlowe said. "But maybe it's time it changed."
The silence between them stretched, taut as a fishing line in a storm.
Finally, Catherine stepped back, arms folding over her chest. "If you're going to make your choices, then you'd better be ready to live with the consequences."
"I already am."
Her mother nodded once—tightly—then turned and walked away.
---
By the time Marlowe returned to the square, the music had picked up again, though the crowd had thinned. Caspian was still waiting by the stall, now talking to Ophelia, who spotted Marlowe first and gave her a thumbs-up behind Caspian's back.
"Everything okay?" he asked.
"It will be," Marlowe said. "Eventually."
He studied her again, as though he were trying to memorize this version of her—unafraid, unhidden. Then he leaned in and kissed her.
It wasn't dramatic. No fireworks, no sudden applause. Just quiet, and real.
When they pulled apart, Marlowe could hear the rustle of leaves in the wind, the clink of bottles being cleaned up, the call of a gull overhead.
The world hadn't ended.
And that felt like the beginning of something.
---
Later, as the festival wound down and families began to drift home with sticky fingers and tired children, Marlowe, Caspian, and Ophelia sat on the seawall, legs dangling over the edge.
"I don't know what's going to happen next," Marlowe admitted.
"Probably something ridiculous," Ophelia said, biting into a caramel apple. "This is Ravenswood. It thrives on scandal."
Caspian smiled faintly. "I've lived in a lot of places, and none of them are quite like this."
The waves lapped below, dark and glistening. A fishing boat passed in the distance, its lantern glowing faintly in the dusk.
"Whatever comes," Marlowe said, reaching for Caspian's hand again, "we face it together."
They sat there for a while, the three of them, letting the salt air smooth the edges of a rough night. Somewhere deep in the shadows of the town, whispers were already forming—some cruel, some curious, some quietly impressed. But for the first time in her life, Marlowe didn't care what they were saying.
She had spoken her truth.
And it echoed stronger than any secret.