The Man Who Never Looked Away novel Chapter 199

Lavinia had always kept a specific coordinate saved in her phone.

She had been twelve years old. Her parents ran a small bakery specializing in traditional southern pastries.

They would wake up in the middle of the night every day to knead dough, prepare the filling, and bake the pastries. Her dad saved up for a long time to buy cruise tickets to take her and her mom on a vacation.

She remembered the days on that cruise ship before the accident—she had been so happy. She was with her parents, made new friends, traveled abroad for the first time, and visited several countries in Southeast Asia.

They were almost back to port when a sudden, unpredicted maritime tornado hit. The ship sank.

She had absolutely no memory of that day. When she woke up, she was in the hospital. Latham, Mandy, and Saul all came.

They were the ones who told her how the accident happened.

The doctor said she had developed post-traumatic stress disorder, and her amnesia was an automatic defense mechanism created by her brain.

For so many years, she was terrified of recalling that day, yet part of her desperately wished to recover her memories.

After all, those were the final moments she had spent with her parents.

...

Charley pulled the car over onto the shoulder of the coastal highway.

"We're here," he said softly.

Lavinia checked the GPS on her phone. It was a perfect match.

She glanced at the broad, sturdy back of the man in the driver's seat.

It was too precise. How did he know the exact spot?

The sun was almost completely gone, leaving only a final sliver of crimson light lingering on the horizon where the sky met the sea.

Lavinia stepped out of the car. Charley wrapped his suit jacket tightly around her shoulders.

In shared silence, the two walked side by side down the stone steps leading to the sea wall.

The beach here was stunning—pure, delicate white sand.

It was said that this type of pristine white beach was incredibly rare, formed over hundreds of millions of years from weathered mother-of-pearl and coral.

Lavinia walked slightly ahead. The wind whipped at her clothes, blowing sand into her eyes.

She slowly came to a stop and turned slightly, keeping her eyes lowered.

When he finished, he rolled the fabric, slipped it into the glass bottle, found a small piece of driftwood to plug the opening, and handed it back to her.

"Throw it as hard as you can," he said, his voice deep.

Lavinia stared at him blankly.

"You don't believe me?" he asked, meeting her eyes.

"It's not that," she murmured.

Her heart had never beaten with such heavy certainty before.

At first, her heart rate hadn't quickened, but gradually, the wind seemed to scatter its rhythm entirely.

He looked at her face—pure, slightly dazed, like a night-blooming cereus just on the verge of unfurling.

His voice was incredibly soft, almost uncharacteristically gentle. "Then... I'll throw it for you, alright?"

Lavinia hesitated for a long moment, then nodded.

Charley raised his arm high and, with a powerful swing, sent the bottle soaring. It traced a perfect arc through the air before splashing down into the churning tide.