Jasper shifted his weight, leaning against the salt-worn mahogany of the bar. Instead of answering Sam's question, his gaze drifted toward the wall, settling on the sleek, sterile lines of the architectural rendering. The contrast was jarring—the organic, weathered chaos of the café clashing with the cold, geometric precision of the Blackwood design.

"That's a bold piece of art for a place that smells like old nets and cinnamon," Jasper remarked, gesturing toward the brass plaque. "Blackwood Development. I didn't realize they'd already started putting their flag in the ground here."

Sam stopped polishing the glass. The rhythmic motion ceased, and for a second, the only sound in the café was the distant, rhythmic thrum of the tide hitting the cliffs outside. Sam looked at the rendering, and the warmth in those dark eyes cooled, replaced by a flicker of something that looked like mourning.

"They don't just put flags in the ground, Jasper. They plant stakes," Sam replied, his voice dropping an octave. "They've been buying up the shoreline piece by piece. First the old chandlery, then the wharf. Now they're eyeing the cliffs."

Sam leaned in closer, the scent of roasted beans and sea salt clinging to him. He lowered his voice, as if the walls themselves had ears—or perhaps the espresso machine was a listening post for the corporate office uptown.

"They want to turn the Reach into a 'luxury coastal retreat.' Boutique hotels, glass balconies, the works. But they can't finish the master plan without the Watchman. Your grandmother's lighthouse is the final piece of the puzzle. It's the crown jewel of the coastline, and to them, it's just an eyesore that needs to be 'reimagined'—or demolished."

The mention of the lighthouse brought the cold weight of the brass fragment in Jasper's pocket back to the forefront of his mind. The "reimagining" seemed to involve lockpicks and industrial paint.

Sam watched Jasper's reaction closely, his intuition humming. He didn't mention the break-in, but the way he lingered on the word demolished felt like a warning. The town was a powder keg of nostalgia and greed, and Jasper had just walked back in holding the match.