Chapter 1 — Return to the Edge

Sophie

The small plane banked sharply, and Sophie Carter gripped the armrest, her manicured nails digging into the worn leather. Through the window, she saw a vast expanse of white-capped mountains and jagged cliffs plunging into the sea below—a landscape that was both beautiful and unforgiving. The tiny Alaskan town she had once called home appeared as little more than a smudge on the coastline, as if it had been painted onto the edge of the wilderness and forgotten.

The whir of the engines filled her ears, drowning out the professional, polished voice she’d honed over years of negotiating deals and managing New York’s finest restaurants. Here, her words wouldn’t matter. She felt adrift already, the familiar confidence of her urban life stripped away by the vastness outside.

The wheels touched down with a jolt, the plane bouncing slightly before coming to a rumbling stop. Sophie gripped tighter, her breath hitching. As the plane taxied to a halt on the short runway bordered by snowdrifts and dark pine trees, she noticed the airstrip—a simple patch of gravel—and the small wooden shack serving as the terminal. It all looked so fragile, as if the wilderness could reclaim it at any moment.

She adjusted her wool coat, a sleek and tailored piece that had seen more midtown sidewalks than rugged terrain, and grabbed her leather carry-on. Her heels clicked on the metal steps as she descended, and the cold hit her like a slap. It wasn’t just cold—it was a bone-deep chill that seeped through every layer. The air was sharp and clean, carrying the faint tang of salt and pine. She pulled her scarf tighter around her neck, her breath visible in the crisp air.

“Sophie Carter,” a voice called, startling her.

She turned to see a man standing near the terminal, bundled in a heavy parka that made him look twice his size. He was holding a clipboard, his face partially obscured by a thick scarf, but his sharp eyes assessed her with interest.

“Yes, that’s me,” Sophie said, hurrying toward him. Her heels wobbled slightly on the icy tarmac, and she immediately regretted her choice of footwear.

The man lowered his scarf to reveal a lined face and a small, wry smile. “Welcome back.”

Sophie forced a polite smile in return. “Thanks. I assume you’re the attorney?”

“Greg Michaels,” he confirmed, offering a gloved hand. She shook it quickly, noting the roughness of his grip despite the gloves. “Your father’s affairs are... complicated. I figured we should get started right away.”

“Complicated how?” Sophie asked, her stomach tightening.

Greg gestured toward a rusty pickup truck parked a few yards away. “Let’s talk at the market. It’ll make more sense once you see it.”

The drive into town was both familiar and alien. Sophie recognized the jagged coastline, the distant mountains that seemed to guard the land like stoic sentinels, and the scraggly pine trees that lined the road. But everything felt smaller now, as if the years away had shrunk the town in her memory.

The truck’s heater sputtered, its warmth fighting a losing battle against the cold seeping in through the doors. Sophie clutched her bag tightly in her lap, her gaze flicking between the scenery and her reflection in the window.

“So,” Greg began cautiously, breaking the silence, “fifteen years is a long time to be away.”

“It is,” Sophie replied, her voice clipped. She avoided his expectant glance.

Greg hesitated before continuing. “Your father was... well, he was proud of this place. He poured everything into it. The market meant a lot to him—and to the town.”

Sophie didn’t answer. She stared out at the passing trees, her jaw tightening. The mention of her father brought a pang of guilt she wasn’t ready to unpack. Memories of their last argument—her shouting, him silent and resolute—surfaced briefly before she pushed them away.

When they reached the edge of the town, her first impression was that nothing had changed. The same weathered wooden buildings lined the narrow streets, their facades streaked with salt and age. The colors—once vibrant reds, blues, and greens—had faded into muted hues, as though the town itself had grown weary. Seagulls cried overhead, circling the harbor where fishing boats rocked gently in the water. Even under the gray sky, the scene felt frozen in time.

Greg parked the truck in front of the Fish Market, and Sophie stepped out cautiously. The market looked exactly as she remembered it, but age had not been kind. The wooden structure leaned slightly toward the harbor, its beams darkened by decades of sea air. The paint on the sign—Carter Fish Market—was peeling, and one corner of the roof sagged ominously. Sophie’s chest tightened as she stared at the building. Was this her inheritance?

Greg unlocked the front door and held it open for her. Inside, the air was thick with the lingering scent of fish and brine, even though the market was empty. The floorboards creaked beneath her boots, and Sophie wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling colder.

“Your father built this place from nothing,” Greg said, his voice carrying a note of reverence. He gestured toward the walls, where old black-and-white photos hung in mismatched frames. Sophie recognized some of them—her father shaking hands with fishermen, standing proudly in front of the market on its opening day, even one of him holding her as a toddler, both of them smiling widely. She stepped closer to that photo, her gaze catching on the way his hand rested protectively on her small shoulder. A memory surfaced—a rare afternoon when he’d taken her fishing, his voice low and steady as he taught her to tie a knot. She blinked, brushing the memory aside.

“How bad is it?” she asked, her voice flat.

Greg sighed and pulled a folder from his bag. “There’s no easy way to say this. The market is in serious debt—tens of thousands owed to the fishermen, the suppliers, and the bank. Your father was doing everything he could to keep it afloat, but...”

“But he didn’t,” Sophie finished for him.

Greg hesitated. “No, he didn’t. And now it’s up to you.”

Sophie stared at him, incredulous. “Up to me? I’m not a fisherman, Greg. I don’t know the first thing about running a place like this.”

“I understand that,” Greg said gently. “But the market is the heart of this town. If it fails, the whole community suffers. Your father knew that, and he tried to protect it as long as he could.”

Sophie’s nails dug into her palm. “I didn’t come back to play savior. I came to settle his affairs and go back to my life.”

Greg’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes softened. “If that’s what you want,” he said slowly, “there are buyers interested. But they’re not from around here, and I can tell you right now, they won’t care about the town. They’ll strip this place for parts and move on.”

Sophie turned away, staring out the window at the harbor. She wanted to feel indifferent, to convince herself that it wasn’t her responsibility. But the weight of the situation pressed down on her, making it hard to breathe.

“I’ll look at the numbers,” she said finally. “But don’t expect me to make any promises.”

Greg nodded, though his expression remained serious. “Fair enough.”

As they left the market, Sophie caught sight of a group of fishermen standing near the docks, their heavy coats and knit caps making them look like statues against the gray sky. They were watching her, their faces unreadable but their postures tense.

This town didn’t want her here. And if she was honest, she didn’t want to be here either.

But something about the way they looked at her—as though she were an intruder, an outsider who couldn’t possibly understand—sparked a flicker of defiance in her chest. Let them doubt her. She’d prove she could handle this, even if it was just long enough to sell the market and leave for good.

As the cold wind whipped through her hair, Sophie squared her shoulders and walked back to the truck.