The cable car lurched to a stop halfway up Table Mountain, suspended in a cocoon of fog so thick Mara could barely see the outline of her own hand against the window. Below, the V&A Waterfront glimmered through occasional tears in the mist—scattered lanterns of civilization that might as well have been on another continent.

"So much for the sunset shots," she said, forcing lightness into her voice.

Liam stood on the opposite side of the rotating floor, arms crossed, his jaw tight. He hadn't said much since they'd boarded twenty minutes ago. The other tourists had taken the earlier rotation. It was just the two of them now, trapped in this glass bubble with the weight of four years and 3.2 million followers between them.

"The fog comes fast this time of year," he said. His voice carried that distinctive Cape Town lilt, softer than she remembered. "We could be here a while."

Mara's phone buzzed. Another notification. Another comment on her latest post—a carefully curated shot of herself at the cable car station, all windswept hair and adventure-ready smile. "Living my best life at the edge of the world!" the caption read. Her followers ate it up. They always did.

She silenced the phone.

"I didn't know you were still guiding," she said.

"I didn't know you were coming back to Cape Town."

The air between them crystallized. Four years ago, Liam had been a backpacker with a battered notebook, filling pages with observations about the places he visited, the people he met, the small moments that made travel transcendent. Mara had been nobody—a wannabe travel blogger with two hundred followers and a maxed-out credit card, desperately trying to find her voice.

Then she'd found his journal in a hostel in Stellenbosch. He'd left it on a table, gone to get coffee. She'd only meant to peek. But the words had been magic—raw and real and everything her own writing wasn't. She'd taken photos of a few pages. Just for inspiration, she'd told herself.

But inspiration had become imitation. And imitation had become theft.

His words, her photos. His stories, her brand. By the time he'd returned from his coffee, she was gone. By the time he'd realized what happened, her follower count had exploded.

"The cable's down for the night," Liam said, checking his radio. "Mechanical issue, complicated by the fog. They'll have us out by morning."

"Morning?" Mara's voice pitched higher. "We're stuck here until morning?"

"There are worse prisons." He gestured at the fog-wrapped mountain, the ghost lights of the city below. "At least the view's decent when you can see it."

She laughed despite herself—a short, sharp sound. "Still the poet."

His eyes found hers. Dark and unreadable. "Not anymore."

The words hit like a slap. She'd known this confrontation was coming. That was why she'd hired him specifically, requested him as her guide. Four years of guilt had compounded into something unbearable. She'd built an empire on stolen foundations, and every post, every sponsorship, every award felt like a splinter working deeper beneath her skin.

"Liam—"

"Don't." He turned away, pressed his forehead against the glass. "Whatever you're about to say, I've heard it. Read it, actually. Your DM from three years ago. The one where you said you were 'inspired' by my work."

"That's not what happened."

"I know exactly what happened." He turned back, and now she could see the anger banked behind his careful calm. "I know because I read those posts. My words, Mara. My stories about my grandmother in her township garden. My night in the Karoo watching meteor showers with strangers who became friends. My—" He stopped, swallowed hard. "You took my voice."

The cable car swayed gently in a gust of wind. Mara gripped the railing.

"You're right," she said. "I did. And I'm sorry."

"Sorry." He laughed, bitter. "Your net worth is probably seven figures. Sorry doesn't really balance that equation."

"So what would? Because I came here to make it right, Liam. That's why I requested you. Why I came back to Cape Town at all."

"Make it right?" His eyebrows rose. "You want absolution? A photo op for your feed? 'Travel influencer reconciles with the man whose work she stole'? That'd probably get you another million followers."

"I want to tell the truth."

The words fell into the fog-muffled silence. Outside, the city lights blurred and sharpened as the mist shifted. Inside, time seemed suspended.

"I have a draft saved," she continued. "A post. Confessing everything. Giving you credit. Offering to split—" She stopped. Money felt obscene suddenly. "I know it won't fix it. But I can't keep building on this lie."

Liam studied her. Really looked at her for the first time since they'd boarded. She forced herself not to look away.

"You'll lose everything," he said finally. "Your followers, your sponsors, your credibility."

"I know."

"Why now?"

How could she explain? The way travel had stopped feeling like discovery and started feeling like performance? The way every sunset made her think of his description of light on Lion's Head? The way she'd stand in extraordinary places and feel nothing but hollow?

"Because I fell in love with travel through your eyes," she said quietly. "And then I killed that love by making it currency. I want to feel wonder again, Liam. Real wonder. The kind you wrote about. But I can't get there while I'm still living your story instead of finding my own."

He was quiet for a long moment. The cable car creaked.

"I stopped writing after Stellenbosch," he said. "Couldn't put words together anymore without wondering if someone would steal them. So I became a guide instead. Figured I'd just help other people find their stories."

"I'm so sorry."

"But lately," he continued, "I've been thinking about starting again. Small stuff. A blog, maybe. Nothing commercial. Just... the truth of places."

Mara nodded. Below, a gap opened in the fog, revealing the arc of the waterfront in brilliant detail before the mist swallowed it again.

"I have your journals," she admitted. "All of them. I kept them. I know that's—I should have given them back, but I couldn't let go of them. They're in my hotel."

"Which hotel?"

"The Silo."

"Fancy."

"Tainted money."

He almost smiled. "When you post that confession, tag me. And then—" He paused, seemed to be deciding something. "If you mean what you say about starting over, about finding your own voice—I know places. Real places, not Instagram hot spots. We could... I could show you. No cameras. No followers. Just travel."

Her heart kicked. "Like a guide?"

"Like a fellow traveler."

The fog was lifting, just barely. Through the glass, stars began to pierce the darkness above. Below, Cape Town sparkled like something out of a dream—beautiful and slightly unreal and full of promise.

"I'd like that," Mara said.

Liam extended his hand. Not for a photo. Not for show. Just a hand in the fog-wrapped darkness of a stalled cable car, an offer of something tentative and true.

She took it.

Outside, the mountain waited. And below, a city full of stories that belonged to neither of them yet—stories they might learn to write together, in their own words, with their own wonder.

The cable car shuddered. In a moment, they'd begin moving again. But for now, they stood in that suspended space, holding on.