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I wrap my arms around myself, trying to contain the trembling that's taken hold of my body. “We need to go after them.”

“Not an option,” Oz responds immediately, not looking up from the monitors. “We have no idea what's happening on that island. Rushing in blind would only endanger them further if they're in trouble.”

“So, we just sit here?” My voice cracks on the last word.

“Yes,” Z confirms. “We give them time to complete the mission. It's what they'd want us to do.”

I'm about to argue when Oscar's phone rings, not his burner, but his personal cell. The unexpectedness of it freezes us all in place for a fraction of a second before he lunges for it on the coffee table.

“Unknown number,” he mutters, brow furrowed as he answers. “Hello?”

His expression shifts so quickly it steals my breath. Without a word, he puts the call on speaker and places the phone on the coffee table between us.

“—Lieutenant Commander Wilson with the United States Coast Guard,” a crisp female voice fills our living room. “We recovered a man from the water near Martha's Vineyard approximately forty minutes ago. He was suffering from hypothermia and a shoulder wound. Before losing consciousness, he asked us to contact this number as his next of kin.”

My knees buckle. Z catches me before I hit the floor, his strong arms the only thing keeping me upright as the room spins around me.

“Can you confirm who you found?” Oz responds, his voice impossibly calm while my world implodes.

“The individual identified himself as Talon St. James. He's currently being transported to Newport Hospital.”

“Is he alive?” I cry out.

“We’re stabilizing him.”

“Stabilizing?” My voice cracks. “What does that mean?”

Oz leans closer to the phone, his fingers pressing hard against the coffee table. “Was there anyone else with him?”

A brief pause stretches across the line.

“I'm sorry, sir,” Lieutenant Commander Wilson responds with clinical detachment. “The individual we recovered was the only survivor located at the scene.”

Survivor. The word echoes in my head like a gunshot, implying something too terrible to comprehend.

“What scene?” I already know the answer waiting to destroy me, but the question slips out before I stop it.

“There was a boat collision reported approximately three miles offshore from Martha's Vineyard,” she explains. “One of our helicopter pilots spotted the burning wreckage during a routine patrol and observed an individual in the water. When our rescue team arrived, they found significant debris consistent with an explosion, and your friend floating nearby.”

The room tilts sideways. Z's grip on me tightens as my legs give out completely. I hear myself making a sound I don't recognize—something between a gasp and a whimper.

“Alex,” I breathe. “No, no, no...”

“We're continuing search operations in the area,” the Lieutenant Commander adds. “But given the water temperature and time elapsed since the incident, I must advise you that survival chances beyond the first hour are extremely low.”

The words pierce my soul. Z's arms around me are the only thing keeping me tethered to reality as the room spins sickeningly.

“Thank you, Lieutenant Commander,” Oz responds, his voice steady despite the pallor creeping across his face. “We'll be there as soon as possible.”

“I'll have someone meet you at the hospital,” she replies before the line goes dead, leaving us in a silence so profound I can hear my own heartbeat thundering in my ears.

No one moves. No one speaks. The enormity of what we've just learned hangs in the air like poison gas, slowly suffocating us all.

“He can't be gone. He promised he'd come back.”

Z guides me to the couch, lowering me gently before kneeling in front of me. “Vesper, listen to me. We don't know anything for certain yet. The Coast Guard can recover people days after accidents sometimes."

“She said?—”