Page 37 of All The Darkest Truths (Second Sons Duet #2)

VESPER

The clock on the wall is a traitorous bastard, each tick hammering another nail into my fraying composure. Almost two hours since their last check-in. Two hours of silence stretching between us like a chasm that grows wider with each passing minute.

“They should have called by now.” My voice sounds strange to my own ears, too high and tight. I pace the length of our living room for the hundredth time, my bare feet wearing an invisible path in the hardwood. “Something's wrong. I can feel it.”

“Vesper, please sit down.” Oz's voice is steady, measured, the voice of reason I usually find comforting. Right now, it makes me want to scream. “There could be a dozen explanations for the delay.”

“Name one,” I challenge, whirling to face him. “One explanation that doesn't end with them dead or captured.”

Z approaches slowly, palms raised like he's trying to calm a wild animal. In some ways, he's not wrong. “Poor reception. Equipment malfunction. They could be maintaining radio silence for security reasons.”

“For two hours?” I rake my fingers through my hair, tugging at the roots until the pain gives me something to focus on besides the panic clawing at my chest. “No. They would have found a way to contact us by now. Alex always has contingencies for his contingencies.”

Oz rises from the couch, crossing to the bank of monitors Alex set up before they left. His reflection in the screens reveals the tension he's trying to hide from me. He's worried too.

“Z, try the secondary protocol again,” Oz orders, fingers flying across the keyboard. “Vesper's right, they should have checked in by now.”

Z nods, already pulling out another burner phone. His usual cocky demeanor has evaporated, replaced by a precision that somehow scares me more than any outburst would. These men don't panic, but they're concerned, and that knowledge sits like ice in my veins.

“Nothing,” he reports after a moment, tossing the phone onto the coffee table. “Straight to voicemail, just like the last three times.”

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?—”

“I know what she said,” he cuts me off, his thumbs brushing away tears I hadn't realized were falling. “But Alex is too stubborn to die that easily. We need to focus on Talon right now. He's alive, and he needs us.”

Oz is already moving, grabbing the keys and his phone. “I'll get the car. Z, pack a bag for her and yourself. Essentials only. We leave in five minutes.”

The world around me feels distant, like I'm watching a movie of my life rather than living it. I should be moving, helping, doing something—anything—but my body refuses to respond. Alex can't be gone. Not after everything. Not after what we shared.

“Vesper.” Z's voice cuts through the fog. “Look at me. I need you to focus. Can you do that?”

I nod mechanically, though focusing feels impossible with my thoughts splintering in a thousand directions.

“Good. I'm going to pack your things. You stay here, breathe, and be ready to move when I get back.”

He disappears down the hallway, leaving me alone with the terrible silence and the echo of the Coast Guard officer's words.

The only survivor located at the scene. My fingers curl into fists, nails biting crescents into my palms, the pain a welcome distraction from the hollow ache spreading through my chest.

This is my fault. I should have been there. I should have found a way to go with them. Maybe if I had been there, Alex would still be alive.

“Don't.” Oz startles me. He's standing in the doorway, car keys dangling from his fingers. “Don't go there. This isn't your fault.”

I want to argue, to scream that it is absolutely my fault, that my obsessive need to find Luca has now potentially cost Alex his life, but the words stick in my throat.

Z returns with a small duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “Let's go.”

They lead me down to the car, Z guides me forward when my feet seem to forget how to walk. The night air hits my face, cold and sharp, momentarily clearing the fog from my mind. Reality crashes back with brutal force.

Oz slides behind the wheel while Z helps me into the backseat, climbing in beside me rather than taking the passenger seat. The door closes with a soft thud that feels too final, too much like the closing of a coffin.

“Newport's about an hour away. Traffic should be light this time of night.”

I nod mechanically, though neither of them is looking at me now. Z pulls me against his side. I should find comfort in his warmth, in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my ear, but I feel nothing except a vast, yawning emptiness spreading through my chest.

The city lights blur past my window, smearing into streaks of color as my tears blur everything together. The car is eerily quiet.

I can't breathe properly. Each inhale feels like glass in my lungs, each exhale a struggle not to dissolve into sobs. Z's fingers trace gentle patterns on my arm, but I barely register the sensation. All I can think about is Talon lying in a hospital bed, wounded and alone, and Alex...

Alex, in the cold water. Alex, sinking beneath waves. The ocean doesn't care about promises made in basements.

“He can't be gone,” I mutter more to myself than to the twins. “He promised me.”

Neither responds. What could they possibly say that wouldn't shatter the fragile thread of hope I'm desperately clinging to?

My mind drifts to Talon, his shoulder wound, and the hypothermia. What if we're racing toward another goodbye? What if he's already slipped away while we drive through the night? My quest for Luca might have cost me both of them.

“He's strong,” Z offers. “Talon will pull through.”

I nod mechanically, but the reassurance barely penetrates the fog of despair enveloping me.

This is the price of loving these men, this constant, gnawing fear of loss.

I thought I'd prepared myself for the worst when I agreed to this life.

I was wrong. Nothing could have prepared me for this sense of being torn apart from the inside.

“We're almost there,” Oz announces. His knuckles are white against the steering wheel, the only visible sign of his distress. “Ten minutes.”