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M ovement flies by outside the window as I sit silently in the passenger’s seat of Jasper’s car, questioning my choices.

Did I screw up?

Isaac has been trying to keep me safe, but I never questioned my safety by doing this event. It’s high-profile, public, surrounded by cameras and security. Not to mention I was taken from my own home. A crowded social function feels like the last place anything could go wrong.

But I know things between us have been shifting—becoming more serious, more real. Our dynamic is taking on new life, so I can’t help but wonder if I just messed it all up by driving with my ex-husband to a runway show I’m not even sure I want to be in.

Shit, shit, shit.

He was pissed.

Far more than I anticipated.

And as my head clears with every passing mile, I can’t say I blame him entirely. If only I had more time to explain, to calm him down…

My stomach twists with regret as I fiddle with the zipper on my jacket, stealing a quick glance at Jasper. He white knuckles the steering wheel with both hands, looking tenser than a coiled spring. The sky is clear for now, the sun shining, but it feels like there’s a thundercloud waiting to burst in the driver’s seat. “Um…sorry about all that.” I clear my throat, crossing my arms. “That was awkward.”

“Mmhmm,” Jasper mutters.

“Isaac is a good guy, but his people skills aren’t the best. I kind of blindsided him with this and didn’t give him any time to process.”

God —I really did handle it all wrong. When the dust settles and I head back, I’ll be spending the better part of the week groveling. On my knees. Naked and tied up.

Probably gagged.

“Can’t blame him for being protective,” Jasper adds, his jaw ticking as he peers down at the Bluetooth screen. “Music?”

My instinct is to say no, but I need the distraction. Anything to fill the guilt-ridden void. “Sure.”

He flips a dial and the volume cranks. A song filters through: “6 Underground” by Sneaker Pimps. I wasn’t even born when the song came out, but it’s Allison’s favorite. She was obsessed with the movie Can’t Hardly Wait , and we watched it together countless times during giggle-infused sleepovers in high school.

“Wow,” I breathe out, my attention ping-ponging between the speaker and Jasper as the last ten minutes fall secondary to a different life. “Last time I heard this song, you and I were on a double date with Allison and Erik. Allison was trying to sing the lyrics all sultry, but she sounded like a dude, and Erik pretended he didn’t know her.”

I can’t help but laugh. Out of all the songs to play…

The recollection tastes exactly like the Sour Patch Kids we’d often inhale until our bellies ached—sweet and sour. I wonder if Jasper is being intentional, making me think of her right now. But he doesn’t say anything. He just stares at me for a breath before returning his attention to the road, his hairline dotted with a glistening of sweat.

Nostalgia creeps across my heart as the song continues to spin melodies into memories. I’m compelled to act on the feeling, and I think that was the point.

Retrieving my phone from my handbag, I pull up her number and don’t give myself time to think. I’ve done enough thinking for one lifetime.

Me

Hi. I miss you, too.

My pulse quickens with anticipation as I wait for the message to show as Read. Minutes drag by, one song blending into the next, but nearly ten minutes pass and she still hasn’t opened it. With a sigh, I turn the phone face down in my lap and bob my knees.

Jasper hasn’t said a word. Isaac really got under his skin. “So, what happened to the model who dropped out? It’s unusual for a spot to open up last minute.”

He swallows. “Heard she was in the hospital. Surgery of some kind.”

“That’s unfortunate,” I reply. “Do you really think I’m cut out for this? I haven’t walked a runway in years. I can’t imagine I’ll be the graceful vision they’re expecting, or if I’ll even hit all my marks.”

His throat works again as he flicks a look in my direction. “You were born for this, Everly. Guarantee you’ll blow Abner away.”

I allow the sentiment to settle, sending him a nod. “I, uh…do appreciate you going out on a limb for me. I’m not sure yet if this is something I’ll want to pursue long-term, but it’ll be nice to feel relevant again.” Gathering my hair over one shoulder, I play with the spiraled ends. “I know this is a big deal. You didn’t have to bring me in.”

“I wanted to. It was the least I could do after…” He pauses, panning his gaze to the rear-view mirror. “It was the least I could do.”

I pin my lip between my teeth, forcing back the after .

A new song begins—another one of Allison’s favorites.

We sit in silence, blowing past cars on the expressway, before Jasper turns to me. He loosens his collar, fidgeting. “Is it serious?”

I blink over at him. “Serious?”

“With Isaac.”

“Oh.” Isaac’s face skates across my mind, a warm balm to my senses. I imagine his smirks, his dry sarcasm, his firm hands holding me like a prize. The rare, tender moments that feel a million times more priceless because they’re with him. A smile blooms. “Yes. I think it’s serious.”

I brace myself for Jasper’s huff of disgust—a scowl, or a word of warning.

But it never comes.

“Good,” he says, swiping a hand down his thigh. “He seems intelligent, sharp. He’s a detective, after all.” A glance. “Hopefully he’s someone who will keep you safe.”

My chest grows heavy. I wasn’t expecting his support, not after what transpired back there. “Thank you.”

“You deserve to be happy.”

I look at him, a little stunned, but he’s already turned his gaze to the road, jaw set. “So do you,” I murmur, wringing my hands together. “And I hope you realize you don’t owe me anything, Jasper. It’s been over a year, and I think we’re both in a better place now.”

He nods, tapping his fingers on the wheel.

“Mom’s been urging me to forgive and forget,” I continue. “It’s hard. It’s hard letting go of something you thought you were coming back to, only to have it ripped away so suddenly. It was like a different kind of abduction.” My throat stings, needles and thorns. “I could have handled it better, and I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to say that. When we get back, I want to talk to Allison. Try to make things right again.”

Jasper rubs a hand over his chin. “Yeah,” he says. “Hopefully, we all make it out unscathed.”

Moisture puddles in my eyes, and I let out a shaky exhale.

I think of Isaac, of his loss. Sara. He’d do anything to get her back, and here I am, pushing away someone I love. Life is too short for that. Time is fleeting, and regret has a way of carving out a place in your soul, filling it with missteps you can never take back. Seconds tick by as memories resurface—all the moments I’ve spent wishing things could be different, that I’d made better choices, that I’d been stronger.

A waste.

A slap in the face to everything I’ve gained and grown from.

I stare out the window and whisper back, “It’s never too late to start over.”

Backstage, the air hums with chaotic energy—voices shouting over each other, makeup brushes sweeping over razor-cut cheekbones, and the constant snap of fabric as stylists tug dresses into place.

The show is taking place at a yacht club off the Bay, with a glorious view of the Golden Gate Bridge. I can almost taste the salt air from outside as I weave my way through the crowded room, dodging a rolling rack of sequined gowns and nearly tripping over a box of heels. Everywhere I look, models in varying stages of prep are being worked on, hair teased and pinned, their skin glimmering under harsh fluorescents and ring lights.

I find a quiet corner near a vanity stacked with cosmetic palettes and gloss tubes and take a steadying breath. There’s a cloying sweetness in the air fused with hairspray and perfume, and it sticks in my throat, making it hard to swallow through the knot of nerves.

The theme for the night is “Seasons.”

Models move like clockwork, all set to wear outfits that align with spring, summer, autumn, and winter. We’re showcasing winter first, my gown an avant-garde take on the theme. Bold and futuristic, the fabric is a metallic silver that shifts in hue as it moves, like the sky caught between twilight and dawn.

“Remember, it’s going to be raining on the runway for spring,” an assistant announces, reminding us of the program. “Double up on that setting spray.”

Before I turn away, a makeup artist materializes with a brush poised like a weapon. “Sit,” she commands, and then I’m pressed into the makeup chair. She tilts my chin up, smearing a foundation sponge across my jawline. “You’re good.” Satisfied, the woman releases me.

A pang of anxiety flares in my chest as I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Bulb lights rim the glass, illuminating the snowflake gems glittering in the outer corners of my eyes. I look like someone else, someone I used to know—the model who walked these runways without a second thought, who knew the exact angle of her body and how to glide without hesitation. But the person staring back at me now is wildly different.

I’m not sure if I miss her or not.

“You’re on in two minutes!” someone shouts, and I feel a hand on my shoulder, guiding me toward the hairline curtain that separates us from the buzzing crowd.

My ankles wobble in my silver heels that stretch for days. I close my eyes and imagine what Queenie would say to me right now. Probably something sarcastic.

“Try not to fall on your face, Angel Baby. Or at least do it gracefully.”

My cue arrives.

I take a deep breath and step forward, the bright lights swallowing me as I glide onto the runway. The overheads gleam like stars, and the crowd fades into shadows beyond the spotlights. Cameras flash, a sea of snapping lenses capturing each stride. Ahead, a model shifts and sways in her winter ensemble, keeping me focused on my task as she whizzes by.

Trying not to squint, I assess the crowd from my vantage on the runway, a blur of silhouettes staring back. I scan the crowd for Jasper, but can’t make out any faces. Only hints of designer suits and cocktail dresses, crushed between a wall of photographers. There’s a pulse in the air, and the camera flashes assault me in bursts, like mini lightning storms. At the end of the runway, I pivot sharply, managing a half-smile as I turn back toward the stage.

The second I step into the dressing room, a team of hands is on me, tugging and adjusting. My frosted gown is stripped away, replaced by a sheer floral dress that floats around me like a soft whisper. Another pair of hands fastens a clear raincoat over it, snapping it into place with a wide, transparent belt.

Someone thrusts a prop umbrella into my hand. “You’re back on in five!” a voice yells from behind me.

I tighten my grip on the umbrella, stepping up to the edge of the curtain as the music shifts to something whimsical, reminiscent of the ‘80s or early ‘90s.

A little strange…

The stage manager glances at her clipboard as the model in front of me takes the runway. “This isn’t the right song.”

“Are we going with it?” a production assistant asks.

“Too late now.” She sighs, flicking her wrist to signal me forward. “Go. Make it work.”

I inhale a sharp breath and step out, imagining how I’m going to release the belt at the end of the runway without looking like a rookie fumbling with her seatbelt in coach.

Here we go.

I burst through the curtain, my head held high. It’s another confident strut across the stage as I approach the narrow runway.

Water sprinkles down from the ceiling to mimic raindrops, catching the light in delicate arcs as I twirl the umbrella above my head, the fabric snapping open with a whoosh . I feel the unfamiliar beat reverberating through the soles of my stilettos, unsettling the flow of my steps as I near the edge of the platform.

The lights flicker.

The crowd’s energy shifts, the applause faltering. A few whispers ripple through the front rows, but I’m too focused on staying on my feet to figure out what’s going on. I twirl the umbrella again. Droplets continue to rain down, sluicing my skin.

A shiver dances down my back.

And then, just as I reach the far edge, unhooking my belt, I notice movement from the sidelines. The production crew converses with nervous energy. The buzz of the audience dips into an uncomfortable silence.

My instincts ping with apprehension.

Something is off.

But before I can process a coherent thought?—

A shrieking alarm fires through the building.

Deafening sirens.

I’m frozen to the platform, the umbrella tumbling from my hand as my pulse cranks into overdrive and my lungs lock up. I clamp my hands over my ears, my vision blurring.

Chaos unleashes.

Bodies scatter.

I’m paralyzed, rooted to the end of a runway in a floral dress and raincoat, soaked and terrified.

Move, Everly.

MOVE!

I croak out a sound, my gaze darting through the scrambling masses, searching for Jasper. He’s not there. Maybe he’s already made it out. Spinning to face the stage, I force my spaghetti legs into action, darting forward, searching for the nearest exit. There’s one behind me, teeming with frantic bodies.

Pivoting, I crouch down, inching my way off the platform and sliding to the floor. Adrenaline fuels my steps as I weave through the panicked crowd, my heart hammering in my chest. My breath is ragged as I make it past the nearest cluster of people.

The exit is ahead…just a few more steps.

But a rough hand grips my arm, yanking me to a halt.

“Get back on the platform!” the voice commands.

Flinching, I twist to face him—an unfamiliar man in black clothing, his dark eyes flashing with urgency. His grip is tight, painful.

“What—” I try to pull away. “What do you mean?”

“You need to get back on the platform— now .” His tone leaves no room for argument.

I hesitate, heart pounding in my throat.

“Backstage exit,” he orders, attention darting toward the chaos behind me. “Go!”

The sound of panicked footsteps reverberates around us, mixing with shrill shrieks of terror. The lights go in and out, and everything feels like it’s on the brink of imploding. I’m being herded, cornered, and I can’t do anything but comply as I shakily climb my way back onto the platform and head for the backstage exit.

Water gushes from the hydraulic system, compromising my footing as the runway slickens and my heels wobble and slide. I hardly make it two feet before I slip, face-planting mid-escape. Fear hollows out my chest as panic skews my vision.

Holding back a sob, I pull myself up and try again?—

—just as the lights go out completely.

A scream flies past my lips as a wash of pitch-black nothingness smothers me. My head shoots left, right, behind, but I can’t see anything. It’s just me, the strange song, and whatever lurks in the shadows. Haunting memories invade my mind: the sound of a gunshot, a darkened foyer, blood-soaked tiles.

A monster waiting to drag me away, his arms coiling around me like a snake.

I slam my eyes shut, collapse to my knees.

The main door thunks closed, and I wonder if everyone made it out. Fumbling for balance, I crawl forward, splashing in puddles, my wet hair tangling in front of my eyes as I try to blink away the darkness. My hands search the platform to keep me from toppling over the side. I cling to the edge, my palms sliding across the slick surface, breath coming in shallow gasps. The song plays on a loop, dizzying me. I can’t see a thing—just shadows twisting and turning in the dark. Panic claws up my throat as my fingers grope blindly, desperate for any sense of direction.

Then, somewhere in the distance, footsteps echo—a slow, deliberate beat that ices me to the bone. Shrinking back, I clamp a hand over my mouth. Whoever it is, they’re coming closer, each step amplifying, slicing through the darkness like a butcher’s knife.

Just as the ground beneath me starts to spin, the lights snap on, flooding the room in blinding, unforgiving brightness. I squint against the glare, blinking away spots until my vision clears.

That’s when I see him.

My heart stutters, then slams into a frantic, suffocating rhythm.

The Timekeeper— Leonard Vincent —stands at the entrance of the runway, his face a mask of cool fury. His mismatched eyes glint with malice as he forces a tight smile, a sliver of agitation slipping through his customary composure.

No.

This is a trick.

I’m hallucinating, manifesting my greatest fear.

Pinned by his gaze, I’m trapped like prey caught in a predator’s snare. Every nightmare I thought I’d left behind surges to the surface, memories bubbling up, raw and fresh—the smell of stale air and bleach, the scrape of metal cuffs as I spent those first few months chained to a wall, and the stifling stillness of his underground hideaway.

It all comes rushing back, crushing my chest like a deluge.

I freeze, instinctively recoiling as he takes a step forward. My skin prickles with the phantom sensation of his hands on me. The urge to run stampedes across my ribs, but I can’t move. Every muscle in my body locks, every nerve flaring, screaming at me to escape.

But I’m back there, in that room.

Trapped. Helpless.

The corners of his mouth lift into a thin smile as he watches me struggle, and I know he’s savoring this. Drinking in my fear like it’s a topflight champagne.

He scans the empty rows, disappointment flickering over his features before his eyes settle on me. Lifting one gloved hand, he gestures outward, each step echoing ominously off the polished floor. “It seems someone decided to interfere with my carefully arranged schedule.” His gaze sparks, irritation flickering behind his usual implacable calm. “A fire alarm, of all things. How…pedestrian.”

I bite down on the inside of my cheek, tasting blood, anything to jolt myself out of this nightmare. But even the sting does nothing to shake the image of the man standing in front of me. The man who stripped me of every scrap of hope and dignity.

He’s back. He’s here.

“I have to say, I do love a good runway show. Did I tell you I got my start in fashion design?” He links his hands behind his back. The familiar hourglass trinket is still clipped to his belt loop, reflecting off the overhead lights. “Perhaps that’s why you were always my favorite.”

I find an ounce of strength and pull myself to quivering legs. “Please…”

“Please?” he parrots, lifting a hand to his ear. “I see you’ve found your manners again.”

Swallowing hard, I glance over my shoulder, searching for a way out. I wonder how far I’d get if I made a break for it. But my gaze snags on the stranger who coerced me back onto the runway platform moments ago—he stands near the exit door, a hand on his holstered gun.

The Timekeeper clicks his tongue, glancing skyward. “Do you like the song? It’s Erasure.”

My attention pans back to him as I instinctively inch backward, putting distance between us.

“I thought ‘Always’ would be a nice soundtrack to listen to while watching hundreds of people die by hydrogen sulfide,” he says casually. “Of course, it doesn’t hold a candle to the music video. That’s a masterpiece. But since someone stole my grand finale…” His tone hardens again, bouncing between snake venom and playful mockery.

He skips forward, doing a showy pirouette as the song plays.

He’s…dancing.

I watch in horror, his suit shimmering with opulence and madness—a riot of deep purples and bright blues, a silver cravat tied loosely around his neck. His tailored jacket, sleek and metallic, glimmers with every exaggerated movement like a broken shard of glass.

Water splashes as he prances through the puddles.

I move back.

My eyes scour the platform, desperate for something, anything. I spot the discarded violet umbrella at the end of the runway. Heart pounding, I swivel, racing to snatch it up, gripping the pointed end toward him as I turn to face him head-on.

He’s lessened the gap between us, standing in the center of the runway, a few feet away. His eyes flick to the prop. “Oh, Everly. Are you planning to beat me to death with your umbrella ?” A bark of laughter. “I suppose anything can be a weapon if you’re creative.”

“Stay away from me.” The umbrella shakes in my grip.

Another step.

Then another.

If I move any farther backward, I’ll fall.

“This rain…” he drawls, holding out a flat palm and watching as water fills his hand. “It’s a nice touch, isn’t it? Must be murder on your hair.”

“Don’t you dare?—”

Just like that, he’s on me.

I scream.

His gloved fist hooks a handful of my hair, tangling and tugging, my knees buckling. Pain lacerates down my body, scalp to toes, until my fingers unclench the umbrella handle, and he gently plucks it from my grip.

Humming with appreciation, he twirls it around while droplets go flying. “Another nice touch,” he says. “The little details really do make the show.”

“Help me!” I screech, squirming in his grip. “ Somebody help !”

“Oh, shush. You can scream all you want when we’re out on the water.”

I go still, terror coursing through me. “What do you?—”

“Hey, boss! Is this your guy?” Commotion rustles from backstage before two figures appear, barreling through the curtain. “Found him poking around back here.”

It takes a moment for recognition to seize me.

Navy dress suit. Polka-dotted tie. Black hair.

Loafers.

My heart sinks to the floor.

“Jasper…” Panic curls around me as I watch Jasper struggle in the henchman’s grasp.

The Timekeeper growls with disapproval. “No, you idiot, that is not my guy .” His grip on my hair tightens as he gives me a shake. “It’s so difficult to find decent help these days, isn’t it?”

Oh, my God.

“Jasper!”

Jasper kicks and flails against the beast of a man, a bruise dappling his cheek, blood dribbling from a split lip. “Everly!”

“Don’t hurt him,” I beg. “He has nothing to do with this.”

My captor’s lips purse, his eyes thinning. “You’re right…he really doesn’t.” He flicks his hand. “Let him go.”

Jasper is shoved forward, collapsing to his knees. He remains like that for a moment, catching his breath, before lifting his chin and finding my eyes. “I’m so sorry,” he says, his voice hardly carrying over to us. “Forgive me.”

I wrestle in vain to break free, tears sliding down my cheeks. “Jasper— run . Please, you need to?—”

“I had no choice,” he continues. “Allison.”

My wide eyes lock with his. Swallowing, I stop wriggling. “What?”

Jasper pulls to one leg, then the other, slowly rising to full height as he shakes his head with remorse. “They took Ali. He said they’d kill her if I didn’t find a way to bring you here.” He pauses, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry, Everly. I had no way out. They put a wire on me, followed us here. I was being watched. One wrong move and she was dead.”

The room blurs, the weight of his words landing like a punch to my ribs. “No…”

He steeples his hands, stumbling forward. “There was no other way. Please, believe me. I tried to signal your detective friend, but I had to be subtle. I don’t know if… God, I’m so sorry. I never wanted to?—”

“Touching,” The Timekeeper interrupts, sending a hand gesture to his lackey. “Sadly, I have a schedule to keep.”

It happens so fast.

The man behind Jasper stalks forward, pulls out a pocketknife, and flicks the blade.

In one swift motion, a meaty arm arcs across Jasper’s throat.

Slice.

My scream strangles with disbelief as Jasper’s eyes round in shock. He stumbles, a hand flying to his neck as blood seeps through his fingers, spilling through the cracks in violent spurts. Knees buckling, he crumples to the floor.

Gasping. Gurgling.

“ NO! ” I lunge, but The Timekeeper’s iron-clad grip pulls me back, holding me in place.

He leans down, whispering in my ear, “Now, let’s not make a scene.” His voice drips with a chilling calm. “That’s my job.”

Reality bends. Folds in half.

Sound dulls to a distant roar, muffled by the thundering pulse in my ears. I’m numb, my brain scrambling to process what I’ve just seen.

Jasper’s body slumps forward, splattering across the stage until he’s lying motionless in a pool of his own blood.

My stomach clenches, cold and hollow.

My limbs are frozen, trapped in quicksand.

Then something inside me snaps, raw and instinctive, cutting through the haze.

Without thinking, I twist sharply, slamming my stiletto down on the bastard’s foot. He lets out a grunt, and we grapple for dominance.

I claw at him.

Teeth bared, lungs shrieking with desperation, I struggle for anything to throw him off balance. I scream like a banshee, my nails tearing across his skin, the toes of my heels gouging his shins.

A sharp prick at my neck.

I gasp.

Instantly, my mind dizzies.

Eyelids flutter… Vision blackens…

I fall…

I wake to a soft, unsteady sway.

The faint hum of what sounds like an engine is a distant murmur in my ears. The air smells of saltwater and something else. Stale, a confined space. My head pounds, a dull throb gnawing at the perimeter of my consciousness.

Groaning, I press my fingertips to my temples.

My limbs feel heavy, uncoordinated. I blink rapidly, trying to focus, but the world tilts, spinning in and out of clarity.

Slowly, my vision clears, revealing the plush interior of what I think is a…boat.

A large one.

A yacht?

Polished wood gleams around me as soft light filters through a porthole, hinting at the turquoise swirl of the ocean outside.

I sit up too fast and everything slopes, tipping sideways. My stomach churns with the remnants of whatever drugs were injected into me, and I scratch at the pinprick left behind.

The walls are closing in, the air thickening.

My pulse quickens as nausea threatens.

I try to stand, but my legs wobble like a newborn deer, and I crash back onto the white leather couch. Trembling, I push a section of hair off my face, trying to orient myself. The drug is still clinging to my bloodstream, slowing everything. I can’t think straight.

I have to move. Run. Escape.

A door opens behind me.

I don’t need to look to know who it is, as his presence fills the space before I even hear his footsteps.

“Ah, you’re awake.” His voice is a sinister echo. Paralyzing.

I whip around, ignoring the dizzying wave of vertigo. I lock eyes with him—cold, cruel, multicolored eyes. The world outside the porthole is a blur of blue, and I realize, with a sickening lurch in my stomach, that the boat is moving.

Not just moving; it’s cutting through the water, picking up speed.

He steps closer, a suffocating weight in the small cabin. My eyes catch sight of the purple umbrella twirling in his hand.

“I thought I’d take this as a souvenir,” he says, admiring the prop like a coveted prize. “It is my favorite color.”

I brace myself against the edge of the couch, trying to stand. The boat sways gently at first, then surges forward, the hum of the engine vibrating through the floorboards as water churns against the hull.

I feel it.

We’re moving farther and farther from shore.

“You should rest, my dear.” Stepping toward me, The Timekeeper pulls a set of handcuffs from his waistband. “Those drugs will still be dancing in your system for a while yet. You’re in no condition to be running around.”

I eye the glinting metal. “Maybe it’s time to find another hobby,” I rasp, my voice shaking. “This tired brand of kidnapping is getting old.”

“I do enjoy crocheting,” he deadpans. “Keeps the muse sharp.”

“Stay away from me.”

“Oh, honey, not everything is about you . But I do need you to stay put. ”

My eyes veer toward the exit, and that’s when he lunges for me.

Scrambling to my feet, I dodge him, making a break for it. I shove at the door and am met with a wall of fog and heavy sheets of rain. Cold wind slaps me in the face as a salty tang fills my lungs. A hand clamps around my mouth. The handcuffs clatter to the floor.

I’m yanked back.

I struggle, my scream muffled.

Caught in a gust of wind, the boat joggles beneath us as my captor hangs on, my feet unable to maintain traction. A bottle of rum sits on the edge of a counter, close enough to graze my fingers along the glass, but it tumbles from my grip, crashing to the floor, its contents spilling out in a thick amber pool.

My stilettos slide across the puddle as The Timekeeper snatches me by the bicep and pulls me back. I shriek, scratch, sob, but it’s no use.

He knows how to handle his prey.

The sharp scent of salt and diesel mingle in the air. I’m half-dragged, half-stumbling, barely able to keep upright as he tows me across the slippery surface. My eyes dart to the dense fog through the swinging door, knowing there’s nothing but dark waves to greet me. A watery grave.

No.

This can’t be over. It can’t end like this.

But there’s nowhere to run.

Even if I broke free, I couldn’t swim to shore if I tried.

“Stop it! Get your fucking hands off?—”

A gunshot goes off.

My eyes flare as footsteps pound the deck.

The hand tightens on my arm. Then, wedging the umbrella beneath one foot, The Timekeeper jerks upward sharply, snapping it in half. The jagged edge is jabbed against my throat as he steadies his grip, his voice turning to a low hiss. “Where are you going to go, little girl?” His hot breath beats against my cheek.

I close my eyes as splinters scrape my flesh.

“If we’re lucky, Mr. Porter will still be in one piece when we join him.”

His words seep through my fog like sludge as the chilling rain falls harder. A downpour. Makeup fuses with tears, burning my eyes.

I swallow.

Oh, God…

A second gunshot rocks me off my axis.

The Timekeeper sneers, ramming the slivered umbrella harder against my throat. “I would love to have a final conversation with him before he meets his end.”

I rip the hand from my mouth.

And I scream.

“ Isaac !”