Page 23

CALLIE

W hen I wake, the light’s already soft and golden across the cabin floor.

Ryder’s not in bed.

But I hear him moving.

Not in a rush, not loud. Just… moving.

And gods, my heart stutters because I know what last night was.

Not just comfort. Not just heat. Not even just love.

It was a choice.

And I chose him. All of him.

And I felt him choose me.

I pull on his shirt because it’s there, because it smells like him, because it’s oversized and comfortable and makes me feel like maybe the world isn’t ending and pad barefoot out the door.

He’s standing just outside, on the edge of the overlook behind his cabin.

The sun lights him up like something mythic. Bare shoulders. Back tense. Jaw set.

He doesn’t hear me come up behind him.

“You always brooding this early,” I tease, wrapping my arms around his waist from behind, “or is this a special occasion?”

He tenses for half a second.

Then relaxes into me.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Nightmares?” I ask.

“No,” he says, voice rough. “Dreams.”

That makes me pause. “Good or bad?”

“Both.”

I lean into him. “Well, if I’m not in them, they’re inaccurate.”

That earns me the faintest smirk.

Then he turns, cups my cheek, and just looks at me.

Like he’s memorizing the way my freckles land or something equally poetic and unnecessary and totally him when no one’s watching.

“I love you,” he says.

I grin. “I mean, duh.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

His thumb brushes my cheekbone, and it’s so gentle I forget the lake exists for a minute.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he says.

“You won’t,” I promise. “We’ve got each other. And Hazel’s amulet will hold. We’ve got a plan. Sort of. And if it doesn’t work well, I’m very good at improvising with glitter and nerve.”

But he doesn’t smile.

Not really.

He just leans down, kisses my forehead, and whispers, “Go back inside. I’ll bring breakfast.”

My stomach flutters for all the wrong reasons.

“Ryder…”

“Go.”

So I do.

But I don’t stop worrying.

Because I’ve seen him like this before.

And every time, it means he’s about to do something very noble and very dumb.

Back at the cabin, I dig through my bag for the notes I made on the ward symbols Hazel etched into the amulet.

My gut’s been squirming all morning.

I want to believe we’re ahead of this thing. That the rift hasn’t already slithered past our last line of defense. That we have time.

But I know better.

The lake’s been quiet for almost twelve hours now.

And quiet means it’s building something.

Coiling tighter.

Pulling back.

Getting ready to strike.

I’m mid-scroll through my notebook when Ryder comes back with two paper-wrapped breakfast sandwiches and a camp thermos of questionable coffee.

He sets everything down and slides onto the bunk beside me.

I kiss his shoulder in thanks and hand him a pen.

“Write down everything you felt yesterday. When it pulsed. The timing. The pull. The direction.”

He arches a brow. “We’re doing this now?”

“Uh, yeah. The apocalypse doesn’t get weekends off.”

He smirks faintly, but does what I ask. Good man.

Still, his shoulders are tense.

His jaw keeps ticking.

And I know he’s thinking something he hasn’t said out loud yet.

So I say it for him.

“You’re planning something.”

He freezes.

“Ryder.”

He doesn’t look at me. “Just trying to stay ahead.”

I grab his hand. “No secrets. Not anymore.”

He stills. Then, very quietly, “Whatever happens… I’m not letting it take you. I won’t. ”

“Okay,” I say, voice soft.

But what I want to say is:

Whatever you’re thinking, don’t do it alone.

Whatever line you’re ready to cross bring me with you.

Because if this is the final pull…

We face it together.

Even if it drags us both under.

The rupture opens just before sunset.

One second, the lake’s still.

The next, it’s screaming.

A pulse slams through the camp like thunder underwater. The float lights explode outward. The air shimmers with pressure and power and something old , so old it makes my skin crawl and my teeth ache.

Campers cry out.

Sirens, real ones, flare from the boundary alarms.

But I already know where he is.

I run to the lake.

Ryder’s there.

Standing on the dock, stripped down to his boots and swim shorts, glowing faintly with the shimmer of current craft wrapping tightly around his arms.

“No,” I shout, skidding to a stop. “Ryder, don’t you dare. ”

He doesn’t turn.

“Callie” he starts.

“You go in there alone, and I swear I will hex you myself!” I scream.

He finally looks at me.

And I see it, resolve. The kind that doesn’t bend.

“I can collapse it,” he says. “But I have to get inside. I have to anchor it from the center. ”

“Then I’m coming with you.” I step towards him, ready for anything. Ready to protect him, these kids, this camp that means everything to me.

“No,” he says, stepping back. “If I fail, if I get caught, you can still lead them. Protect them.”

I shake my head. “I didn’t fall in love with you just to watch you die heroic. I’m coming.”

“I love you,” he says, breaking.

And gods, that wrecks me.

“I know, ” I sob. “That’s why you don’t get to do this alone.”

But his jaw’s set.

He turns to the water.

Takes one breath.

And dives in.

The lake swallows him whole.