Page 91

91

CONNOR

T he storm stops just before dawn. But the silence it leaves behind is worse than the thunder.

It’s too quiet. Too still. Like the sky’s holding its breath.

I step onto the porch, Daltyn close behind me. The air reeks of wet palm trees and tension. The ground’s soaked with puddles, broken branches, and slick mud everywhere.

We scan the area.

Nothing is out of the ordinary until Daltyn tenses and points. “There.”

Fresh footprints streak through the mud just beyond the edge of the bungalow. The pattern’s erratic, like someone was pacing. Circling around the bungalow. Some lead toward the dunes. Others double back.

I step closer, jaw tightening as I trace the indentations in the wet sand. “Landon,” I mutter.

Daltyn nods. “He was here.”

My fists clench. “He’s taunting us.”

“Or planning something worse.”

Before I can respond, the door creaks open behind us.

Gram steps outside in a robe covered in embroidered sea turtles. Her flip-flops squelch as she crosses the porch, holding what looks suspiciously like a breakfast margarita.

“Well,” she announces, chipper as ever. “I’m going to check on my bungalow. See if my vibrator floated away.”

I don’t even react anymore. “Did you just say your vibrator?”

“Storms are brutal on silicone,” she says, matter-of-factly. “And I left the batteries inside.”

I blink. “Jesus Christ.”

Peyton appears behind her, still pale but steadier than last night. “I’ll go with her,” she says softly. “Make sure everything’s okay.”

“You sure?” I ask, eyeing her. “You don’t have to?—”

“I want to.” Her gaze flicks to Daltyn. Just for a second.

Then she’s gone.

He watches her leave like she’s taking the last of his sanity with her.

From inside, Allie calls, “I’m grabbing a quick shower before we go anywhere.”

“Ok,” I yell back.

I nod toward the door, then glance at Daltyn. “Let’s see where the prints lead.”

We start walking toward the dunes, the wet sand sucking at our feet.

The sky might be clear, but whatever’s coming hasn’t passed.

It’s getting closer.