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Tara’s time had come. She was gonna get in that arsehole Harriet’s shed.

As Solhaven’s answer to Lady Gaga, it was going to be a tricky one slipping away. But she moved slowly and subtly until she found herself at the edge of the square. But she worried that the moment she started on the path, it would be obvious she was leaving. She needed a distraction.

Then her moment came. Some guy started juggling, and the crowd lost its fucking mind with excitement. Tara wondered if he was juggling fire, but no, it was literally just balls. Tara could not conceive of such a low entertainment bar.

Anyway, they were transfixed. Time to go.

The crowd’s laughter and chatter faded behind her. Her heart beat with exhilaration at the prospect of finally cracking this island wide open. It also beat with a fair amount of guilt at what she’d done and was doing to Amelia. She shoved the latter aside. This disturbing growing attachment to her wouldn’t get her anything.

The path narrowed as she walked the beaten path, keeping an eye out for a small building with a blue roof. She found it quicker than she expected to.

It was unremarkable, a weathered wooden structure, its paint faded and peeling, half-concealed by foliage. But the heavy padlock on the door said otherwise. It was huge.

She circled the shed, scanning for a way in. The windows were small, their glass frosted and impenetrable. No cracks or openings presented themselves. Her mind raced with possibility. What could warrant such secrecy?

She grabbed the lock and gave it a shake, testing its sturdiness. The practical voice in her head screamed at her to stop, to walk away—it was just a bloody shed—but she silenced it. She wasn’t here to follow rules; she was here to find answers. And forget that look on Amelia’s face.

The padlock wouldn’t yield, of course. But the latch it was fixed onto might. Tara yanked on the lock, rattling it to fracture the wood. Finally, with a sharp snap, the latch gave way.

The satisfaction was fleeting. ‘Tara!’

Tara whipped around, the colour draining from her face. Amelia stood a few paces away, agog with fury and disbelief.

‘What the devil are you doing?!’ she cried.

For a moment, Tara gave real consideration to saying, ‘It’s not what it looks like.’ After all, Amelia hadn’t seen any television or movies. She might fall for it. Nah.

‘I thought you were supposed to be helping me,’ Amelia went on, her voice trembling now. ‘Not, not… This!’

Before Tara could respond, another voice cut through the tense silence. ‘I told you I saw her leave!’

Tara turned to see Harriet, flanked by a handful of islanders. Their expressions ranged from confusion to outright anger, but Harriet’s face was unreadable—a mask of calm that only heightened Tara’s sense of dread.

‘She was… breaking into the shed,’ Amelia said, her voice quieter now, though no less angry.

Harriet stepped forward, her eyes fixed on Tara. ‘Is this true?’

Tara’s throat felt dry. She nodded, unable to meet Harriet’s gaze. ‘I… I thought…’ She stopped. ‘Screw it. I was trying to see if you had anything in there that I should see. So do what you gotta do.’

Harriet’s lips pressed into a thin line. She turned to the islanders behind her. ‘Take her to the shack. She’ll wait there until the boat arrives tomorrow.’

‘Wait,’ Amelia said, stepping forward. ‘You don’t have to do this. This is my fault. I was the one that left her alone. Maybe she didn’t realise this was wrong, or, or…’ she babbled.

Harriet’s voice remained firm. ‘I told you what would happen if she broke the rules.’ She looked Tara up and down. ‘Mainlanders. You’re animals.’

Amelia’s hands clenched at her sides, but she didn’t argue further. Tara barely registered the islanders’ hands gripping her arms as they led her away.

***

The storage shack was small and dimly lit, its air heavy with the briny scent of seaweed. Tara sank onto a wooden crate, her head in her hands.

‘Great job, Tara,’ she muttered to herself bitterly. ‘Really nailed this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.’

Tara leaned back against the wall, staring at the rotting ceiling. She’d done this mad and stupid thing so that she didn’t have to think about things she didn’t want to think about, hadn’t she?

Well, thinking time was about to become pretty bloody plentiful.