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Tara stood on the rocky shore, scanning the horizon. She knew Tom wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. But another night here meant more time stuck in a place that felt like it was closing in on her.

The investigation, the story—it was done. There was nothing to say about this place. She needed to leave, and she was going to. Because when she squinted, she could see a line across the ocean. The mainland. Home. And if she could see it, she could get to it.

She’d left her bag at Amelia’s, but there was nothing precious in it. Just a couple of items of clothing and a notebook with observations that were of no use to her now.

Tara looked down the tiny coastline. It didn’t take long to see what she needed. It was tied to a weathered post. A battered rowboat. Luckily, these guys still fished, or she’d be stuck.

Her pulse quickened as she moved quietly down toward the rowboat, glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one was watching. This was her parting gift to that Harriet woman; proof, if proof was needed, of what a piece of shit Tara was. Because now she was a thief.

She yanked at the rope securing the rowboat. The knot was stiff, but it came loose after a few moments of effort. She pushed the boat into the water, the small craft rocking on the light waves.

She climbed in quickly, feet wet, hands shaking from both the cold and adrenaline. She didn’t care. She was getting the fuck out of here. The oars were small. She gripped them tightly, heart pounding, and started rowing furiously.

The island was soon behind her, its jagged coastline receding with every stroke. She was going to make it.

But as quick as that, the wind picked up, and with it, the water grew choppier. She pushed harder on the oars, working against it, but she was being thrown back the way she’d come.

Her muscles burned with the effort, and the boat rocked unsteadily in the water. The small waves splashed over the side, wetting her legs and shoes further.

Then it came, a big one. It hit the boat hard. The boat lurched violently, the momentum throwing her off balance. She pushed the oars ever harder, and a sharp crack split the air. One of the old oars snapped clean in half.

No, no, no...

She grabbed for the remaining oar, but that tilted the boat. She frantically tried to right herself, throwing herself in the opposite direction. But she was too successful. The boat tipped, hard.

Tara was thrown into the water.

She surfaced quickly, spluttering and coughing, gasping for air. The boat was nowhere to be seen, dragged out of sight by the current. The island loomed. She’d made it only a few hundred metres. But it was just far enough to be unreachable. She swam as hard as she could but could make no progress to the shore.

Tara trod water, her limbs numb with cold and exhaustion. There was no way she was getting back and no way she could signal for help. In trying to leave Solhaven, she had trapped herself here forever. She was going to die here.