Page 28

I snatched my phone from the cluttered desk, my fingers fumbling with the screen until Matt's name lit up. I returned to the bungalow, wanting to check in on them at home. The wind howled against the sides of the small cabin. As the call connected, I steadied my breathing, bracing for his voice.

"Hey, it's me," I said.

"Everything okay?" His words came through crisp, the calm in his voice soothing me.

"Quick check-in. How are the kids?"

"Safe, sound, and submerged in pizza," he chuckled. "Alex tried to build a pizza tower, but Angel kept swiping the pepperoni off the top."

I laughed softly, imagining their antics. "That sounds like them. Remember last week when Angel insisted her teddy bear could play hide and seek better than anyone else?"

"Oh, yes," Matt said with a grin in his voice. "And Alex was so determined to prove her wrong that he ended up under the bed, claiming victory when no one could find him."

"That was fun," I murmured, swallowing the lump that had formed in my throat. I missed them all so, so much. "Matt, this is… it's a lot."

"Talk to me, Eva Rae. What’s going on?"

"Later," I promised, my gaze drifting to the darkening sky outside. “Just wanted to hear your voice and know that things are okay at home.”

"All is well. Be careful," he said, soft yet firm.

"Always am." I ended the call, my resolve hardening like the tropical timber walls surrounding me. I went to Olivia’s room and knocked, then opened the door. She wasn’t there.

“Olivia?”

“In the bathroom,” she yelled from behind the closed door.

The room was a mess. I walked inside, picked up her shorts from the floor, folded them, and put them on the bed.

The room felt smaller as I turned toward Olivia's belongings, which were scattered across all the furniture.

“What a mess,” I mumbled, and I started to pick up pieces of clothing. “I can’t believe this.”

And then—there it was. Tucked beneath a stack of beachwear, I found a white T-shirt. I lifted it up in the light, then gasped. There was a big crimson stain across the white cotton. My pulse hammered, echoing the thunder that shook the foundations of the bungalow.

"Jesus," I breathed, seizing the T-shirt, the bloodstain stark and accusing. I scanned the room, half-expecting a natural explanation to present itself. None did.

Olivia came out of the bathroom. Our eyes met as she stood in the doorway, staring first at me, then at the shirt between my hands.

"Olivia!" The name sliced through the humid air, each syllable heavy with accusation and dread. I thrust the T-shirt forward like a flag of war, its stain a grotesque painting.

"Explain this—now!"

Her eyes, those pools reflecting our shared stubborn streak, widened in shock. Her hands fluttered to her mouth, her fingers trembling. Images of the cut on Mark’s hand flashed before my eyes.

Was this Mark’s blood?

"Mom, I—I don't—" she started, her voice faltering.

"Blood, Olivia." My words were steel, clipped, and cold. "Whose is it?"

"I don't know," Olivia stammered, her composure fracturing. Tears shimmered on the brink of spilling over; her denial felt weak against the roar of the wind that battered the bungalow.

"I don’t buy that for a minute! This isn't just some teenage mess you can sweep under the rug," I pressed, the urgency pricking my skin. “This is very serious.”

"Mom, please," she pleaded, her breath hitching. "It's not?—"

"It’s not what I think? Then what is it?" My voice rose, adamant. “Where did this blood come from?”

"Nothing happened!" Her words were nearly lost, a whisper swallowed by the building tempest. She looked away, a portrait of torment against the backdrop of an angry sky.

"Olivia, look at me!" I demanded, reaching for her, desperate to wrench the truth from her quivering lips. But the wind howled louder as if nature itself was conspiring to keep her secrets safe.

"Stop it!" Olivia's voice cracked like the whip of lightning outside, her hands darting out to seize the bloody evidence from my grip. The T-shirt hung between us for a suspended second before she wrenched it free.

"Olivia—" I began, but she was already moving.

"Stop!" she hurled back at me, her voice laced with raw emotion. Her feet drummed a rapid retreat across the wooden floor, each step a loud noise in the otherwise silent bungalow.

"Olivia!" My call was stern and authoritative, but she didn't slow. She slammed the door open, and the wind snatched it from her grasp with a violent thud against the wall.

I stood there, the space where the T-shirt had been still warm in my hands. With a deep breath, I followed, reaching the doorway just in time to see her figure blur into the storm's fury.

"Olivia!" I shouted, but the wind swallowed my words whole.

She ran away, her silhouette etched briefly as lightning forked across the sky. Thunder growled a warning, rolling over the island like an angry beast awakened.

When the electric light caught her face, it was a canvas of despair and defiance, tears carving clean lines down her cheeks. She didn't look back; her body was angled forward against the gale that now whipped her hair into wild tendrils.

"Damn it," I muttered, heart racing with the same intensity as the heavens above. I knew better than to let her go alone into this. I knew the danger wasn't just the storm itself but what brewed within her, untamed and desperate.

"Olivia!" My voice fought to rise above the cacophony of nature's rage, hoping beyond hope that it would reach her, that it might get her back to safety, back to me.

But she was gone, devoured by the storm, leaving only the echo of her flight and the unanswered questions that howled with the wind.

I went after her.

Of course, I did.