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"Olivia!"

My plea was a mere whisper against the wind's howl. I stumbled forward, the first sheets of rain pelting me like shards of glass.

"Olivia!" This time, with more force and determination steeling my voice despite the wind's insistence on silencing me. My feet skidded on the slick wooden planks of the bungalow's porch as I launched myself forward.

Rain hammered down, stinging my eyes and blurring my vision. I blinked rapidly, striving to keep sight of the retreating figure that had been my daughter only moments before. The world around me had become a watercolor painting left out in the rain, edges bleeding, forms melding together under the onslaught.

"Olivia, stop!" I gasped, my breath catching in my throat as gusts of wind fought my advance. Palm trees bowed and danced in a frenzied tango above me, unsettled by the encroaching fury of nature.

"Mom, go back!" Her distant cry reached me, distorted and fragmented. But it was her voice, unmistakably Olivia's.

"Can't do that!" I yelled back, though I wasn't sure she heard. My agent instincts kicked in, every sense attuned to the chaos, searching for order within it. I had to reach her, had to bring her back from the brink—whatever it took.

Lightning cleaved the sky, a brief, brilliant guide lighting my path. Thunder boomed, an unrelenting drumbeat urging me on. The rain turned torrential, a relentless downpour that soaked through my clothes. Yet, my heart burned with worry, pounding a rhythm that matched the heavens.

I couldn’t see her anymore.

"Olivia!"

No response. Only the sound of the wind, mocking and challenging.

"Damn," I gritted out between clenched teeth, pushing onward. Ahead, the foliage whipped into a frenzy, thrashing as if to block my way. Each step was heavier and slower as I fought the deluge that sought to drive me back.

"Come on, Eva," I muttered to myself. "Keep moving."

With each blink, the scene before me washed out and snapped back into focus. I was close—I could feel it in my bones, an inexplicable pull toward where she had to be.

"Olivia!" One last effort, one final push. And then, there it was—a fleeting shadow darting into the dense thicket.

"Got you," I whispered to no one, to the wind, to Olivia. With a renewed burst of energy, I plunged after the shadow.

Olivia's silhouette flickered through the palm trees like a ghost. She ran as if chased by the very storm that raged around her, anger and despair fueling each step.

"Olivia!" My voice was growing hoarse, shredded by the wind that whipped around me. Desperation lent volume to my call, cutting through the sound of the howling wind.

She didn't slow, didn't turn. Her secrets, the ones I was so close to unraveling, propelled her deeper into the maelstrom that swallowed the island.

"Stop!" I demanded of the gale, of her, of everything between us.

The ground slipped beneath me—slick, treacherous. I went down hard, a jolt of pain shooting through my palm as it slapped the wet earth—no time for pain. I scrambled up, adrenaline dulling the ache, my gaze locked on the blur of Olivia's retreating back.

"Olivia Thomas, halt!" The federal agent in me cut loose, authority unyielding. It was a demand, not a plea, and it echoed across the distance.

No reply but the mocking howl of the wind, the symphony of thunder and crashing waves.

"Damn it, Olivia, talk to me!"

Nothing.

I surged forward, feet finding purchase where none seemed to exist. The world was reduced to flashes of lightning, the drum of rain, and Olivia's fleeing form. My daughter was out there, alone, afraid, and burdened by truths too heavy for her young shoulders.