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The wanderer returns... I’d given up on you.” Will pulls out a chair for her.

Elin glances around. The restaurant is quiet—empty tables, only a few staff milling about near the bar. “Sorry. I was going to call again, but things have become a little more complex.”

His forehead is beaded with perspiration and he roughly wipes it with the back of his hand. “The missing guest?”

“Actually, no. False alarm. He’d gone snorkeling.”

“Good news.”

“Not exactly.” Elin’s voice sounds strained. She doesn’t want to tell him. Knows that the minute she does, any hope he had of it not affecting the award, LUMEN itself, is gone. “But we’ve found a body in the water. A different guest.”

Will blanches, leaning forward in his chair. “Another accident?”

“Can’t say, not yet.” Her words are vague, but she can tell he isn’t fooled.

“Well, not sure the keep it quiet approach is working. Farrah’s told me that we’re bleeding guests. People have got wind that something’s going on.” He makes an incoherent sound.

“People are leaving?”

“Who’d have thought it, eh? They don’t like a few random deaths pissing on their holiday.” Will gestures around; one big swooping arm movement. “Can’t you tell? Not exactly buzzing, is it?”

Elin turns. He’s right, the retreat has emptied out: the holiday acoustics distilled down from a vibrant hum to a single shout, a sudden, solitary burst of laughter. The beach is empty, and though there are a few people in the pool, the daybeds surrounding it are deserted.

“The boat hasn’t stopped going backward and forward. Some people have taken their own water taxis.” He bites down on his lip. “It’s been picked up on social media too.”

Elin shakes her head, dismayed. The last thing they need.

A sigh. “I think I’m going to cut the weekend short. I’ve got loads of work anyway. Should have known it wouldn’t be straightforward. Our trips together never are.” Will’s eyes meet hers, a shared awareness passing between them. For a moment, there’s a closeness between them, but as quickly as it appeared, it’s gone. He looks away. “If I’m being honest, I’m too involved. A shitty thing to say after what’s happened, but...”

“I understand. It’s personal for you.”

“Yeah. It’s like watching something precious blow up in your face in slow motion.” His voice splinters. “Everything I’ve worked so hard to do with this place, changing people’s perceptions—it’ll all be for nothing. Once the press gets hold of it, they’ll trawl it all up. The Creacher murders, the school. LUMEN will be a footnote.”

A horrible sense of impotence grips her as she feels the situation slipping from her control. She wants to do something, anything, to make it right for him, but she can’t. “Look, we don’t know what’s happened, not yet. There’s still a chance—”

Will looks at her, an odd, stiff expression on his face. “You don’t have to do that, you know. I’m not a kid.”

“Do what?”

“Plaster over it. I know by your face that this isn’t good.” He forces a smile. “I think I’ve finally heard your bad news voice. All this time together, but only now I hear it.”

As Will speaks, Elin senses something that she hadn’t picked up on before, something passive-aggressive in his body language, his tone—almost resentful . And while she might be reading into it, she can’t help but wonder if he’s blaming her for what’s happening, by fault of simply being involved.

“I’m just trying to be positive.”

He gives a tight nod. “And you’re happy staying?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, now that the situation’s escalated...”

“Yes...” Elin scrutinizes his face, expression, not sure where he’s going with this.

“But this morning in bed you said you were worried about whether you could cope, if you might trip up if things got tough.”

“A doubt, yes,” she says carefully, “but it doesn’t mean I don’t want to carry on.”

“But what if you do feel like that at some point? Would you be honest with Anna?”

“Yes.”

He meets her gaze. “Did you tell her about the thing on Twitter?”

Elin hesitates, knowing what this question is: a test. “I did. She said they’d look into it if it happens again.” She reaches for his hand. “Really, you don’t have to worry.”

A heavy sigh. “But you here, alone, I don’t like it.”

“I’m not alone. I’ve got Steed.” As soon as she says the words, she knows they’re not right, but she doesn’t know what to do. From the get-go this conversation has felt like a minefield, as if anything she says will be the wrong thing.

“Steed,” Will echoes, shrugging her hand loose. “Well, that’s okay then. You’re close enough to be able to tell him, if it gets too much?”

Another mine .

Elin fumbles for her words. “Well, yes, I think I can. We’ve got to know each other a bit more since we’ve been here.”

Wrong answer. Will’s face closes. She’s not sure how they’ve gotten to this point—this strange sense that they’re dancing to difference tunes.

Spotting a white smudge of sunscreen by his ear, she reaches up to rub it away, but he flinches, an obvious recoil. Elin flushes, stung, and it’s only then that she has a moment of self-reflection, horribly aware of why he’s behaving like this.

It’s her , isn’t it? She’s made him react like this because of her mercurial behavior.

At home, these past few weeks, she’s been spiky and distant, but out here, she’s someone different. Energized. Dynamic.

He gets the worst of her and how must he interpret that?

Elin feels a wave of sadness at the sudden chasm that’s opened up in their relationship.

“Well, I have to go,” she says, doing what she always does. Delay tactics. Pushing things under the carpet. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Call me later.”

“Will do.” Leaning in, Elin lightly kisses him. There’s no recoil this time, but maybe something worse: a reticence on his part, a sense he’s simply going through the motions.