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What’s wrong? I heard shouting,” Caleb says as Hana makes her way into her room. He stops beside her in the doorway, backpack already fastened over his shoulders. It’s too tight: the straps are pulling up his T-shirt, revealing several inches of pale stomach.

“Jo,” Hana says flatly, bumping her case around the door.

His face softens. “Upset about Seth?”

“Actually, no.” Hana glances down, finding it hard to articulate her thoughts. “A bit of a bombshell. I found out she was having an affair with Liam, and”—her voice catches—“she told me that she was with him... when he died.” She falters, unable to stop her mind from going there again; picturing the two of them together.

Caleb balks. “ With him?”

“Yes, they were cycling together. Jo saw the accident and she left him to it. Never told anyone.” She has to bite down on her lip to stop herself from crying. “Keeping the affair secret was obviously more important.”

“Oh, God.” He shakes his head, lip curling. Hana knows what he’s thinking: none of this is a surprise. It’s pretty clear that Caleb has low expectations of their family, particularly Jo. “I’m so sorry,” he says quietly. “I never met Liam, but I knew what you two had. I can’t even begin to imagine how you’re feeling.”

Hana nods, and although she wasn’t planning on saying it, some horrible part of her wants him to understand, just a tiny bit, the emotions swirling inside her. Share the burden. “It wasn’t the only thing she fessed up to. I found Bea’s phone in her room. She admitted to taking it.”

“ Bea’s phone?” His voice is shaking.

“What’s left of it. It’s smashed up. Jo said she found it like that, got a glimpse of it near the yoga pavilion when the forensic guy was searching.”

“And her first instinct wasn’t to give it to the detective?”

“Apparently not. She said there was stuff on there she didn’t want getting out. About Liam.”

“But by doing that—”

“I know.”

Silence stretches out between them. “You buy it?” Caleb says eventually. “That she just found it there?”

Hana shrugs, silent, but she doesn’t need to say anything. As she meets his gaze, yet again, words pass between them, unspoken.

“Where’s Jo now?” Caleb breaks the silence.

“Packing the last of her stuff.”

“And Maya?”

“In her room. I said I’d meet her there to walk up.” Hana frowns. “She’s thrown, I think, by the whole thing.”

“Aren’t we all? You know, when I googled this place, after Jo first sent through the details, I laughed at all the conspiracy theories, but now...”

Hana nods numbly. “I know.” It would have happened eventually, she thinks: the fallout from all these lies, whether they’d come to the island or not. But still, she can’t help feeling robbed, like the island keeps taking from them and will continue to take until they have nothing left to give.

“Storm’s set in pretty bad.” Caleb glances out the window. “Not going to be a nice walk up.”

He’s right , she thinks, following his gaze. Everything suddenly feels dark and melancholy, the clouds growing not just in number but in size—obliterating the blue. The strengthening breeze has already transformed the once tranquil setting into chaos—tiny branches now littering the terrace, flattened imprints of blossoms marking the smooth expanse of stone.

Hana’s about to turn away when the wind gusts. A sudden sharp crack, a blistering movement.

Caleb flinches.

They watch, frozen, as a large branch from the pine above plummets to the ground.

An amputation; the raw, white innards of the branch exposed where it’s been brutally wrenched from the tree.

Neither of them speak.

They simply stare at the branch as it writhes from side to side in the wind before a ferocious gust sends it tumbling past the window, lifting it up in the air before dropping it again.

An ugly, tortuous dance.