Next to her, Asher watches with that ever-present amusement, one hand draped lazily over the back of his chair, the other wrapped around a tumbler of something dark. He doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t have to—this is his show. His island. His game.
But I wonder if it’s all just for show. If somewhere beneath that tailored charm and half-smile, he’s thinking about Maya. If he feels that hollow ache in his chest the way she does when she talks about him and tries to act like it doesn’t matter.
Is he sitting there, pretending to be untouched by it all, while she’s in her room, choosing not to come out at all?
And if he is—God, what a coward.
And if he isn’t—what a shame.
“We’re thrilled to have you all here for what promises to be an unforgettable week,” Shelby begins, her voice carrying authority that draws attention from everyone in the room.
As she speaks, I catalogue everything. The atmosphere, the ambiance, the careful compilation of exclusivity. This is all part of the game. A test wrapped in five-star hospitality.
And Asher is watching.
“Each day,” Shelby continues, “you’ll take part in challenges designed to immerse you in the experience of White Thorn. Some will be with your own teams. Others won’t.”
Murmurs roll down the table.
“We believe in collaboration,” she adds, her smile practiced, professional. “But true innovation happens when you step outside your comfort zone. We want to watch how you adapt, how you thrive, even when paired with unexpected variables.”
Translation: They want to see who caves under pressure.
“At the end of the week, you’ll pitch your vision for White Thorn. But you’re not just here as competitors, you’re here as guests. Let this island inspire you.”
She lets that settle before flashing a grin. “May the best team win. The rest of you? Well, at least you got a free vacation.”
Laughter ripples through the group. I take another drink, letting the ice clink against the glass as I flick a glance down the table, right as Nolan does the same.
Our eyes meet. It does something to me.
The candlelight catches in his whiskey-brown gaze, something shifts there before he lifts his glass in a silent toast.
I should look away first. I should break whatever the hell this is before it gets any worse. But I don’t. Of course I don’t.
Not until Shelby’s voice cuts back through.
“Tomorrow’s challenge starts at ten a.m. sharp on the beach,” she announces. “Wear something you don’t mind getting dirty.”
Jeremy straightens. “Ooh, I love dirty.”
Shelby’s grin lifts higher. “We’ll be having ourselves a good old-fashioned sand castle building contest.”
The table buzzes with energy.
Tomorrow, the real competition begins.
CHAPTER 40
THE COMPASS AND THE COLLAPSE
RORIE
The water hugsmy body beneath the glittering canopy of stars as I float in the center of the plunge pool. With my arms outstretched, head tilted back, my ears half-submerged in silence, I reflect on everything Laurel said to me.
North and Anchor.
I trace the phrase in my mind like a fingertip over worn embroidery—familiar, comforting, frayed at the edges. I used to think I knew what it meant. Find your purpose. Dig in. Don’t let anything shake it loose.
