Later.
Right now, his vision blurred at the edges. The world felt half a beat out of sync, like he was still threaded into the building.
He steadied himself against the wall. That generator stunt had cost him. More than he wanted to admit. He couldn’t reach for the network now even if he tried. Not without ending up in a hospital.
By the time he reached the lobby, he’d composed his expression into something close to normal. He slid into the empty chair at the end station and called out, “Next.”
His voice held. His hands? Mostly steady. Resort life wasn’t his usual circuit board, but he could still function. For now. At least until he could retreat somewhere dark and quiet and let his brain stop buzzing.
Or until Lena looked at him again as she had earlier.
And if she did?
He wouldn’t need power for that kind of surge.
Chapter 3
Evening Tide
The wind rattledthe shutters as Lena let herself into her bungalow, clutching a half-empty clipboard and her ever-present resort-issued walkie-talkie. It smelled of citrus cleaner and sea salt—comforting, if sterile, but hers. All hers.
She glanced around as she kicked off her shoes at the door, letting her aching feet flatten against the cool tile with a grateful sigh. Her own cottage. That still amazed her, the way her new bosses gave her a promotion rather than firing her. Maybe, just maybe, she had found her place.
She tossed her clipboard onto the coffee table and exhaled like she’d been holding her breath since the power went out. It had been a long shift. The kind that left her shoulders knotted and her jaw sore from smiling through gritted teeth.
Minx meowed from her perch on the windowsill, ears laid back as she flicked her tail at the storm-darkened night, the stars and moon hidden behind the angry clouds roiling overhead like something out of a horror novel.
“Don’t give me that look,” Lena said, nudging her heels aside before walking barefoot across the room; the smoothness soothing her tired soles. “I didn’t see you sweet-talking irate guests by candlelight.”
She scratched behind Minx’s ears, enjoying her silky fur and the vibration of a reluctant purr, then paused when she noticed the twitch in her cat’s tail—that telltale flick that meant something had her attention.
“You heard it too, huh?” she whispered, peering out into the darkness.
Thunder boomed in the distance, closer now, making the windows shudder in their frames. Lena kissed Minx on the head, breathing in the comforting scent of her cat—sunshine and powder—before turning and lighting the large candle on the kitchen counter. The flame caught and steadied, casting dancing shadows across the walls. Just in case. “Don’t worry, Minxy, the storm will pass. They always do.”
She padded to the refrigerator, the hum a slight comfort in the flickering candlelight, and poured a glass of wine—cheap Pinot Grigio in an actual glass, thank you very much. Small victories.
She flopped on the sofa and flipped through the pages on her clipboard. Guest complaints, rescheduling notes, a reminder to reorder pool towels. Her eyes skimmed past it all and landed on the note she’d scribbled for herself:
Don’t let today make you forget who you are.
She’d written it during a bathroom break, locked in a stall after an irate guest had screamed at the front desk about the inconvenience of nature itself.
She leaned back into the plush pillows, glass cool in her hand, the wine crisp and tart on her tongue, and closed her eyes. The cushion gave as Minx jumped up next to her, settling against her thigh with a contented rumble.
Once upon a time, she would’ve curled up and cried after a day like this. But not anymore. Not after Chester. Not after rebuilding from scratch. She was still standing. Still fighting. A stressful day at work didn’t compare to what she’d already survived.
She’d come a long way in a few weeks. When Chester fired her—no, when he’ddestroyedher—she’d thought she’d lost everything. And of course she had. He’d taken her job, her savings, her reputation. The bastard ensured everyone in their industry heard his version of events, painting her as incompetent, unstable, and a liability.
But thanks to Emma, the best friend in the world, she’d landed on her feet. Gotten a job at this fabulous resort. Then got a promotion to Interim Front Desk Manager. She intended to do everything necessary to ensure it was a permanent position. She needed it. She’d earned it. Shedeservedit.
She wandered to the small table by the window where her seashells sat in a little glass bowl. Each one collected on a walk after surviving a bad day. They were a promise, a private ritual. One shell for every time she hadn’t run away. Larger ones, the ones that didn’t fit in the bowl, marched along the windowsill like tiny soldiers standing guard.
If the storm weren't lingering, she’d be out on the beach now, searching for another.
She cocked her head and studied the large shells, running her fingertips over the ridges of a conch, feeling the smooth spiral inside. She should put them outside on the porch. They’d look great out there, lining the railing, catching the morning light.
A new one—a dusky pink scallop, delicate and perfectly intact—lay drying on a napkin. She’d picked it up this morning, before the sky went eerie, before the storm rolled in and twisted everything sideways.
