The earth still didn’t answer.
The world tilted, not visually, but perceptually, as if something fundamental had slid out of alignment. Colors wavered at the edges of his vision. The crash of the waves warped, arriving half a beat too late, too mechanical to be natural.
North held his ground anyway.
This feeling wasn’t new to him, not in essence. It lived in his bones, in the old, quiet knowledge that came from standing on open land where sky and earth met without boundary. He had been taught that endurance wasn’t movement or conquest. It was presence. Weight. Remaining when everything else gave way.
You were built to hold. The thought grounded him as his footing faltered.
Twisting around, North scanned the area behind him. Nothing. Just the stretch of empty beach leading to the coastal vegetation. But then he caught it, a faint, odd shimmer in the air, like heat haze on a summer road, except there was no heat source to create it.
The pressure rolled over his shoulders, down his spine, around his legs, expanding outward across the beach. North felt it move through the space his friends occupied, through the sand itself, and onward until it reached the ocean where it disrupted the surface in a way that didn’t match the rhythm of the swell.
He looked down and the silhouette beneath him was wrong. His balance lurched as if his body had more contact with the ground than it should. The weight pressed through him, vast and unfamiliar, heavy enough to feel measured in tons instead of pounds.
North looked out to where Fly was dropping into the barrel, and something about Fly’s stance was hesitant, hitting North wrong.
The pressure ebbed another fraction, just enough that North could straighten without losing balance. Then, as quickly as it had arrived, it receded as if it had never been there at all.
North stood there, heart pounding, eyes fixed on the horizon where Fly was riding the broken foam of his wave back toward shore. His friends were laughing and pointing, loose and unguarded, completely unaware of what had just passed through him.
That was the part that unsettled him most.
North had grown up knowing the world wasn’t limited to what could be seen. He’d been raised with stories of forces that moved alongside the visible, shaping things quietly, patiently. He knew better than to dismiss what didn’t announce itself.
But this wasn’t familiar.
It didn’t carry the weight of something inherited or the clarity of something meant to guide. It felt newer somehow, and older at the same time. Purposeful, but without a direction he could recognize.
The sand beneath his boots was solid, the sound of the surf steady, the weight of his body in space ordinary. Whatever had touched him was gone for now. Would it return?
He shifted, waiting for his truth to resolve.
It didn’t.
A headache bloomed behind his eyes, dull and disorienting.
39
Blair’s cabin, Outskirts of Kamloops, British Columbia
A genuine, unguarded smile touched Blair’s lips as the bathroom door clicked shut, the sound sealing her in a bubble of quiet intimacy. The air still hummed with the warmth of his presence, the scent of steam and soap a comforting embrace. For a few precious moments, the world was just sublime. Her, the soft sheets, and the man in her shower.
Then, the peace was shattered.
A frantic, heavy pounding rattled the front door, the sound violent and jarring in the early morning stillness. More of an assault than a knock. Her smile vanished, replaced by a jolt of pure adrenaline. She threw back the covers, the cool air a shock against her skin. Pulling on Break’s T-shirt, she hurried to the front hall, her heart thudding a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
Through the frosted glass, the familiar, rigid silhouette of her boss stood on her porch. She glanced at the clock on the wall, a knot of dread tightening in her stomach. She wasn't due on shift for another two hours. This wasn't a work call. This had to be personal. With a sinking feeling, she unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open.
He didn't wait for an invitation. He pushed past her, invading the small space of her foyer, his face a thundercloud of fury. "What the fuck have you been trying to do?" he snarled, the words laced with accusation.
Blair lifted her chin, a familiar, weary defiance settling over her. "Well, good morning to you, too, Matthew," she said, her voice deceptively calm. "Maybe if you used your words and articulated why you’re barking at me so early in the morning, I would know how to respond."
"Don't play coy with me," he bit out, his eyes narrowed. "I don't like getting calls from the chief superintendent telling me that I’ve been negligent in promoting you."
She stood there, completely blindsided for a full minute. "He called me," she finally managed, her voice laced with confusion, "in response to your whining. I didn’t say anything to him. I followed protocol."
"Well, now you're on his radar, and he’s pissed that you haven’t been given your due," Darrow shot back, his tone implying this was somehow her fault.
