Smooth, Kaia. Very articulate.
Darian sets down his upside-down map. “I’ve never actually been to a beach.”
Finn chokes. “Never?”
“The Light Faction wasn’t known for leisure activities.”
“That’s genuinely tragic. That’s the saddest thing I’ve heard today, and Kieran admitted he hasn’t kissed anyone in centuries.”
“I kissed Kaia three days ago.”
“At a beach?”
“We’ve discussed this.”
“Then it doesn’t count!”
I snort. Can’t help it.
Aspen, ever practical: “I can build seating. Chairs. Some kind of shade structure.”
“I’m bringing alcohol,” Finn announces. “Non-negotiable.”
“Where are you getting alcohol?” Malrik asks.
“I’ll figure it out. I’m resourceful.”
“You’re a disaster.”
“A resourceful disaster. There’s a difference.”
Mouse winds between my ankles. Walter pulses warm overhead.
I look at them. These idiots. My idiots.
“The beach,” I say. Certain. “Let’s go.”
We’re gathering supplies — what little there is — when the air changes.
Something warm at my back. A glow I can feel before I see.
I turn.
The blank hall.
The one that’s been nothing but stone and wood since we got here.
It’s lighting up.
Golden threads weaving across the surface. Images forming. Moving.
“Kieran.” My voice comes out weird. “What the hell is—”
He’s beside me. His hand finds mine before I can pull away.
“Let’s go see,” he says quietly. “Whatever it is, it’s for those who come after.”
We all file in as the images keep forming.
