Cass stepped inside and looked down at the open pages. Names. Arrows. Bits of dialogue. Observations that read like verdicts. “This is the first time I’ve seen you have such a difficult time putting a story together. Why?”
“Because I don’t understand how the story ends yet.”
“You understand more than you want to admit,” Cass said softly. “You just like it too much to let it end.”
Harmony didn’t deny it. “Did you see Janie?”
“Couldn’t miss when she sat on Zach like he was furniture and kissed him like she wanted Torie to burst into flames.” Cass shuddered. “And I noticed he didn’t react.”
“Not reactingisa reaction,” Harmony said.
“And Lorenzo?” Cass asked. “I can’t tell if he’s helping or if he’s the match.”
“Both,” Harmony said, and wrote it down.
Cass sat on the edge of the bed, watching the pencil move. “This place is changing.”
“This place changes everything and everyone,” Harmony said. “I’m just . . . taking notes.”
“You scare me sometimes.”
Harmony closed the journal, not defensive, not ashamed. “We all need a little fear. It’s what keeps us alive.”
“It’s a good thing you love me, and I love you,” Cass said with a laugh.
Harmony laughed too, softer. “Go to bed. Tomorrow’s a new adventure.”
“You first,” Cass said, kissing Harmony’s cheek before leaving.
When Harmony was alone, the noise of the day thinned, and the island slipped into its softer, nighttime version of itself. Emptiness pressed in. Loss stacked on loss—her marriage, her friend, now Lisa. Too many ghosts for one person.
She leaned her forehead against the cool glass and studied her warped reflection in the dark window. On the mainland, she’d felt like she was disappearing. In Avalon, she was terrified of being seen too clearly.
She turned away, blew out the candle, and then lay in the dark, listening. Somewhere, far off, a door shut. A laugh cut short. Lives shifted.
***
Not far away, Tosh stood at his window, watching the tide drag silver across the sand. He hadn’t turned on a single light. The dark suited him; it hid the parts of himself he didn’t care to examine.
Candy stepped through the doorway, barefoot, her dress clinging to her skin. She paused like someone entering a sanctuary—or a cage.
“She’s gone,” she whispered. “Torie left.”
“Yep,” Tosh said, unmoved.
“I don’t want you to get lonely.”
He studied her for a long moment—long enough that she almost stepped back. “Do you think I need saving?”
“I think you need control,” she said quietly. “And I need . . . to feel something that doesn’t hurt.”
Something in him shifted. A decision.
Tosh reached out and took her wrist—not rough, not gentle, just claiming. Candy exhaled shakily, like she’d been waiting for that exact touch.
“Tell me what you want,” he demanded.
She looked over her shoulder, mouth soft. “To stop feeling like a toy I have to wind myself to feel alive.”
