Harmony sat at her window, notebook open, pen balanced in her fingers, the ink bleeding in the heavy summer air. Below, the town moved more slowly than usual. The tourists stayed near the main drag. Locals walked in pairs, voices low, eyes darting. It wasn’t just the weather making them uneasy. It was what they didn’t say. It was the stories twisting their tongues.
Outside, the world blurred—silhouettes of boats rocking in the harbor, pale lights fading in the mist. The island looked softer, but she knew better. Avalon only softened when it was hiding something.
Sometimes, as her pen moved, Harmony had the unnerving sense that someone else was reading over her shoulder. Not in the room, not literally, but out there. As if the island itself were skimming every sentence and deciding what to do with it.
Her journal had become less like notes and more like confessionals. Lies written so cleanly, they passed for truth. She wasn’t writing whatwasreal anymore—only what peoplebelieved. That was the real story, anyway. The one people built to protect themselves. Each truth twisted to see how it would fit differently in another mouth.
Candy fell again last night. Tosh said it was clumsiness. Torie said it was proof. Mary said it was karma. Zach said nothing . . . which told her everything.
Harmony left her place, and it didn’t take long to reach The Lobster Trap. Candy sat at the bar, sunglasses hiding the evidence. Her lips were swollen, her wrist wrapped in a thin scarf that wasn’t for fashion. Tosh sat two stools away, pretending to check his phone, pretending she didn’t matter.
At a table near the wall, Deputy Ciscel sat alone with a bowl of chowder growing cold, his spoon untouched. He wasn’t watching the game on the mounted TV like everyone else. His gaze drifted between Candy, Tosh, and Harmony as if he were quietly mapping the distance between all three.
Harmony slid onto the seat between Tosh and Candy, her voice soft. “Rough night?”
If you weren’t watching, you might’ve missed the flinch Candy couldn’t completely hide. “Nope, just clumsy,” she lied.
Tosh didn’t look up. “She’s always falling,” he said, voice edged with sarcasm.
“Gravity’s a jealous mistress,” Candy murmured, trying to laugh. The sound broke mid-way.
Harmony slowly stirred her coffee. “You two should stay away from cliffs. You look like evidence.”
Candy’s laugh cracked again. “Guess which one I am.”
“Depends,” Harmony said. “Before the bruises or after?”
Candy flinched and gave another fake laugh. “I told you I fell.”
Tosh’s voice came low and flat. “Nothing unusual for her.”
Harmony turned toward him. “Maybe she’s tired of being caught.”
Tosh finally met her gaze. There it was—the flash of irritation, the spark that said he’d been drinking too long and lying too often. Harmony watched his face closely. Something was going on, but she didn’t know what. She didn’t think Tosh was the one putting marks on Candy . . . and yet, if not him, then who? And why didn’t Tosh care? Why didn’t any of them?
Candy sighed, picking at the rim of her glass. “Do you think everyone’s lying all the time?”
Harmony waited a heartbeat. “Not everyone. Just the people who insist they aren’t.”
Tosh scoffed. “You sound like my therapist.”
“You don’t have one,” Candy said.
“Exactly,” Tosh said.
Harmony smiled into her drink. “That explains so much.”
The silence that followed wasn’t comfortable. The only sound was rain against windows, steady as breathing. When Harmony finally stood, Candy whispered, almost too softly to hear. “If I told you something . . . would you believe me?”
For a heartbeat, unguarded honesty flashed in Candy’s eyes. It was gone just as quickly, buried under performance. Whatever she’d been about to say was dangerous enough that even she didn’t dare give it language.
Harmony tilted her head. “Depends on whether you tell me the truth or the story.”
Candy’s lips parted, but she stopped herself. “Maybe it’s the same thing.”
“Not on this island,” Harmony said.
Candy went quiet. The moment closed. Harmony walked away.
