Harmony came to his other side and slid her arm through his. “It will be okay,” she said, no fear in her expression.
Zach looked at her gratefully and nodded.
They made their way out of the station in silence. Outside, the air was thick with eucalyptus and sea spray. The sky had gone gray, which felt right. It was the sort of sky that promised a storm. The island needed one. It needed to be washed clean again.
Zach stopped and leaned against a rail, fighting the urge to throw up again.
“You two had that romantic date the other night, didn’t you?” Cass asked.
“Yes,” Zach admitted.
“It seems someone wanted you to find her,” Harmony said.
“Why do you think that?” he asked.
“Because they had to know you’d be working there in the morning,” Harmony said.
“And the killer obviously likes to play games,” Mary added.
“I don’t see why they’d want me to find her, or frame me,” Zach said.
“Because we don’t know who the killer is,” Mary said. “When we find that out, then we’ll know a lot more.”
“Ifwe find the killer,” Harmony said. “They seem to be outsmarting all of us.”
“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” Zach admitted.
“Well, we know the Chimes Tower couldn’t have been random,” Cass said. “You’ve been working there for a month.”
Mary’s expression was unreadable. “Whoever did this wants the people on the island scared. They want to break us.”
Zach rubbed his face as he shook his head. “Then they’re getting what they want.”
From up high on the hill, the echo of the bells stirred again just once, hollow and heavy, like a warning. The women all turned and looked toward the tower. Heidi was no longer hanging there.
Zach didn’t look. He didn’t think he ever would again.
Someone listened to the bell fade and smiled at how well it gathered people. A perfect place to teach the island fear.
Who was it?
What was still to come?
Chapter Sixteen
The Shape of Hunger
I was born in the wrong time.
The world has traded appetite for performance. Want for rules. Hunger for permission slips.
I miss urgency. The kind that turns a hallway into a confession. A hand on a wrist, a mouth on a throat, the body’s honest answer before the mind can lie about it.
I know what you’re thinking. I must be a deviant. I must want control.
You’re wrong.
I want consent to feel like surrender.
