Even Mary was smiling. She’d been doing that a lot more the past few days. Something—or someone—had shifted her, sanded down a few edges. She stood near the diner with a glass of something golden, talking with Efrain, who charmed everyone within earshot. He told her about Catalina’s hidden canyons, and she laughed—a sound like glass cracking just enough to let light in.
“Careful, Mary,” Cass teased as she skated past. “He might make you forget how to brood.”
“Doubtful,” Mary said, but her eyes sparkled.
Zach joined the skaters, gliding like he’d done it a hundred times. He moved beside Harmony and caught her arm before she face-planted. The wind tugged at her hair, and her wheels wobbled dangerously.
“You’re notterribleat this,” Zach said, laughing.
She shook her head as she concentrated. “Don’t you dare mock me or I’ll take you down with me,” she warned. “Besides, I saw you stumble a moment ago.”
“I was distracted.”
“By what?”
He smiled, confidence returning in flashes. “You.”
Harmony arched a brow and laughed. “Not very original.”
“It’s honest.” For a moment, she saw the man he’d been before secrets and suspicion—someone who used to laugh with his whole body.
Cass swooped between them, laughing. “Oh my goodness, you two look like an indie film poster.” She spun in a circle. “Kiss or crash. Pick one!”
Harmony shoved her. “Go fall somewhere so you can be rescued.”
Cass grinned and skated away, nearly colliding with Tosh. He caught her by the waist. Their momentum spun them in a messy circle, their laughter tangling together. When they stopped, his hands lingered a little too long.
“Kiss or crash!” Harmony shouted in a mocking voice. “It’s only fair.”
Cass shook her head, then leaned in and kissed Tosh’s cheek before pushing off and skating away, already hunting for her next victim.
The night thickened into something sweet and heady. The smell of grilled burgers mingled with perfume and sweat. A couple made out against the hangar wall, hands and mouths allover each other. Another person popped a bottle of champagne and sprayed the crowd. Music pulsed underfoot, and for a few wild minutes, everyone forgot to be afraid.
Candy joined the skaters, laughing and spinning, a blur of motion, guitar strapped tight. She bumped into Torie.
“Sorry,” Candy said, then looked up and froze. Torie smiled—the movement not reaching her eyes.
“Truce,” Torie said.
Candy’s eyes went wary, then hopeful. “Truce.”
They circled each other for a moment, awkward, like two people unsure how to pretend.
“Maybe the island’s finally tired of blood,” Harmony said.
“Or saving it up for later,” Cass replied.
A camera flashed. Harmony jumped. For a second, the whole scene looked frozen, like a frame in a film strip right before it burned.
“Time to work,” Candy said. She skated back to the stage, kicked off her skates, and grabbed her guitar. The crowd drifted toward the small stage, forming a loose circle. The band started up again. They did a few upbeat numbers, the airfield pulsing with applause.
Then the music shifted to something slower, dreamier. Candy stepped forward. Under the lights, she looked ethereal, holding her guitar as the wind toyed with her braid. She strummed a slow, aching chord that rolled over the hilltop like a sigh.
Her voice rose—soft, raw, and full of sorrow she hadn’t earned but somehow inherited.
We dance on borrowed time,
The night forgiving everything,
