Emma’s smile was small but genuine. “I’ll hold you to it.”
“Time to go inside.”
Zach forced himself to follow her inside, to pull up the feed on his laptop, to do his job. But part of his awareness stayed with Emma, now sitting on the couch, eyes staring out the window.
An hour passed. Then another. He reviewed every frame of footage, cross-referenced the timing with staff schedules, and built a timeline of the unknown man’s movements. The emerging pattern was disturbing—the hostile accessed areas that he shouldn’t have known about, moved during precise gaps in guard rotations, demonstrating knowledge of their security setup that suggested inside information.
Either someone was feeding him intel, or he’d been on the island longer than they’d realized, studying them.
Neither option was good.
When Zach finally sat back from his laptop, his neck stiff from sustained focus, the utter quiet of the cottage sank in. He glanced at his watch: 0230. Later than he thought.
He stood, running through a full stretch routine to release the tension in his muscles, then moved over to the seating area.
Emma had fallen asleep on the couch.
She lay curled on her side, one hand tucked under her cheek, her breathing deep and rhythmic. At some point she had changed into a tank top and shorts. The empty rum punch glass sat on the coffee table beside her, catching faint starlight from the window.
Something in Zach’s chest constricted at the sight.
She looked peaceful. Unguarded in a way she never was when awake—no walls, no careful professional distance, no pressure of responsibility. Just Emma, sleeping with complete trust in a space where she knew danger was circling.
Trust in him. In his ability to keep her safe.
The weight of it settled over Zach like armor. Heavier than any tactical vest, more significant than any weapon he’d ever carried.
He moved to the linen closet and pulled out the soft throw blanket kept there. When he returned, she’d shifted, a small frown creasing her forehead as if she were problem-solving even in sleep.
He spread the blanket over her, tucking it around her shoulders before picking her up and carrying her to her bed. He laid her down gently, and she curled up without waking, the small frown still there. His hand lingered, wanting to smooth it away, but he stopped himself. That would cross a line he wasn’t sure he had permission to cross.
Instead, he stood there for a long moment watching her sleep. This woman who’d somehow become more than a protective detail. Who somehow made him talk about thingshe had never discussed, feel things he had taught himself to suppress, and want things that went against every tactical and strategic principle he had built his life around.
She was a complication. A vulnerability. Everything he had trained to avoid. She was also the first person in years who made him want to be more than a Guardian.
She was a liability… but he was acting like she wasn't.
Chapter 30
Futile Stillness
The cliffs shouldn’t besilent.
Emma stood above Solombra Cave, the ocean spread before her like hammered pewter—too still, too flat, not a ripple in sight—as if the water had forgotten how to breathe. The sky pressed down in shades of charcoal and ash, darker than evening should be, darker than any storm she’d ever witnessed. No stars. No moon. Only a suffocating gray pressing against the horizon.
Wind moved across her skin, but wrong. It came in patterns that made no sense—circling her ankles, rushing past her left shoulder, then nothing before a blast from behind that lifted her hair. Each gust felt deliberate, like invisible hands testing her balance.
She tried to look down at the cave entrance below, but the rock face stretched impossibly far, the distance warping each time she blinked. The usual crash of waves on rock was absent. Just silence. Heavy and waiting.
She was no longer alone.
A figure now stood where no one had been a moment before. A woman, draped in red silk that moved independently of the erratic wind. A veil covered her from head to waist; the fabric sovivid it blazed against the muted landscape—the only true color in this dreamscape of grays and shadows.
Emma’s heart kicked once, hard. She wanted to call out, to ask who the woman was, but her voice caught in her throat.
The woman didn’t walk. She simply appeared closer.
Blink. Ten feet away.
