No response. But his breathing continued, and that was enough.
She stood, legs protesting everything she’d put them through. The cliff path beckoned—narrow, slick, deadly in the storm’s fury. Emma took one last glance at Zach, committing his image to memory: the way even unconscious he looked powerful, the strong lines of his face, the breadth of his shoulders. The man who made her feel safer than she’d ever felt, who gazed at her like she was the only thing in his carefully controlled world worth protecting.
The man she’d fallen in love with.
“I will come back to you,” she promised.
Then she turned and began to climb.
The rock was treacherous, slick with rain and spray from waves crashing somewhere below. Wind buffeted her from every direction, trying to peel her off the cliff face like a piece of loose paper. Emma pressed herself close to the ground, finding handholds by touch as much as sight.
One foot up. Test the hold. Weight shift. Other foot. Don’t look down. Don’t think about the fall. Don’t think about Zach alone and fading.
Just climb.
The Windstone pulsed in her pocket, its warmth spreading through her core. She focused on that sensation, using it as an anchor against the storm’s chaos. The stone wanted her up there, needed her to reach the top. She didn’t understand it—didn’t have time to ponder it—but she trusted it with the same absolute certainty Zach gave her when she treated his wound.
Rain lashed her face. Her fingers were going numb, making each grip harder than the last. The athletic build she worked hard to maintain was the only thing keeping her on the cliff, muscles burning as they fought rain and wind and exhaustion.
Higher. She had to go higher.
A vicious gust nearly tore her loose. Emma flattened against the rock, breathing hard, waiting for the wind to ease. When it did, she pushed on, climbing until her arms shook and her legs trembled.
Finally—finally—the path widened, opening onto a small plateau at the cliff top. She dragged herself over the edge and collapsed on flat ground, gasping. Every muscle screamed. Her hands were raw, scraped and bleeding from the climb.
But she made it.
She pushed to her knees, then her feet, pulling out her phone.Come on. Come on.She held it up, watching the screen.
Nothing.
Hold on, Zach.
She moved to the edge of the plateau, holding the phone higher. The storm raged around her, wind threatening to tear her off her feet. But she braced her legs, arm extended, and willed it to find a signal.
Still nothing.
No.Emma turned, searching the area within her limited visibility. There—a cluster of bushes that might hold what she needed.
She stumbled toward them, fighting the wind that kept pushing her back. She fell to her knees beside the first bush. Dark berries, gleaming wet. She plucked them frantically, cupping them in her palm. Not enough. She moved to the next bush, stripping it clean. Better. The leaves grew nearby—she recognized the serrated edges now—and she gathered those too, stuffing everything into her pockets.
Then back to the rise. Emma climbed it on shaking legs, every movement burning. At the top, she held up her phone again.
A bar appeared.
Dropped.
She wanted to scream, to hurl the useless device into the storm. Instead, she carefully pocketed it, her jaw clenched so tight her teeth ached. Panic beat against her ribs like something caged and desperate, but she refused to let it loose. Panic was a luxury she couldn’t afford. Not when Zach was?—
The storm screamed around her; a branch flew at her face. She ducked to avoid it.
Fell.
Chapter 38
Retreating Tide
Darkness.Pressure. Something distant and roaring.
