Village childcare—experienced
Cultural knowledge—extensive
Watchers???
Northern cliffs—wind
At the bottom, in handwriting less steady than usual:
The island remembers.
Emma closed the notebook, her fingers finding the coin through the fabric of her pocket. The spiral pressed into her palm, insistent. Unanswered.
Below, the waves kept their secrets.
Above, clouds gathered on the horizon, still distant but moving closer.
Chapter 18
Increased exposure
Zach ranthe whetstone along the blade's edge one last time, testing the sharpness with his thumb. Perfect. The Gerber StrongArm went back into its sheath with a satisfying click. He set it aside and reached for his Glock 19, ejecting the magazine with practiced efficiency.
Across the room, Emma watched him from the dining table, laptop open but ignored.
He’d detected her attention shift from the screen to him about ten minutes ago. She hadn’t typed a word since.
He checked the magazine spring tension, counted rounds out of habit—fifteen plus one—and slid it back home. The ritual settled something in his psyche. Weapons maintenance wasn’t only preparation. It was meditation.
“Do you really do that every night?”
Her voice cut through the silence.
Zach glanced up. “Yes.”
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. Not hostile. Just… curious. Fascinated. As if he were defusing a bomb rather than maintaining basic equipment.
He set the Glock on the table and moved to the window, scanning the perimeter. Moonlight silvered the beach. Wind blew through the palms in rhythmic waves. No shadows appeared where they shouldn’t be. No movement except natural patterns.
“You checked that window five minutes ago.”
He shifted to the next one. “I know.”
Emma closed her laptop. Deliberately. A movement that he somehow knew signaled a conversation he didn’t want to have.
“I can’t stay locked in this cottage another night.”
There it was.
Zach completed his survey before turning to face her. “You’re not locked in.”
She gestured at the windows he’d just checked. “You examine those every five minutes. You position yourself between me and the door. You’ve mapped every sightline from the tree line.” She stood, frustration bleeding into her posture. “I feel like I’m in prison.”
The words hit him harder than she likely intended.
