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But…no. No, that’s—that’s impossible.

The memories crashed over him, dredging up things he didn’t even know were buried, deep below the surface of his mind. Pieces came back slowly, playing out like he was watching a movie of himself.

The Gray Gull. The first night he’d met Evie. The conversation they’d had, talking about his job, about Jake. But then he remembered, like a veil had been lifted. The golden haze that had washed over his vision was the same he’d just seen happen to Preston. How his words had spilled from his mouth, uncontrolled and distant.

Ethan's breath caught.

Another memory surfaced. The night at Pike Place Market, his first date with Evie.

She’d asked him something, something about work. Something about…the Willows company?

No. She’d asked him about Preston Willows, almost as if she was looking for a specific answer.

Ethan grabbed the sides of his head, his mind buzzing as the vibrations of Evie’s voice rushed back. The way it had pulsed with some melodic undertone. It was like she had reached into his brain and dug out the words.

No, No, No—this couldn’t be happening.

I’m losing it, he thought, his heart pounding in his chest as the room continued to spin. None of this makes sense. Who is that woman? What the fuck is Evie?

Ethan lurched back, slamming into the wall. A framed photo of Preston holding a huge Salmon clattered to the ground, glass shattering everywhere.

Ethan slumped down to the floor just as the door flung open, and Joyce rushed in, her eyes wide. “Oh my god, Ethan! What happened? Are you okay?”

Ethan barely looked back at Joyce, his gaze moving across the room and surveying the damage he’d caused.

“S-Sorry—” His voice was shaky. “I tripped. I’ll…I’ll clean it up.”

“Don’t worry about that. Are you hurt?”

“No,” he said, rubbing the lump forming on the back of his head. “No, I’m fine.” Except ‘fine’ was the last thing Ethan was.

Joyce helped him to his feet and studied his face with concern. “Ethan, what the hell is goin’ on with you?”

“I just—” He swallowed hard. “I think I need some air.”

She nodded and guided him out the door, to the main deck.

The yacht’s engine quieted, and Ethan realized they’d stopped moving. They must have docked at Preston’s house?

As they emerged back into the party, the night air hit him. Everyone was still drinking, and the party was continuing on without a hitch.

Ethan’s eyes quickly scanned the deck for Preston and the woman. Through the chaotic dancing and cheers of the guests, he finally spotted them.

Preston and the woman were at the gangway. One of the crew members was talking with Preston, who was gesturing impatiently. The woman stood beside him with a fire in her eye and a sharp, controlled smile.

Were they leaving? Ethan bit down on the inside of his cheek. They were definitely getting off the yacht and going to his house—alone. Just as the woman had said.

“Ethan?” Joyce said, following his gaze to Preston and the woman. “Is that the same girl you was droolin’ over from earlier?”

“Yes. I mean, no. I—I don’t know who she is…” And he didn’t, but with each step they took, he knew he needed to find out.

Joyce huffed. “Well, she’s way too pretty for him. Poor thing probably doesn’t know what she’s getting herself into.”

Ethan’s jaw tightened as he watched them descend the gangway, stepping off the yacht toward Preston’s huge mansion, his hand on her lower back.

Everything in Ethan screamed that something was wrong. There was something about that woman. The things he’d seen tonight—the things he’d remembered—they were all pointing toward something that he didn’t understand.

That woman had done something to Preston that Ethan couldn’t explain, something impossible. And the only thing he knew for certain was that he’d seen it before by only one other person.