Page 21 of Knot the Last Chapter

The place needed work anyway. Loose boards, cracked stone, some water damage in the back stairwell that’s been quietly rotting since Dad’s day. The kind of work I know how to do with my hands, without thinking too hard.

But thinking too hard isn’t the problem today.

The problem is my phone.

Or rather, the silence from it.

Lila hasn’t answered.

She mentioned this morning that she needed to run an errand. Something about her family cabin. She said it casually—probably didn’t even think twice about it.

But the second the storm started building, my gut started tightening. “Cabin” around here means a house, or a ramshackle cottage, or a mansion, while I’m at it, on an island.

And the lake can be treacherous, wide enough to easily get lost in, or get stranded on the wrong island. One wind shift, one bad current, and that’s it. And she’s not answering her phone. Of course, most islands don’t have service. We do, but just near the docks. And, when the Wi-Fi actually works, we can access it from the house. But storm fronts mess with that, so of course it’s down now.

Just my luck. I know there’s no service, and yet I keep swiping my phone open. No new messages. No delivered receipts. Just… empty.

I’m about to head to the boathouse to try my luck with maybe one tiny bar of cell reception when Corwyn strolls out onto the porch, leaning against the frame like he’s posing for a damn catalog shoot.

“Storm’s picking up.” His golden eyes flick up toward the sky, lazy but sharp. “You planning on coming inside, or are you just hoping to catch a lightning bolt for dramatic effect?”

“Working,” I mutter.

“You’re brooding,” he corrects, amused.

I don’t answer.

Corwyn crosses his arms and studies me, head tilted. “You’ve sanded that same patch of railing three times.”

I glance down. Shit. I have.

“You okay?” he asks, softer now.

Before I can answer, Rhys steps around the side of the house, brushing stray leaves from his jacket. “Storm’s going to hitharder than they said,” he calls out. “Gusts might take a few branches down.”

He pauses when he sees me still at work, frowning slightly. “You planning on calling it for the day, Ty?”

“Soon.”

Rhys eyes me, then exchanges a look with Corwyn that I pretend not to see.

Here we go.

Corwyn can’t help himself. “It’s a girl.”

Rhys arches a brow. “A girl?”

“Thegirl,” Corwyn clarifies, his grin sharpening.

I glare at him. “Drop it.”

But Corwyn is like a bloodhound when he catches a scent. “You’ve been pacing since noon. You check your phone every two minutes, or at least did before the Wi-Fi went down. Again. You’re sanding a railing that’s been sanded within an inch of its life. And you’ve taken the bait to exactly none of my jokes all day. It’s a girl.”

“She’s not—” I start, then stop. My throat tightens. “I don’t know what she is.”

Rhys leans on the porch post, voice gentler than Corwyn’s teasing. “Is she okay?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” My hand tightens around the railing. “She went out to open their family cabin. And now the storm’s coming in and she’s not answering.”

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