Page 36 of Knot the Last Chapter

I wish I had my old laptop with me, but no luck, of course. Which was just as well—I doubt it would have survived the rather wet boat ride. A longing glance at the adorable antique desk in the corner of the room reveals a gorgeous embossed leather notebook and gilded pen. On it, a quick note on a sticky note:In case the words flow. Corwyn.

A smile flutters on my lips at his thoughtfulness. I’ll have to think him in the morning, but now, I can’t wait to dive into the story, cozy in here while the storm rages outside. I open book, run a finger over the quality paper, and draw a line with the pen. It’s smooth and perfect, and I take a deep, satisfied breath.

Why had I ever given this up?Because I couldn’t take one back review, apparently. Well, no time like the present!I hunch overthe little antique writing desk, warm in Rhys’s borrowed hoodie, legs tucked beneath me. Outside, the trees rustle from the rain.

After what feels like an eternity, my pen hovers over the notebook, and I’m considering putting a warning label on the paragraph I just wrote.

The killer’s footsteps were silent in the dark corridor, but Evie felt him. Like a sixth sense, like a memory of heat. He was the reason she had run from the city. The reason she built her walls. And now here he was, as real and imposing as she remembered… and far too close for comfort.

I read it back and exhale.

Well.

That’s notnothow I feel about Tyler.

I keep writing, letting the tension of the day bleed into my fictional world. My heroine, Evie, has never been this sharp, this alive. My villain has never been so layered. Everything’s starting to click, and I know exactly why: Because for the first time in a long time, I’m feeling something real that’s not just stress or crushing defeat.

I feel anger, confusion, attraction, hope, all twisted together like a literary pretzel.

And yes, it’s uncomfortable. But it’s honest.

I stretch, shake out my fingers, and glance over at Misty. She’s sprawled across the edge of the bed now, one paw covering her eyes like she can’t deal with my emotional mess.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I whisper. “You’re the one who picked me. This is what you signed up for.”

She yawns.

“I mean, you saw what he looked like, right? All dripping wet and silent and—ugh. Of course it had to be him.” I pull my knees up and rest my chin there. “Not that he recognized me. Which is… good. It’s fine. I’d rather not bring up the whole 'crushed-my-dreams-at-fifteen' thing.”

Misty makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like judgment.

I narrow my eyes at her. “Traitor.”

With an expansive sigh, I turn back to my writing. A few more sentences spill out of me, the plot finally starting to take real shape. Murder, betrayal, old secrets, stormy island mansions—somehow it all feels less ridiculous now that I’ve actually lived part of it.

I reach for my phone, stashed by Rhys in a container of rice on my desk. It’s been a few hours, so hopefully it’s less drenched. I’m relieved when it turns on. I could really use a little dopamine boost.

Maybe a text from Pine. Maybe something snarky and sweet and just on the edge of flirtatious. But the screen lights up with nothing but the “No Service” icon.

Right.

No reception.

My heart dips a little, and I hate that it does. I tuck the phone against my chest and let out a long, slow breath.

“I miss him,” I murmur.

It’s dumb. I know it is. I’ve never even met him.

But Pine… Pine feels safe. Pine feels like possibility. Like something that could grow into something good. Even if it’s just a spark in the dark.

“I’d tell him all this, you know,” I say to Misty, who flicks her tail in vague approval. “That I’m on a literal mystery island with alphas who look like they walked off a romance cover, that I haven’t melted down even once. That I’m writing again.” I smile faintly. “He’d tell me that’s badass.”

She yawns again.

“I should text Mom and Jake,” I add. “Let them know I didn’t die in a boating accident. They’re going to freak if I don’t check in soon.”

My smile fades a little. I miss the familiar rhythm of my mother’s kitchen, the way Jake makes dumb jokes when things get too serious. I miss knowing who I am, or at least pretending I know. Being with them helped a bit, because they’ve seen me at my best and my worst, so I can just be me.

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