Page 71 of Make Out With A Merman

Not really.

He just leans down, kisses my forehead, and whispers, “Go back inside. I’ll bring breakfast.”

My stomach flutters for all the wrong reasons.

“Ryder…”

“Go.”

So I do.

But I don’t stop worrying.

Because I’ve seen him like this before.

And every time, it means he’s about to do somethingverynoble andverydumb.

Back at the cabin, I dig through my bag for the notes I made on the ward symbols Hazel etched into the amulet.

My gut’s been squirming all morning.

I want to believe we’re ahead of this thing. That the rift hasn’t already slithered past our last line of defense. That we have time.

But I know better.

The lake’s been quiet for almost twelve hours now.

And quiet means it’s building something.

Coiling tighter.

Pulling back.

Getting ready to strike.

I’m mid-scroll through my notebook when Ryder comes back with two paper-wrapped breakfast sandwiches and a camp thermos of questionable coffee.

He sets everything down and slides onto the bunk beside me.

I kiss his shoulder in thanks and hand him a pen.

“Write down everything you felt yesterday. When it pulsed. The timing. The pull. The direction.”

He arches a brow. “We’re doing this now?”

“Uh, yeah. The apocalypse doesn’t get weekends off.”

He smirks faintly, but does what I ask. Good man.

Still, his shoulders are tense.

His jaw keeps ticking.

And I know he’s thinking something he hasn’t said out loud yet.

So I say it for him.

“You’re planning something.”

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