Page 165 of Without a Trace

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Something was off.

It wasn’t the sky—though the clouds looked darker than they had this morning. It wasn’t the waves crashing harder against the rocks near the far side of the island. It was a feeling. Under my skin. Low in my spine.

Like something was watching.

I stood at the edge of the patio outside my villa, eyes scanning the tree line.

“You good?” Kane’s voice pulled me back.

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“You’re lying,” he said, stepping beside me. “You do that when your voice goes all flat like that.”

I cracked a smile. Barely. “Something feels... wrong.”

Kane looked around. “Zeke’s doing another sweep. Said he saw something weird near the west edge. Probably just a bird.”

It wasn’t a bird.

My gut knew it.

“I’m gonna walk the perimeter,” I said.

Kane frowned. “Zeke won’t like that.”

“Zeke can deal.”

Kane watched me for a second, then nodded once. “Take your knife.”

I already had it.

***

The jungle was quieter than usual. No birdsong. No wind. Just heat and shadows.

I walked. Slow. Controlled.

Twigs cracked beneath me, louder than they should’ve been.

Then—movement.

I turned fast. Knife up.

Nothing.

Just trees.

But I wasn’t wrong.

Someone had been there.

Or still was.

I stayed still for a long minute. Listening. Feeling.

Nothing.

But the air crackled. Like the beginning of a storm. Like the breath before something shattered.

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