Page 48 of Whatever Wakes
I glance back toward the cottage, where Kruz is still blissfully unaware of what’s happened.
For her sake, I hope it stays that way.
But I know better than to believe in luck.
The wind picks up again, howling like a living thing as it sweeps across the shore.
I turn back to the wreck, my mind racing.
I search the boat for anything that might offer a clue about who these people were or why they were here.
A wallet, a phone, a scrap of paper—anything.
My fingers tremble as I sift through the wreckage.
I find a small leather bag tucked under the seat. Inside, there’s a phone with a cracked screen and a handful of soggy bills. No IDs, no names.
Just more questions.
The phone might be useful, but it’s dead—waterlogged and unresponsive. Still, I slip it into my pocket, hoping I can salvage something from it later.
My gaze shifts to the bodies, and a wave of nausea washes over me. I need to report this. But to who? The Assembly’s reach extends far, and I can’t trust the local authorities to handle this without getting us caught in their web.
The thought of involving the Assembly is out of the question, even though any other time before now it would have been my first choice.
My jaw tightens as I make my decision, but first I need to go back to the cottage.
No matter how badly I don’t want to tell Kruz, there’s no way around it.
As I straighten, a flash of movement catches my eye. I whip around, heart pounding, but it’s just a gull, circling overhead.
Still, the tension doesn’t leave my body. I can’t shake the feeling that we’re being watched, that the island isn’t as isolated as it seems.
I take one last look at the wreck, the bodies slumped lifelessly inside, and turn back toward the cottage.
Kruz is still asleep when I step inside, her form curled up under the blanket.
For now, she’s safe.
But I know it’s only a matter of time before the storm we’ve been hiding from finds us again.
15
I CAN READ HIM IN EVERY SCENARIO
KRUZ
I’m still tangledin the fog of sleep when the door creaks open, the sound soft but insistent, just enough to prod at the edges of my awareness. The hinges groan like they’re protesting the intrusion, and I shift under the blanket, eyes fluttering open in the dim light.
Ezra steps inside, quiet but tense, and even half-dreaming, I can feel the weight he’s dragging in behind him. The air changes, colder, damp, as if the remnants of the storm outside has slipped in alongside him.
He doesn’t speak. Just stands there for a moment, water dripping from his soaked jacket and pooling onto the worn floorboards. His jaw is tight, his movements careful, controlled in that way people get when they’re barely holding it together.
Unease curls through me, slow and prickling, growing heavier with each beat of silence between us.
“What’s going on?” I demand as he shrugs out of his jacket. It’s soaked, and his hair is plastered to his forehead, his jaw tight. He looks far too fucking sexy like this and I mentally berate myself for having thoughts like that at a time like this.
“Nothing you need to worry about.” His voice is clipped, but there’s a tremor in it—a crack that betrays his calm facade.
