I heat a tin of soup and leave it covered on the stove. On the counter, I scribble a note on the back of one of her plant logs:
Didn’t water Arnold. He gave me attitude.
Soup’s ready.
Sleep and rest.
Text me if you need anything —F
I let myself out, soft as a breath.
The rain’s stopped, but the air still hums with it – heavy, briny, expectant. I walk slowly with no direction in mind, letting the sea breeze clear the fog from my head. I keep thinking about her. About the hoodie. The way her body shivered when I gave her my jacket. The way she flinched when I asked if she was sick.
I’m not interested in the game anymore. Not when she looks like she’s holding out for something she doesn’t even understand. And certainly not with her like this. Not when she’s fading before anyone else can see it.
I should call the bet off. Tell the guys I’m out. That it’s not right.
But I don’t.
Not yet.
Because something tells me this isn’t over.
I round the corner – and nearly run straight into Sol. He stops short, eyes narrowing instantly.
“You were at hers,” he says, voice low.
I nod. “She’s sick. I was helping out.”
His face twists. Not anger –something else.A flash of guilt, so fast it might’ve been imagined. But then it’s gone, masked under a scowl. He opens his mouth – then closes it again. Shakes his head once and stalks off without another word.
I watch him go, tension bristling off his back like static. That was weird. Even for him.
And I wonder – not for the first time – what the hell happened that night during the storm.
And why no one’s saying a word about it.
SEVENTEEN
LANI
For one whole day,I felt like myself again.
The sleep had been dreamless – deep and warm, wrapped in the weight of a blanket and the scent of something soft I couldn’t place. When I woke, the house was quiet and filled with the faint smell of soup. My body still ached, but not like before. The nausea had settled. My skin wasn’t burning from the inside out. I ate the soup Finn left me and drank two full mugs of water without gagging. Even my hands didn’t shake when I movedEthelback into her usual spot on the porch.
It didn’t last.
Now, two days later, I’m hunched over the sink in the grill’s kitchen, trying to keep my breathing steady while the kettle screams behind me. My vision swims every few seconds, and there’s a horrible tension coiled low in my belly, like my body’s gearing up for something and I’m the last to know what.
I twist the tap off and press my palms flat to the counter. My arms feel weak, shaky. Not enough sleep. Not enough food. The quiet kind of unwell. The kind that creeps back in after you think it’s gone. I didn’t think much of the first wave – thought I wasjust tired. Maybe something viral. But this…this is different. It’s in my bones. Deep and wrong.
The door swings open behind me.
Something in me tightens – sharp and immediate – before I even turn.
“You’re hiding.”
I straighten too fast and knock my hip against the cupboard.