“Turns out I’m still a good sailor.”
I shook my head.
“Of course you are.”
A thought struck me.
“You seen Finn?”
Lock’s expression darkened.
“No.”
My stomach dropped.
“You think he made it out here?”
Lock leaned back against the porch railing, staring toward the treeline. The easy humor from a moment ago had gone. His jaw tightened.
“I got here about two weeks ago,” he said slowly. “Place stood empty. No sign of him. No note. Nothing.”
The knot in my chest pulled tighter.
“But,” he continued, “I’ve got a pretty solid idea where he went.”
“Where?”
“Fiona.”
Finn and Fiona had always been tight. Closer than any of the rest of us. He’d practically raised her during the years our parents worked long hours—walked her to school, helped with homework, sat through every terrible school play she performed in without complaint. Protected her. Spoiled her. Treated her less like a little sister and more like his own kid.
“If something went bad,” Lock said, “Finn would go get her first. Before anything else. Before this island. Before himself.”
I nodded slowly.
“Yeah.”
It wasn’t that the rest of us didn’t love each other. We did. Fiercely, in the loud and messy way big families love. But Finn and Fiona had always existed on a different frequency. He’d die for any of us. But he’d burn the world down for her. Lock, myself, and Brenna were planned. Fiona and Finn were midlife accidents in the best way possible, as our mother putit.
By the time Fiona came around, I had already been a year into the military. I had been fifteen when Finn was born. Those two grew up in an almost separate family from the rest of us.
Lock crossed his arms.
“If he reached her,” he added, “they might still be out there somewhere, trying to get here.”
The cabin door creaked open behind us.
Sloane stepped back out onto the porch.
Lock glanced at me sideways.
“Your fairy’s back,” he muttered.
I rolled my eyes.
But I couldn’t stop the smile pulling at my mouth.
Thirty Five