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Chapter 13

Everett

Kara’s text lights my phone at 5:42 a.m.

She’s gone.

I’m already awake, staring at the ceiling like it might give me answers. The next bubble pops up before dread finishes forming.

Note on the counter. Says she’s going back to her old life.

Gone? What the fuck? She said she needed space—why didn’t I question it more?

The answer is immediate: because I was too wrapped up in anger and frustration over my parents’ manipulation.

I suddenly recall her bright smile—too bright—when I interrupted her in my father’s office.

Your father was telling me about the lake and his plans.

And suddenly, I know. My chest hollows out. He did something. Said something to upset her, to make her doubt us, our relationship. He sent her running. But why would he be talking to Ariel about the lake?

I’m on my feet before my brain catches up, shoving my legs into jeans, grabbing keys, wallet, and phone.

Another message from Kara: Where are you?

On my way, I type, already halfway out the door.

The sky promises a storm to match the one churning inside me. My car unlocks with a chirp that sounds too cheerful for what’s in my chest.

By the time I hit Fable Forest Boulevard, the first sheet of rain slams down, a curtain that drops and doesn’t rise. Thunder walks the rooftops. The wipers can’t keep up.

When I pull into Kara’s apartment lot, she’s waiting under the awning in a sweatshirt and yesterday’s eyeliner, hair in a knot, clutching a folded square of paper like it’s a fragile bone.

“She left before I woke up,” Kara says, breath fogging in the damp as she hands me the note.

Thank you. You were kind when you didn’t have to be. I’m sorry for the trouble. Please take care of him. — A.

“Take care of him,” I echo, and the words land like a stone in my stomach.

Kara tucks her hands into her sleeves, eyes glossy but steady. “Find her, Ev. She loves you.”

I don’t say I know, I love her too. I say, “I know where she’s gone.”

The rain is a wall of water when I reach the marina. The lake thrashes under the storm. The wind pushes hard, like it wants me to go home.

I jog the length of my dock, calling her name. “Ariel! Ariel, please!”

No answer. Masts creak. Halyards snap. I get to my slip and stop.

Oyster shells glisten on the soaked planks. Nestled among them are pearls. One black. Two champagne. One silver as a raindrop. Suddenly, I know—Ariel is the one who gifted me the oysters with their pearls each time I took the boat out. They’re significant somehow. But why?

I scan the lake, the shoreline, frantically searching for her. Then I see her. She’s waist-deep in the black water, arms open like she’s trying to talk to it, beg it to listen.

“Ariel!” My voice battles the wind.

She doesn’t turn.

For one heartbeat, lightning throws her into relief—pale skin, hair dark with rain, eyes fixed somewhere far away, beyond this world.