Chapter 3

Hands grabbed me from every direction. Two guys hauled me back while a girl helped Callum up.

"Are you insane? You just kicked him!"

"Brynn stayed up all night making those for us. Her hands were raw. And you come back covered in blood trying to blame HER?"

"You want to get yourself killed out there, fine. But don't drag Brynn through the mud because you can't handle being alone."

"Callum only said two words of truth and you lost it. That's guilt if I've ever seen it."

It didn't matter what I said. My arm was hanging open and the proof was smeared all over my bag, and not a single one of them wanted to see it.

These people were never going to believe me. Not in this life. Not in the last one.

The sky had gone dark green. Wind snapped the palm trees sideways. The forecast said eighteen hours. It lied.

I grabbed my bag and turned for the tree line.

A hand clamped down on the back of my collar and yanked me off my feet.

Callum. Six-four. Two-twenty. Former offensive lineman. I was five-five, a hundred and fifteen pounds soaking wet. I might as well have been fighting a concrete wall.

"You think you can kick me and just walk?" He spun me around. "You're not going anywhere until you make this right."

He reached into the open toolbox by the cabin steps and pulled out a piece of rebar. Rusted. Still crusted with concrete chips. He pointed it at me.

"Apologize. Now. Or I'll make sure this lands somewhere you remember for a long time."

I looked past him. Brynn stood three steps behind, arms folded, watching. Not a word. Not a flinch. Just waiting.

"I haven't done anything wrong. I have nothing to apologize for."

His face went dark. He stepped closer. "Wrong answer."

Rain started. Heavy, warm, relentless. The sand under my feet was turning to mud. The sky was getting blacker by the second.

I needed to leave. Every second I stayed here was a second closer to the storm surge.

I swallowed everything — the rage, the injustice, all of it — and looked at Brynn.

"...Sorry."

Brynn tilted her head. That almost-smile. "Hmm. That didn't really sound like you meant it. Maybe the rain was too loud." She paused. "You know what — never mind. I should be the one apologizing. I clearly upset you."

Callum's grip tightened on the rebar. "She said on your knees."

She didn't say that. She said the opposite. But that's how she works — puts the idea in the air and lets him swing.

"On your knees," he said. "Face in the sand. Say it like you mean it. Or I'll put you there myself."

Rain hammered down. The sand had turned to cold gray slop. Saltwater crept up from the shoreline, already past my ankles.

I knelt.

The mud soaked through my shorts instantly. Cold — the kind that locks your muscles. Rain hit my back like gravel. Saltwater pooled around my knees, rising. I could taste salt and dirt and blood from where I'd bitten my own lip.

Brynn stood behind Callum, dry under the cabin overhang. Watching me with that same tilted head. That same almost-smile.

"I'm sorry, Brynn. I was wrong. Please forgive me."

Every word like swallowing glass.

A crack split the air. Somewhere behind the trees, a roof ripped loose. Then a deeper sound — the ocean, rising, coming in.

My heart rate tripled.

Callum let go of my collar. Smirked. "Next time won't be this easy, Elowen. Remember that."

I grabbed my bag and ran.

Into the rain. Into the mangroves. Branches whipping my face, mud sucking at my shoes. My shredded arm screamed with every step. I didn't stop. I didn't look back. Not yet.

I made it to the ridge. Lungs burning, arm numb.

I looked back.

The ocean had become a wall — black, fast, swallowing everything. The first row of cabins disappeared like they were made of paper.

Seventeen people were still down there.