Chapter 920
In the clearing, light spilled across the moss in golden puddles. The scent of jasmine and some heady purple flower Grace had named weeks ago filled the air. They didn’t speak as they sat on the moss. Their hands moved without thought, finding buttons, sliding cloth. Grace leaned over him, eyes glowing with something slow and feral, and Jude let her move as she pleased, his breath catching as her mouth brushed his collarbone.
There was no rush between them. Every movement was familiar and reverent. She knew his sighs; he knew her pauses. He rolled with her, their bodies fitting as they always had, and for a while the island vanished, the watchers vanished, the silence itself melted away.
They lay together after, tangled and breathless, sun-warm and sweat-slick. Grace rested her head on his chest, her fingers tracing small, absent circles against his ribs.
He whispered, "We should do this more often. Just us."
She hummed a response. "It’s hard. But we can. We have to want it."
"I do," he said, and turned to kiss her again, slow and grateful.
When they returned to camp, the afternoon sun was already slipping toward orange. Laurel ran to them, face sticky with fruit juice, eyes wide.
"Aunt Stella found something!" she cried, tugging at Jude’s hand.
He exchanged a glance with Grace and followed quickly, child bouncing ahead. Stella stood near the edge of the orchard, crouched beside something in the earth. Around her, Zoey and Amelia were arranging small stones.
"It was under the soil," Stella said, standing as Jude approached. "A ring of stones, perfect circle. And this in the middle."
She held out a smooth, palm-sized stone etched with a symbol that none of them recognized. But the moment Jude touched it, a ripple ran up his spine, a subtle pressure, like someone whispering a word too softly to hear but too powerfully to ignore.