Chapter 1258
The morning after the lake was quiet in a way none of them had ever known. The birdsong was delicate, not shrill. The breeze moved through the trees like a whisper instead of a warning. The sun filtered down in golden shafts that warmed their skin but didn’t scorch, as if the island itself had exhaled. Jude stood at the edge of the river where the current met a series of smooth stones, watching the water swirl lazily around his ankles. His shirt clung to his chest from the early dip he took, but he hadn’t wanted to dry off yet. He liked the way the cold clung to him, the reminder that they were still here, still real, and not trapped inside one of the island’s dream-hazes.
Behind him, the others stirred. Lucy and Emma were on their knees collecting berries from low bushes. Zoey and Sophie were barefoot and laughing, trying to catch fish with nothing but their hands and wild guesses. Susan sat with her feet in the water, arms wrapped around her knees, a ghost of peace finally returning to her face. Even Natalie had wandered down from the trees where she liked to perch early in the day, hands stained with fruit and smile shy on her lips. And Layla - Layla had her head in Rose’s lap, both of them sprawled on a blanket Jude had woven last season, as if nothing strange had ever passed between them. Rose’s fingers stroked Layla’s hair gently, absently, and she glanced toward Jude with a lazy smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
He stared a beat too long before Sophie called out to him, holding up a silver-scaled fish dripping in the air. "See? Who needs hooks when you’ve got speed and desperation!"
He chuckled and waded toward her. "That fish must be blind."
"Or attracted to beauty," she said, tossing her hair over one shoulder as she placed the catch into the makeshift net Emma held.
Their ease was a balm he didn’t trust. After everything, after the broken bowl, after Rose’s possession and her eerie smile and the monster born of fear, this morning felt like a lie. But if it was, it was a beautiful one.
Sophie moved closer, the wet hem of her dress clinging to her legs. She leaned into him, her hands around his waist, her face turned upward. "You’re quiet."
"I’m thinking."
"About what?"