Chapter Thirty-Five
Aftershocks
No one knew what to say once the detectives and deputies cleared the chamber to search the cliffs.
People drifted from the council chamber like ghosts, stepping into a town that suddenly felt unfamiliar.
The cliffs gleamed silver under the moonlight, sharp as knives.
The air held its breath with them, waiting for whatever came next.
Tosh sat on a bench, staring out at the dark water, elbows on his knees, hands trembling. His world had been shaken again, and it seemed it wasn’t over. Zach stood nearby, wordless, gaze locked on the horizon as if the ocean might hand him an answer.
Cass sat silent, shoulders hunched, laughter long gone. Mary was missing. Torie paced like a trapped animal. Harmony stood apart from them all, arms crossed, hair lifting in the wind. The streetlamps cast her shadow long and thin across the cobblestone.
Something about her stillness unsettled anyone who glanced her way. Even the wind seemed to pause around her, as if waiting for her next decision. It was the same stillness she had at crime scenes, like her pulse ran on a different clock.
Hale had ordered the rest of them to stay put until deputies finished their sweep.
Zach was the first to speak, his voice rough. “It’s strange how soundless it gets when something like this happens.”
“At least silence is honest,” Harmony said. “Noise tells lies. It makes us believe things are normal.”
Tosh looked at her. “Do you think Mary did it?”
Harmony shrugged. “I don’t know. It doesn’t look good.”
He nodded slowly, but his eyes stayed distant. “She wasn’t wrong about what she said. We’ve all been complicit. It feels like the island’s full of ghosts.” He paused. “Some just scream louder than others.”
Harmony studied him, her gaze softening. “It’s not ghosts that scare me. It’s people. They’re unpredictable.”
Zach turned from the water. “Sometimes, it feels like the island itself is doing this . . . like it’s alive.”
Harmony’s lips curved slightly. “Maybe not alive. Maybe awake.”
Tosh rubbed his hands together. “Awake to what?”
Harmony’s eyes lowered as she considered. “To what we are,” she said softly. “To who we are. Nothing we do here goes unseen.”
A breeze carried her words toward the restless sea. They sat in quiet after that—four friends stranded together on an island that seemed to be turning them into different people every day.
Finally, Harmony spoke. “We should try to get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to feel even longer than today.”
Tosh didn’t move. “I want to sit here a while.”
“I’ll stay with you, Tosh,” Cass said, curling beside him. “I’m not ready to go in either.”
“I’m going to walk for a bit,” Harmony said. “Clear my head.”
She stepped into the moonlit road. Her shadow followed.
Within minutes, she heard footsteps catching up. She didn’t turn. She already knew that stride.
Zach moved up next to her. “You can’t be walking alone.”
For a fraction of a second, she sensed a presence behind them—quieter than Zach, lighter on gravel.
A brief silhouette stood at the edge of her peripheral vision, near the bend leading toward the harbor.
Tall. Still. Watching. Hands low, posture trained.
Like someone used to standing still for a living.
When she blinked, it vanished.
“The worst of it might be over for tonight,” she replied. “Besides . . . none of us are ever truly alone here.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “Somehow, that doesn’t comfort me.”
“I don’t think it’s meant to.”
They walked in silence, pebbles crunching beneath their shoes, the ocean whispering beside them. The adrenaline from the confrontation had faded. Now, exhaustion sat heavy on both of them.
Zach reached out, fingers brushing her arm as he stopped her. He studied her face.
“You seem calm. Too calm. It worries me. I don’t know if it’s an act or if nothing can shake you anymore.”
Harmony gazed back at him, feeling herself soften inside the small circle of safety he always seemed to carry. The moonlight silvered his features and made the world feel smaller, closer, suspended just for them.
Adrenaline had nowhere left to go, so it turned into want.
“I think I’m past the point of shaking,” she whispered.
He searched her face. “Aren’t you afraid of how this ends?”
“I’m more scared of what I’ll find out about myself,” she said quietly. “Fear can be useful, though. It reminds us that we’re still human. That we can be hurt.”
He stepped closer, the night folding around them. “Sometimes I don’t think you are vulnerable. Sometimes I believe that nothing can touch you.”
His hand rose and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. He tucked it behind her ear, fingertips lingering as if waiting for her to pull away.
She didn’t.
“Maybe that’s the point,” she murmured. “To be strong enough that no one can reach the vulnerable spots.”
They stood so close their breaths mingled. She could move away. She didn’t. She didn’t want to. Every emotion, every pleasure, every unanswered question had tightened between them for months, maybe even years.
She wasn’t sure who leaned in first. She wasn’t sure it mattered.
His arms wrapped around her as his mouth found hers. The kiss was soft at first—curious, tentative, as if asking for permission. When she didn’t resist, it deepened, hunger rising like a tide.
Her back hit the wall of the building, his body pressing into hers. The fountain roared nearby, masking sound as restraint shattered.
He lifted her easily, and she wrapped her legs around him as he bit her bottom lip.
She groaned, fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him closer.
His hands traced her sides, then slid beneath her skirt, rough palms gliding up her thigh.
When his fingers brushed her lace panties, she gasped into his mouth.
There were no questions now.
No hesitation.
Just hunger.
Fabric ripped in his hands. Her breath hitched at the sound.
She heard his zipper, then felt him—hot, urgent, undeniable.
He kissed her long and hard, and then buried himself deep inside her, his lips swallowing her cry. Her back bruised against the stucco, but the pain only sharpened the pleasure. She clung to him, lost in sensation.
The climax hit fast and violently. She buried her face in his neck as he pulled her tighter, body shuddering as he emptied into her. It was desperate, messy, necessary. A release the island itself seemed to demand of them.
For a long moment, they stayed tangled together, breathing each other’s air, skin slick with sweat. Slowly, her legs loosened, and he lowered her to the ground. She held onto him until her knees steadied.
They separated, still breathless.
A faint metallic click echoed from somewhere beyond the fountain, like a radio mic being palmed too hard. Harmony’s gaze flicked toward the sound—but the street was empty.
Zach smiled—soft but shaken. “I wasn’t expecting that. But I’m not unhappy it happened.”
Harmony laughed. “Well . . . it’s been coming for a long time . . . and was desperately needed.”
“Come home with me,” he said, his voice warm, his eyes gleaming.
She shook her head. “I have zero regrets, and I’d love to have more. But I need to write. That’s what I do when the world around me bleeds. It’s how I make it behave.”
Disappointment flickered through his eyes, but he nodded. She traced his jaw lightly, his five o’clock shadow scraping her nails—a thank you, a goodbye, a promise of nothing.
Then she turned and walked away, swallowed slowly by the shadows.
Zach watched until she vanished. Only the fading echo of her footsteps remained.
The night breathed around him, the surf rolling against the rocks in a slow, patient rhythm—like the heartbeat of the island itself.
As he turned to leave, Zach paused. Someone stood farther down the promenade, half in shadow. A deputy. Or someone dressed like one. The silhouette didn’t move until Zach did. He walked away. He didn’t know who was watching . . . but he knew he’d better be careful.
He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring.
But for the first time in a long while, he wanted to find out.