Chapter 30
Futile Stillness
The cliffs shouldn’t be silent.
Emma stood above Solombra Cave, the ocean spread before her like hammered pewter—too still, too flat, not a ripple in sight—as if the water had forgotten how to breathe.
The sky pressed down in shades of charcoal and ash, darker than evening should be, darker than any storm she’d ever witnessed.
No stars. No moon. Only a suffocating gray pressing against the horizon.
Wind moved across her skin, but wrong. It came in patterns that made no sense—circling her ankles, rushing past her left shoulder, then nothing before a blast from behind that lifted her hair. Each gust felt deliberate, like invisible hands testing her balance.
She tried to look down at the cave entrance below, but the rock face stretched impossibly far, the distance warping each time she blinked. The usual crash of waves on rock was absent. Just silence. Heavy and waiting.
She was no longer alone.
A figure now stood where no one had been a moment before. A woman, draped in red silk that moved independently of the erratic wind. A veil covered her from head to waist; the fabric so vivid it blazed against the muted landscape—the only true color in this dreamscape of grays and shadows.
Emma’s heart kicked once, hard. She wanted to call out, to ask who the woman was, but her voice caught in her throat.
The woman didn’t walk. She simply appeared closer.
Blink. Ten feet away.
Blink. Five feet.
Emma’s body locked, her legs refusing her mind’s command to step back.
The woman leaned forward, the red veil shifting but never revealing what lay beneath. Her breath was cold against her ear—like winter air through a cracked window.
The whisper came soft but absolute: “You won’t see it coming.”
The wind exploded, violent and howling. It tore at Emma’s hair, her clothes, threatening to drag her toward the cliff’s edge. The veil lifted—
Emma’s eyes snapped open.
Zach’s bedroom at the cottage materialized around her: the cream-colored walls, the ceiling fan spinning lazy circles, the digital clock on the nightstand reading 3:47 am in accusing red numbers. Her heart hammered against her ribs, her breathing too quick and shallow.
She pressed her palm to her chest, feeling the rapid thud beneath her ribs. Just a dream. Obviously a dream.
But her skin still prickled with the memory of that wrong wind, her ear still cold where the woman’s breath had touched it.
You won’t see it coming.
Emma sat up, pushing her dark hair back from her face. A blanket tangled around her, damp with sweat despite the air conditioning. She kicked free and swung her legs over the side of the bed, toes curling on the cool tile.
Wait, when had she come to bed? She thought back, but the last she remembered was being out in the living room with Zach. She glanced at the blanket. It wasn’t hers. Had he carried her to bed?
The cottage was quiet. Through the walls, she could hear nothing—no movement from Nick’s room, no sound from the living room. Only the distant hum of the AC unit.
She should lie down. Try to sleep. She had another full day tomorrow—today—finalizing the evacuation before the storm.
But every time she closed her eyes, she saw that red veil lifting.
Emma rubbed her face with both hands and checked the time again. 3:49. Two minutes had passed. Fantastic.
Sleep wasn’t happening. Not with her pulse still elevated, her mind still replaying that whisper in obsessive loops.
After another minute of futile stillness, Emma gave up. She stood, grabbing the thin cardigan she had left draped over her desk chair and pulling it on over her tank top and sleep shorts. The compass rose tattoo on her shoulder blade pulled as she moved—she must have slept on it wrong.
Water. Tea. Something to reset her system and convince her brain that dreams were only dreams, no matter how vivid.
She opened her bedroom door, wincing at the slight creak of the hinges. The hallway stretched before her in darkness, the faint glow of a nightlight near the bathroom providing the only illumination. She tiptoed down the hall, not wanting to wake Zach in the living room.
The cottage felt different at this hour.
Smaller somehow. More intimate. During the day, with all of them moving through their separate routines, the space seemed appropriate—cozy but not cramped.
Now, in the dead hours of night, Emma was hyperaware of how close the bedrooms were.
David’s door was shut ten feet from hers. Nick’s room beyond.
She’d been living here for almost a week now, but this was her first time wandering around the cottage in the middle of the night. The first time she’d been unsettled enough to need a distraction.
The kitchen materialized as she rounded the corner—and she stopped short.
Someone was already there.
Nick stood in profile against the window over the sink, a mug cradled in both hands. He wore gym shorts and a faded t-shirt, his dark hair mussed from sleep—or lack thereof. He didn’t turn at her approach, but his posture altered, acknowledging her presence.
“Rough night?” His voice carried through the quiet, casual and unhurried, hushed to not disturb Zach.
Emma’s first instinct was to deflect, to brush it off as nothing, but something about the hour, about the way Nick asked without looking at her, made dishonesty feel pointless.
“Something like that.” She moved to the counter, reaching for a glass from the cabinet.
He glanced over, his green eyes doing his thing—seeing beneath the surface, seeing more than anyone would want him to. He was the most charming of the three brothers, the one who smiled easiest, but Emma recognized that didn’t make him any less observant than Zach. Just less intimidating.
“Couldn’t sleep either?” she asked, filling her glass from the refrigerator. The water ran cold and clear, grounding her.
“Sleep’s overrated.” Nick took a sip of his coffee—black, despite the sugar dispenser sitting nearby. “Besides, I do some of my best thinking at three in the morning.”
“About what?”
“Whether we’re ready for the storm. What might be needed to get back on track after. Whether my brother is going to survive having someone care about him for once.”
The last part landed with deliberate casualness, Nick stirring his coffee in faux unconcern. But the weight of it pressed down, tensing her shoulders.
She drank her water, buying time. He didn’t push, just continued watching her reflection in the window glass—present, but not confrontational. The dream hovered in her consciousness—the too-still ocean, the wrong wind, the woman in red.
You won’t see it coming.
It might be foolish to bring up a nightmare to someone like him—a wealthy CEO—but his demeanor invited confidence.
“I had a strange dream,” she murmured. “That’s why I couldn’t sleep.”
He didn’t laugh. Didn’t smile. Instead, his attention sharpened, penetrating in a way she hadn’t seen from him before.
“Strange how?” he asked.
Emma set her glass down, wrapping her cardigan tighter around herself. “I was standing above Solombra Cave. Everything was… wrong. The ocean was too still. The wind moved in weird patterns. A woman in a red veil appeared.”
Nick went still.
“She came closer each time I blinked.” Her skin prickled in response to the memory. “And she whispered something to me. A warning.”
“What did she say?”
She met his eyes. “‘You won’t see it coming.’”
The kitchen held its breath. Nick’s jaw tightened as his casual demeanor shifted into something harder, more alert. This was the man Zach had trained. The soldier Lena told her lurked beneath the friendly exterior.
“You woke up before seeing her face.” Not a question.
“Yes.” Emma frowned. “How did you know?”
Nick exhaled slowly, setting his coffee down with deliberate care. “That’s how Kate’s dreams often work.” He ran a hand through his hair, looking tired in a way that had nothing to do with the hour. “The warning comes first. What the warning is about… that comes later.”
“You believe in the legends.” Again, not a question. Emma could see the answer in his face.
“I’ve seen too much weird shit to dismiss anything outright.” Nick’s smile was thin. “And this island… it’s got its own kind of energy. David would say I’m being superstitious. Zach would tell you to focus on tangible threats. But yes, I believe more happens in our world than we realize.”
Emma thought about the ruins, about the strange pull toward the cave she'd felt since arriving, about the way she felt watched in certain corners of Isla Nocturna, even when no one was there.
“So what should I do?”
“Stay alert,” Nick said simply. “Trust your instincts. Remember that warnings aren’t punishments—they’re gifts. Someone or something is trying to help you prepare.”
“For what?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it?” He picked up his mug again, but didn’t drink. “You need to tell Zach.”
Emma’s hand tightened fractionally on her glass. Nick's mouth quirked.
“He won't ignore something like this. Not when it comes to your safety. His Guardian instincts won't allow it.”
Her eyes flew to his, unsure how to respond. Zach’s revelation—Guardian—felt like sacred ground, something shared in confidence. She wouldn’t betray that trust, even to his brother.
“He trusts you,” Nick said quietly. “Don't waste that.”
Emma nodded slowly.
‘You won’t see it coming.’
Yes, she needed to tell Zach.