their belongings across every available surface scoop them up to shove them back in their bags. People who didn't take a single thing out of their bags suddenly become concerned something slipped out and start searching around. Women check their makeup to make sure the travel didn't melt it off, and men comb at their hair with their fingertips to try to get it back in place from where resting against windows, and seat backs messed it up. It's the process of transitioning back from the suspended reality of travel to the real world.

Taking my mask off, I stuff it into my bag and sweep my hand through my hair. My phone and a paperback I barely opened joining the mask, I secure my seatbelt, and I'm ready for landing.

"That took it right out of you, huh?" Bellamy asks.

"You were out like a light before the snacks even came by," Eric adds from the aisle seat.

I nod, letting out the last remnants of sleep with a yawn.

"I haven't been getting the best sleep at home," I admit. "Being on the plane helped."

"Because of the movement?" Bellamy asks.

"Because no one can get in," I say. "People might complain about all the security measures and having to show fourteen types of ID, your blood type, and your family lineage to get onto a plane these days, but I'm more than happy about it. At least I know there's a record of every person on here, and no one could just follow me on board. And if someone did happen to try something, it's a contained space so they wouldn't be able to get away."

Bellamy shifts to press her back against the seat and stare straight ahead, her hands clamping around the ends of the armrests.

"Well, let's just sketch that onto a postcard. First vacation memories," she mutters.

I know the thought makes her uncomfortable, but it's the truth. Being contained on the airplane six miles above the ground gave me a sense of control and security I don't have when I'm at home. I can take care of myself, of course, but after way too many close calls over the last couple of years, I don’t like taking any risks.

Sam makes me feel safe, and when he's there with me, I'm not worried about myself. I believe he would never let anything happen to me if he had any way of stopping it, and he would do anything to protect me. I want to protect him. It's the fear that something will happen to him that keeps me from being truly relaxed and at ease at night at home.

I know full well that his being associated with me puts him in danger. Just the fact that he is in my life creates risk for him, and I hate that. I can't bear the thought that something might happen to him because of his connection to me. Things are going so well between us, and he is more precious to me than I ever knew. He has already suffered because of his relationship with me. There are still scars on his back, and he deals with chronic pain in his hip from being hit by a car when I got too close to unraveling the truth behind a cult. I'm always afraid something more will happen to him.

The plane lands smoothly, and when we exit into the small airport, we see a man standing off to the side, holding a sign with our names on it. I smile at him as we walk up to him

“Hi,” I say. “I'm Emma Griffin.”

Impossibly straight, white teeth beam out at me from a massive smile.

"Welcome to Windsor Island. I'm Joshua. Good to meet you, Miss Griffin," he says, an accent I can't exactly place lilting his voice. "And these must be your friends."

"Yes. This is Bellamy, and this is Eric."

"Alright then. Now that I've collected you, let's get you to the resort," he says and starts toward the door.

"We need to pick up our luggage," I tell him.

He shakes his head, almost laughing.

"No, no. That's already been taken care of for you. Everything is taken care of. Come now. Windsor Palms Resort awaits you."

We follow Joshua outside to a sleek white car, and he helps us load our carry-ons into the trunk. The already blasting air conditioner is blissful, even after the short walk through the blistering island heat.

“I can't wait to get into the pool,” Bellamy says, leaning her head back and pulling the neckline of her shirt away to let some of the air on to her chest.

Joshua chuckles from the driver’s seat.

“Don't worry. It feels much cooler down by the water. The beautiful breezes and lush grounds make the resort very comfortable,” he tells us.

The drive to the resort is long and meandering, and I quickly realize why the airport is so small. There doesn't seem to be anything else on the island. We see no other businesses or houses. The only structures that show up among the trees and dense, beautiful greenery look like gazebos or greenhouses.

“Is the resort the only thing on the island?” I ask.

Joshua looks at me through the rearview mirror and nods.

“That's it,” he says. “It was a private island, and Mr. Windsor, the owner, wanted to keep it that way even after he opened the resort. He wants all his guests to feel like they have the run of the island. Of course, there are a few places where guests shouldn't go.”

“Oh?” I ask.

“There are mysteries on the island,” he tells me. “Legends. This island had been uninhabited for hundreds of years. But they say that long ago, people lived here on this island. But they upset the ocean spirit. People ventured into the water and down into the caves and never came back. If you look out into the water and come out onto the rocks when the moon is just right, you may see the ocean spirits. We only have to hope they are satisfied and

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