By the time dinner was ready, the second ferry had come and gone.
Madaline knew because she heard the horn from upstairs while she was changing.
Low. Distant. Almost swallowed by the sound of wind moving against the balcony doors.
She froze with one hand on the zipper of her dress, heart giving one ridiculous little jump before she could talk herself out of it. For a second, she just stood there in the middle of the guest room, half-dressed and barefoot, listening as if the horn might somehow tell her whether Luca Armani had stepped onto the dock.
It did not.
It only faded.
Leaving her with the quiet of her room, the pale curtains breathing in and out with the draft from the cracked balcony door, and the sudden, humiliating awareness that she had been holding her breath.
“Get it together,” she muttered.
Her reflection in the mirror did not look convinced.
She finished zipping the dress and smoothed both hands down the front of it. It was simple, soft green, not formal enough to make her feel like she was trying too hard but pretty enough that Mira had approved it immediately when Madaline sent her a photo. Her ruby necklace rested at her collarbone, dark red against her skin, catching a small bit of the lamplight whenever she moved.
She touched it once out of habit.
Then stepped away from the mirror before she could start overthinking her hair.
By the time she reached the dining room, the villa had transformed again.
During the afternoon, it had been all motion—luggage, keys, people trailing up and down staircases, staff moving too quickly with flowers and glassware. But now, under the warm glow of chandeliers and tall taper candles, the villa looked less like a house and more like a promise someone rich had paid to make believable.
The dining room opened wide toward the terrace, its tall doors thrown open to let in the evening air. Beyond them, the lake had gone dark blue, almost black near the horizon, with the last smear of sunset burning low over the water. Long tables stretched across the room and spilled slightly outside, dressed in white linen and pale flowers. Candles flickered between place cards. Crystal glasses caught the light in tiny flashes.
It should have felt too perfect.
It did.
But it was hard not to be pulled in by it anyway.
Mira stood near the head table with Ethan beside her, glowing in a cream dress that made her auburn hair look warmer and her blue eyes brighter. She was talking to one of Ethan’s relatives, smiling with her hands folded gently in front of her, giving just enough attention to make the woman look important without seeming like she was trying.
Perfect bride.
Perfect survivor.
Perfect everything.
Then Mira’s gaze lifted and found Madaline across the room.
Her smile changed.
Softened.
Became private.
Madaline smiled back before she could help it.
“You look like you’re about to either faint or fall in love,” Carlos said from beside her.
Madaline jumped.
He appeared at her shoulder with two glasses in hand and a grin that suggested he had been waiting at least a full minute for maximum comedic timing.
“I hate how quietly you move,” she said.
“That is the first time anyone has ever accused me of doing anything quietly.” He held out one glass. “Sparkling water. I was told the champagne is for after speeches, which feels like class warfare.”
Madaline took it with a small laugh. “Thank you.”
Carlos looked toward Mira and Ethan, then back at her. “So. Has he arrived?”
Madaline took a sip purely to avoid answering too quickly. “Who?”
Carlos gave her a look. “Maddy.”
“Don’t call me that like you’ve known me for years.”
“I emotionally commit quickly.” He leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice. “The penpal. The mysterious man. The island romance subplot. Has he arrived?”
Madaline looked toward the foyer before she could stop herself.
Carlos gasped softly. “That’s a yes-adjacent glance.”
“I heard the ferry,” she admitted.
“Terrible. So romantic. I hate it.”
Ashlynn stepped up on Madaline’s other side, dressed in black slacks and a dark button-up open over a white tank, tattoos visible along both arms. She had made exactly one concession to the wedding setting: her boots looked freshly cleaned.
“If no one has confirmed he’s real, I’m still allowed to assume he’s a tax scam,” Ashlynn said.
Carlos pointed at her. “This is why you don’t get invited to softer conversations.”
“I was invited to this one by proximity.”
Madaline rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “He’s real.”
Ashlynn looked at her. “You’ve seen him?”
“Not yet.”
“Then he’s conceptually real.”
Carlos nodded solemnly. “Like ghosts.”
“Or rich people accountability,” Ashlynn added.
Madaline laughed into her glass, and some of the tightness in her chest loosened. That was the thing about Carlos and Ashlynn together—they made it difficult to stay trapped in one feeling for too long. Carlos pulled everything outward. Ashlynn cut through whatever remained.
Across the room, Ethan tapped a spoon lightly against his glass.
The sound rang bright and delicate, and conversation began to soften around the tables.
“Oh no,” Carlos whispered. “A speech before alcohol. Bold.”
Ashlynn murmured, “Cruel.”
Ethan ignored them, though Madaline was pretty sure he heard.
He stood beside Mira at the front of the room, shoulders slightly tense beneath his dark jacket. He looked less like a groom enjoying a welcome dinner and more like a man giving a safety briefing before everyone boarded a plane. But then Mira slipped her hand into his, and his expression changed just enough to become human again.
“Thank you all for coming,” Ethan said, voice steady. “I know this is a little out of the way.”
Someone from his family called, “That’s one word for it.”
A ripple of laughter moved through the room.
Ethan smiled faintly. “Fair. But it means a lot to us that you’re here. This island has belonged to my family for longer than anyone here wants me to explain—”
“Thank God,” Ashlynn muttered.
Carlos choked on a laugh.
“—and it’s always been a place where people come together,” Ethan continued, either missing or choosing to ignore them. “We wanted this weekend to feel like that. Not just a ceremony. Not just a schedule. But time with people we love.”
Madaline glanced at Mira.
Mira was looking at Ethan.
Not the crowd. Not the candles. Him.
There was something unguarded in her face for that one second, something almost painfully young.
Then Ethan turned slightly toward her.
“And,” he added, his voice softer now, “after everything, I’m grateful we get to have this.”
The room quieted in a different way.
Not awkward.
Reverent.
Madaline felt it move through the guests—the subtle awareness of what he meant without saying it. The lake house. Kane. The memorials. The years that had followed like a bruise that never fully faded.
Mira’s eyes shone.
Just enough.
Ethan squeezed her hand.
“So eat,” he said, clearing his throat slightly as if pulling himself back from too much feeling. “Drink. Please don’t harass Simon unless something is actually on fire.”
Simon, standing near the sideboard with a clipboard against his chest, lifted one hand weakly in thanks.
Carlos raised his glass. “To Simon surviving the weekend.”
Several people laughed and lifted their glasses.
Simon looked mildly horrified but also touched.
Mira stepped forward then, and the room seemed to lean toward her.
She didn’t need to tap a glass.
She only had to smile.
“I’m not good at speeches,” she said, which Madaline immediately knew was a lie because Mira was good at whatever made people listen. “But I do want to say thank you. Really. I know weddings can be a lot, and travel is annoying, and Ethan has probably sent all of you a spreadsheet at some point—”
“Three,” Carlos said.
Ethan pointed at him without looking. “You asked for clarification.”
Mira laughed softly with everyone else, then continued. “But having you here matters to us. It matters to me.”
Her voice gentled on the last words.
Madaline felt the shift before she understood it. The way Mira’s shoulders softened. The way her fingers tightened around Ethan’s hand.
“For a long time, I didn’t think I would get something like this,” Mira said. “Not a wedding. Not this kind of love. Not a room full of people willing to cross water just to stand beside me and Ethan while we start the rest of our lives.”
Someone near the front sniffled.
Mira smiled, eyes bright now. “So thank you for giving us one beautiful weekend.”
One beautiful weekend.
The phrase settled warmly over the room.
Madaline clapped with everyone else, but for some reason her gaze drifted toward the far doorway just as applause rose around her.
A man stood there.
Only for a second.
Dark hair. Dark jacket. Tall enough to be seen over Simon’s shoulder as the nervous coordinator leaned toward him with a room card in hand.
Madaline’s breath caught.
The man turned slightly, but not enough.
She caught the edge of his profile.
The line of his jaw.
A hand closing around the cream ribbon attached to a key.
Then a server passed between them with a tray of glasses, and when Madaline shifted to see around him, the doorway was empty.
“Maddy?” Carlos said.
She looked back.
He was watching her with open curiosity.
Ashlynn had noticed too. Of course she had.
“Was that him?” Carlos whispered.
Madaline looked toward the doorway again.
Empty.
Her heart had not gotten the message.
“I don’t know,” she said.
Across the room, Mira’s eyes found hers.
Mira tilted her head slightly.
A question.
Madaline gave the smallest shrug.
Mira smiled.
Encouraging.
Sweet.
As dinner began and everyone started moving toward their seats, Madaline looked once more at the doorway where the dark-haired man had stood.
There was no one there now.
Only warm hallway light.
An empty threshold.
And the strange, electric certainty that someone had arrived.
Dinner should have softened the feeling.
It almost did.
The food was good enough that even Ashlynn stopped making comments for a few minutes, which Carlos immediately declared a miracle and then ruined by asking if silence was her way of complimenting the chef. Ethan relaxed once the plates were served and no one had started arguing about room assignments or allergies. Mira sat beside him, one hand resting lightly near his wrist whenever he reached for his glass, her presence quiet and pretty and perfectly placed.
Madaline tried to stay in the conversation.
She really did.
But every few minutes, her gaze drifted toward the doorway.
The dark-haired man did not come back.
Not during the first course. Not during the soft hum of speeches from Ethan’s family. Not during dessert, when Carlos leaned over and whispered that the tiny lemon tart looked like something rich people ate when they were pretending not to want cake.
By the time everyone moved from the dining room to the lounge, Madaline had nearly convinced herself she had imagined him.
Nearly.
The lounge was warmer than the dining room, smaller but still too elegant to be casual. There were deep couches arranged around a low table, tall windows facing the dark water, and shelves lined with old books that made the room smell faintly of leather and dust beneath the flowers. Someone had lit a fire even though the evening was not cold enough for one, and the flames threw soft light over the walls while guests drifted in with drinks and loosened posture.
Mira curled herself into one corner of a couch with effortless grace, shoes tucked beneath her, her dress spilling neatly over her knees. Ethan sat on the arm beside her, one hand resting on the back cushion behind her shoulders.
Carlos dropped into the opposite chair like he had been personally wounded by dinner. “I have survived the formal portion. Barely.”
Ashlynn sat on the windowsill instead of any of the available chairs. “You made three toasts.”
“And carried every single one.”
“You toasted the bread basket.”
“Because it was loyal.”
Madaline laughed as she settled near Mira, accepting the glass of water Ethan handed her without thinking.
“Okay,” Carlos said, leaning forward with sudden brightness. “Important question. Tomorrow night. Bachelor and bachelorette plans. How stupid are we allowed to get?”
Ethan’s answer came immediately. “Not.”
Carlos pointed at him. “Negative answer. Very suspicious.”
“We are not doing anything that involves property damage, medical intervention, or my mother hearing about it from staff.”
Ashlynn tilted her head. “Specific list.”
“Experience,” Ethan said.
Mira looked amused. “He made a spreadsheet.”
Madaline turned to him. “For bachelor party safety?”
Ethan’s face stayed carefully neutral. “No.”
Mira smiled. “He did.”
Carlos slapped a hand over his heart. “My brother in stress, you wound me.”
“You’re exactly why I made it,” Ethan said.
That earned a louder laugh from the group, and for a few minutes, the room loosened around them. Someone from Ethan’s side suggested whiskey and cards in the west sitting room for the bachelor group. Carlos suggested a midnight boat ride and was immediately vetoed by Ethan before he finished the sentence. Ashlynn said if anyone tried to make matching shirts, she would swim to the mainland out of principle.
“The bachelorette side will be better,” Mira said lightly.
Carlos looked offended. “Objectively impossible.”
Mira lifted one shoulder, smile bright but calm. “Beach bonfire. Drinks. Music. Maybe games if Maddy doesn’t look too horrified by that idea.”
Madaline blinked. “Why am I being volunteered emotionally?”
“Because you’re very expressive,” Mira said.
Ashlynn looked at Madaline. “You do have a readable face.”
“Betrayal from all sides.”
Mira laughed softly and reached over to squeeze Madaline’s hand. “Nothing awful. I promise. I don’t want anything wild.”
The sentence quieted the room just slightly.
Not enough for most people to notice.
Madaline did.
Mira’s fingers were cool against hers. Her smile remained, but something had settled behind it now, delicate and deliberate.
“I just want one night where everyone is happy,” Mira said.
Carlos softened first. “We can do that.”
Ashlynn took a sip from her glass. “That’s a lot of pressure for a party with alcohol.”
Mira laughed, and the heaviness broke before it could fully form.
“Then we’ll aim for mostly happy,” she said.
“Medium stupid, mostly happy,” Carlos announced. “A strong theme.”
Ethan pointed at him. “No boat ride.”
“A wounded theme.”
The conversation drifted into details after that. What time to start. Which beach path was easiest after dark. Whether the bonfire pit had already been set up. Whether Simon would have a nervous breakdown if asked for extra blankets.
“Simon looks like he came pre-haunted,” Ashlynn said.
Carlos nodded gravely. “Like a Victorian child accountant.”
Madaline almost choked on her water.
Ethan tried not to laugh and failed badly enough that Mira looked delighted.
It was good.
That was the thing Madaline kept coming back to.
It was good to hear them laughing. Good to sit in a warm room with firelight and low voices, good to watch Mira lean into Ethan’s side like love was something she could rest against. Good to be somewhere that did not smell like hospital disinfectant or old fear.
And still—
her eyes moved toward the door again.
This time, Mira caught her.
Her smile softened into something teasing. “You’re going to burn a hole through that hallway.”
Madaline felt heat rise into her cheeks. “I’m not.”
Carlos turned immediately. “She absolutely is.”
“I saw it too,” Ashlynn said.
“You’re all terrible.”
Ethan leaned forward slightly, gentler than the others. “Simon said Luca went up to his room. Rough ferry ride, apparently.”
The room seemed to narrow around the name.
Madaline tried to make her expression normal. “Oh.”
Mira’s thumb brushed once over the back of Madaline’s hand, still holding it. Comforting. Knowing.
“He probably didn’t want to meet you for the first time in front of twenty strangers and Carlos,” Mira said.
Carlos nodded. “Reasonable. I’m a lot.”
“At least you know,” Ashlynn said.
Madaline looked down at her glass, smiling despite the flutter in her stomach. “I get it. I mean, I’d probably hide too.”
“You did hide,” Carlos said. “Emotionally. Through letters.”
“Carlos.”
“What? I’m invested in the arc.”
Mira leaned closer, voice softer so only Madaline could really hear. “Tomorrow.”
Madaline looked at her.
Mira’s blue eyes were warm, bright with reflected firelight.
“Tomorrow,” she repeated. “You’ll meet him tomorrow.”
Madaline’s nerves twisted again, but this time they carried something almost sweet.
Tomorrow.
The word felt impossible and real at the same time.
Across the room, Ethan began arguing with Carlos again about acceptable levels of bachelor party stupidity, and Ashlynn corrected both of them without looking away from the dark window. Mira sat beside Madaline, smiling like she had successfully arranged happiness into neat little circles around everyone she loved.
Outside, beyond the glass, the island was nearly invisible now.
Only the reflection of the lounge stared back at them.
Warm room.
Bright faces.
A bride in cream.
And behind all of it, pressed close against the dark glass, nothing but night.
The group broke apart slowly after that.
Not all at once, not with any clear ending to the night. People simply began drifting away in pairs and loose clusters, carrying half-finished drinks and yawns behind their hands, laughing softer now that the first burst of arrival energy had worn thin. Carlos left after declaring that he needed sleep if he was expected to make “medium stupid” look effortless tomorrow. Ashlynn went with him only after making it clear she was not going with him, just walking in the same direction because the hallway happened to be mutual.
Ethan stayed longer than everyone.
He stood near the low table, gathering empty glasses and abandoned napkins like the staff wasn’t already there to do exactly that. Mira watched him for a moment from the couch, cheek resting against her hand, her expression so soft it made Madaline look away before she felt like she was intruding.
“Ethan,” Mira said gently.
He glanced over. “Hm?”
“Stop cleaning.”
“I’m not cleaning. I’m relocating.”
“You’re stress-cleaning on your own island.”
“Technically my family’s island.”
“That makes it worse.”
Madaline smiled from where she sat at the other end of the couch, knees tucked under her. Ethan held out one glass as if prepared to defend himself, then seemed to realize there was no version of this argument he could win. He set it down.
“Fine.”
Mira patted the cushion beside her. “Come here.”
Something in Ethan’s face eased immediately.
He crossed the room and leaned down, kissing the top of Mira’s head before sitting beside her. Mira turned slightly into him, fitting herself against his side with the kind of ease that came from habit. His arm settled behind her shoulders.
For a little while, none of them spoke.
The fire had burned lower, snapping softly every few seconds. Outside the windows, the terrace had gone dark except for the warm line of lights along the railing, glowing faintly against the blackness beyond. The lake was invisible now. The island beyond the glass existed only by the sounds it made—the wind, the leaves, the far-off hush of water hitting stone somewhere below.
“You should go sleep,” Mira said, though she didn’t move away from Ethan.
“Are you talking to me or him?” Madaline asked.
“Both of you.”
Ethan made a quiet sound. “I’m not tired.”
Mira lifted her head just enough to look at him.
He amended, “I’m tired.”
“Mm-hm.”
Madaline laughed under her breath and stood, smoothing her dress. “I’ll go. You two can continue your thrilling debate about whether Ethan is human or a spreadsheet wearing skin.”
Ethan looked personally offended. “I have feelings.”
“Color-coded ones,” Mira said.
Madaline grinned and moved toward the doorway, but she had barely reached it before Mira’s voice followed her.
“Maddy?”
She turned.
Mira had sat up a little straighter. The firelight caught in her auburn hair, warming it into copper at the edges.
“Can I walk with you?”
Madaline’s eyebrows lifted faintly. “To my room?”
“Or part of the way.” Mira’s smile tilted small and sheepish. “I want to check on something upstairs anyway.”
Ethan’s hand shifted at her back. “Everything okay?”
Mira looked at him, and there it was again—that little softening, that warmth that looked too genuine to question. “Everything’s fine.”
He studied her for a second longer, then nodded.
Mira rose and kissed his cheek before stepping away. “Go to bed soon.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Don’t make that weird.”
Madaline turned into the hallway before Ethan could answer, laughing quietly to herself.
Mira caught up beside her.
The villa felt different at night.
During the day, it had been bright enough to feel unreal. Now the halls stretched long and golden beneath dimmed sconces, full of polished wood, framed paintings, and shadows softened by expensive rugs. Their footsteps were quiet as they walked side by side toward the stairs.
For a few moments, Mira didn’t say anything.
That was unusual.
Not because Mira talked constantly. She didn’t. But her silences usually had shape. Purpose. This one felt like it was deciding what to become.
Madaline glanced over. “You okay?”
Mira smiled automatically.
Then seemed to catch herself doing it.
The smile faded into something smaller. More tired.
“I’m happy,” she said.
Madaline waited.
Mira looked ahead as they climbed the stairs. “That sounds like an answer, doesn’t it?”
“It sounds like half of one.”
A soft breath of a laugh left Mira. “You’ve gotten harder to distract.”
“Nursing does that. Patients lie terribly.”
Mira looked at her then, amused. “Do I lie terribly?”
The question was light.
So light Madaline almost missed the edge under it.
“No,” she said. “That’s the problem.”
Mira’s expression paused.
Then she laughed, quiet and pretty, and looked away.
They reached the second-floor landing. The west hall stretched ahead, pale and hushed, curtains moving faintly near the open window at the far end. Somewhere below, a door shut softly. Somewhere outside, wind brushed against the villa walls.
“I wanted to ask about Luca,” Mira said.
Madaline groaned immediately. “Of course you did.”
Mira’s smile returned, warmer now. “I’m invested.”
“Everyone keeps saying that.”
“Because we are.” She glanced sideways at Madaline. “Are you disappointed?”
“That he didn’t come down?”
Mira nodded.
Madaline folded her arms loosely, walking slower now. “A little. But also relieved, maybe? Which makes no sense.”
“It makes perfect sense.”
“Does it?”
“Meeting someone who matters is terrifying.”
Madaline looked over at her. “Is that how you felt with Ethan?”
Mira’s face changed.
Not dramatically.
Just enough that Madaline regretted the question for half a second before Mira answered.
“No,” Mira said softly. “Ethan was different.”
They reached Madaline’s door, but neither of them went inside yet.
Mira stopped beside the wall, fingers brushing lightly over the brass number plate like she needed something to touch.
“Different how?” Madaline asked.
Mira looked down the hallway, eyes distant in the low light.
“He didn’t make me feel like I had to become anything first.”
The sentence landed quietly.
Madaline leaned back against her door, watching her.
Mira’s fingers stilled against the number plate.
“I used to think love was just the thing people called ownership when they wanted it to sound pretty,” she said.
Madaline’s chest tightened.
Mira spoke evenly, but there was something under the words that felt old. Not raw anymore. Scarred over too smoothly.
“My father loved my mother,” Mira continued. “That’s what people said. Even after. They said grief made people violent. They said passion could rot if you didn’t take care of it. They said all sorts of things that made murder sound almost understandable if you used the right tone.”
Madaline swallowed. “Mira…”
Mira smiled faintly.
“Sorry. Too dark for wedding weekend?”
“No.” Madaline shook her head. “No, I just… I hate that people said that to you.”
Mira lifted one shoulder. “People want terrible things to have reasons. Otherwise they have to admit terrible things just happen.”
The hallway seemed too quiet around them.
Madaline thought of old articles she had found. Headlines. Their father’s face. Mira and Kane wrapped in blankets. The official story, clean and terrible.
“Is that why the wedding matters so much?” Madaline asked. “Because Ethan feels safe?”
Mira looked at her then.
Really looked.
For once, she did not answer immediately.
“Ethan loves me like I’m a person,” she said at last.
The simplicity of it hurt.
“Not a thing he has to manage. Not a memory. Not something broken he gets credit for holding together.” Her voice softened further. “He just loves me.”
Madaline’s eyes stung.
“You deserve that.”
Mira’s smile trembled slightly.
Almost.
Not quite.
“I don’t know if deserving has anything to do with it.”
“It does.”
Mira looked away.
For one brief, strange second, Madaline thought she looked angry.
Not at Madaline.
Not even at Ethan.
At the idea.
Then Mira blinked, and the softness came back.
“Maybe,” she said.
Madaline reached for her hand without thinking.
Mira let her take it.
Her fingers were cold.
“I’m glad you have him,” Madaline said.
Mira squeezed her hand once. “Me too.”
A door opened somewhere farther down the hallway.
Both of them glanced over.
For a second, Madaline saw only a shadow shift near the far corner. Someone stepping out, then back again. Dark hair maybe. The edge of a jacket. A hand at a doorframe.
Then the door closed.
Madaline went still.
Mira’s eyes had moved too.
“Was that—” Madaline started.
“Probably another guest,” Mira said gently.
But her hand tightened around Madaline’s for just a second before letting go.
Madaline looked at her.
Mira smiled.
“Tomorrow,” she said again. “You’ll meet him tomorrow.”
Madaline tried to breathe out a laugh.
It came thin.
“You make it sound like a prophecy.”
“Maybe it is.”
Mira leaned in and kissed Madaline’s cheek, soft and quick, like she had outside the hospital. Then she stepped back, smoothing both hands down the front of her dress.
“Sleep,” she said. “Before Carlos starts planning matching shirts and the whole island collapses.”
Madaline smiled. “Goodnight, Mira.”
“Goodnight, Maddy.”
Mira turned and walked down the hall, her steps quiet against the runner carpet.
Madaline watched until she disappeared around the corner.
Then she looked once more toward the door at the far end of the hall.
Closed now.
Still.
Nothing strange about it.
Nothing strange enough to name.
So she went into her room and shut the door behind her.
Thorfinn waited until the hallway went quiet.
The staff corridor behind the kitchen was narrow, dimmer than the rest of the villa, and smelled faintly of lemon cleaner, warm bread, and damp stone. It was the kind of place guests never looked at twice. Pretty rooms needed ugly passages to keep them alive, and rich people were usually very good at pretending the work behind beauty did not exist.
That suited him fine.
He stood half in shadow near the storage room door, black cap pulled low, jacket zipped high enough to hide most of the tattoo curling along the side of his head. A crate of folded linens sat at his feet. Another held candles for tomorrow night’s beach bonfire. He had carried both without question, spoken when spoken to, and kept his eyes lowered just enough to seem tired instead of watchful.
No one noticed staff unless something went wrong.
So Thorfinn made sure nothing went wrong.
Not yet.
Through the cracked service door, he could see a thin slice of the main hall. Warm light. Polished floors. The soft blur of voices fading as guests went upstairs for the night.
Then Mira Amato passed through the opening.
Thorfinn went completely still.
She walked beside Madaline, head tipped slightly toward her, auburn hair loose over one shoulder, cream dress catching the hallway light. Small. Gentle. So perfectly harmless that even from a distance, he understood how she had done it.
How they all had believed her.
Ymir’s voice moved through his memory.
She doesn’t look like what she is.
Mira laughed softly at something Madaline said.
Thorfinn’s hand tightened around the edge of the door.
Not enough to make it creak.
He knew better than that.
Mira paused near the stairs, turning back for half a second. Her gaze passed over the hall, over the light, over the space where he stood hidden behind the service door.
For one impossible moment, Thorfinn thought she saw him.
Then she smiled at Madaline and continued upstairs.
The hallway emptied again.
Only then did Thorfinn breathe.
He stepped back into the storage room and shut the door without a sound. In the dimness, he crouched beside the crate marked BONFIRE SUPPLIES and lifted the folded blanket on top.
Beneath it sat his bag.
Plain. Black. Unremarkable.
Inside were the things no one had checked carefully enough.
A change of clothes.
A folded copy of the wedding schedule.
A printed photo of Ymir from before prison, smiling too wide at something outside the frame.
And a blade wrapped in cloth.
Thorfinn touched the photo first.
His thumb rested over the corner, careful not to bend it.
“I know,” he whispered.
The room gave nothing back.
He looked down at the schedule.
Tomorrow night.
Bachelorette party.
Beach bonfire.
Drinks. Music. Darkness. People distracted by laughter, by waves, by the pretty little rituals they had built around a woman who should have never made it this far.
Everyone would be looking at the bride.
Thorfinn unwrapped the blade just enough for the metal to catch the storage room light.
Then he covered it again.
His face stayed calm.
That was important.
Anger was loud. Grief was careless. But purpose could be quiet if you held it correctly.
He tucked the bag deeper beneath the linens and stood.
Somewhere above him, laughter moved faintly through the villa floorboards.
Mira’s, maybe.
Or someone else’s.
It didn’t matter.
Tomorrow, everyone would be looking at the bride.
So would he.