My spine stiffens and my skin breaks out in a sweat as excuses for why I’m dressed and armed race through my mind.
Spinning around, my mouth falling open to rush out an explanation, I’m ready to face his wrath, but he’s not standing, glaring at me. My eyes fall to the bed, on his muscular back, still laying face down.
I wait for a moment, confused and waiting to see if he will speak again, but there’s only silence and the quiet sound of his breaths. Taking each step just as carefully as before, I slowly creep around the desk toward his side of the bed, peeringthrough the darkness to get a glimpse of his face, but it’s hidden behind his broad shoulder.
I tiptoe closer until I can see his eyes clenched shut with a grimace on his face.
He’s dreaming. In all the nights I’ve slept beside him, he’s never spoken in his sleep, never had a nightmare like I had back at camp and in the brig. He’s never woken me with any sleep disturbances, so why tonight?
My mind screams at me to walk away, to get out while I can because he could wake at any moment.
But I can’t.
I can’t leave him in pain like this, knowing exactly what it is like to be trapped in a world inside of your mind, where your deepest fears are coming true.
I’ll take the risk.
Inching closer, I reach out my hand and set it on his forehead, pressing gently into the furrow lines, only for his eyes to clench tighter. Stroking back through his hair, my fingertips lightly graze his scalp, back and forth until I watch his face relax. His quick breaths elongate again, and the tension falls out of his shoulders. My chest aches as I watch him sleep, continuing to stroke his hair and memorizing the details of his face.
“Please don’t hate me,” I whisper unintentionally, then hold my breath, silently cursing myself for speaking. But he doesn’t stir. His body is already back into the relaxed state it was in before, and I know I can make it out without him noticing.
Reluctantly, I pull my hand away and make it across the room to the door. Sig should be ready and waiting, knowing she can’t come to get me and possibly tip off Weston if he was still awake.
I reach for the handle, ready to get off this ship and set this all in motion, but stop short.
Shit.
I’ve spent months not worrying about getting out of this room, with Weston leaving the door cracked for me so I could do my chores after I woke. When making the plan with Sig, I’d forgotten one very important detail.
I can’t get out.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” I whisper to myself, my hands wringing in my hair as I try to figure out what to do. This is our chance, the night this plan needs to take place, and I can’t get out of this room. I have no way of signaling Sig, no way of crawling out a window, or getting anywhere without waking Weston.
Heart racing, I shake out my hands, trying to do anything with the nervous energy that is telling me to pace, because I can’t risk the sound of my boots on the wood. My answer is to sit and wait for Sig to come get me if she gets curious about what is taking me so long, even though that is the exact opposite of the plan.
My only other option is to try.
I haven’t actually tried getting out since those first few days, and I assume nothing has changed. I need to try anyway.
My fingers wrap around the handle, and I hold my breath, wincing slightly as I turn the knob and pull. I expect the resistance of the magic, keeping the door shut just like it had before, refusing to let me leave.
But it opens.
I slam my other hand over my mouth, stifling the gasp that threatens to escape as I watch the door soundlessly swing into the room.
A swell of excitement explodes inside me, not only because this perfect opportunity for our plan isn’t wasted, but because this is the confirmation I needed. I’ve been worried that maybe this wasn’t the right decision, and that I should accept the fate handed to all of us.
But the island doesn’t want me to.
It is letting me out, letting me return to the Voyagers.
Dawnlin wants me to leave.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
The irony of what I’m about to do isn’t lost on me as I swing my legs over the rail. I plant my feet on the other side, prepared to jump off the side of the ship, exactly as Weston told me not to. Sig is below deck, doing one last check to make sure we won’t be caught before she pops through the opening and nods.
We can’t use the gangway. The noise might wake Weston, and I know he would do everything he could to stop me, nothing short of throwing me back into the brig. There’s only one other way off the ship.
