Dawnlin has never been this quiet before, and my mind races as I try to figure out where we are that all the noise would cease. It’s as if the island swallowed us, like when Mara and I fell into the trap on my first day of searching.
Like we areunderground.
It has only been days since I watched Weston disappear into the wall of the cave, but the thought never occurred to me. I was too focused on finding Fin and on discovering that the Castawaywho saved me was actually their leader, Weston. I didn’t see what was right in front of me.
Tunnels. The Castaways travel through underground tunnels. Which is why we can never find them, or any trace of them. Do they live underground too? Inside the heart of the island?
My spine straightens with a realization, and the fear I felt moments ago dissipates.
They are leading me straight to their base. If I survive and manage to escape, I will be the only one who knows how to find it, and I can tell Dane.
He can end the threat of the Castaways once and for all.
We keep walking, and I listen for any clues that might give away our location. The tunnel curves back and forth, with no distinct turns that I can memorize. Some movements seem so subtle, I can’t really tell what direction we are traveling. Completely turned around, my sense of direction is gone.
“Stop,” the woman says, as she and the other Castaway pull me to an abrupt halt.
We pause for only a moment before they nudge me forward again, and I feel the magic of a portal surround me.
How many portals are hidden on the island? And how do the Castaways find them?
The hands on my elbows fall away, and I wobble slightly. Trying to stay upright without my vision is difficult, and my balance is still off with my wrists lashed together.
Suddenly, I am hoisted into the air as firm, muscular arms hook under my knees and around my waist, carrying me forward.
“What the hell?” I screech as I try to wriggle free. The arms cinch down tighter, pushing me against a solid chest and holding me in place.
“Stop moving and be quiet. I said no screaming, remember?”
Weston.
“Fuck you,” I whisper loudly in the direction of his face.
A low chuckle takes me by surprise, and I can’t help the flutter in my abdomen at the sound.
“I can walk,” I whisper angrily again, pushing my legs downward, trying to break his grasp, but his arms don’t budge. He ignores my comment and keeps walking, taking me who knows where.
Then it dawns on me. My dagger is tucked into the front of his vest. If I can grab it, he’s close enough that I can seriously injure him, giving me enough of a distraction and some time to slice through of these binds and escape.
I still, hoping my lack of movement doesn’t draw his attention. A few seconds pass before I slowly drift my bound hands toward his chest. The blindfold is so dense, I can’t see, but I know the dagger is in a slot near his heart. I watched him put it there back on the beach once he removed it from my throat.
I only need to get close enough to grab the hilt.
My knuckles brush the leather ties of his vest as I creep closer.
Slowly, slowly, slowly.
My fingers itch to grasp the jeweled metal, trusting only my memory and having hope that I am right.
“Don’t even think about it, princess.”
I freeze, caught like a mouse in a trap.
Fuck.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I grumble.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” He hitches me in his arms, the momentum shifting my body and flinging my hands away from his chest and back into my lap. “Keep your hands to yourself.”
