“Listen,” I yell, poking a finger into the center of his chest repeatedly. He barely glances down at it before looking back at me. “If you’re going to keep me here, you’re going to have to learn to trust me. Otherwise, let me go home!” I school my face, hardening my stare, doing everything I can not to give away the secret I am hiding.
I still can’t be trusted.
Our eyes stay locked on each other, neither of us willing to let the other win. My chest rises and falls rapidly, my breaths heaving with emotion as I wait for an answer. This feels like a pivotal moment, where he will either choose to move forward, or make me work harder for it.
Weston doesn’t speak or move, continuing to tower over me. His jaw clenches and unclenches, then clenches again as he stares me down.
Maybe I wasn’t doing as well as I thought of convincing them they can trust me. If he can’t, despite explicitly telling him I had no intention of leaving today, then my attempts haven’t been enough.
I tear my eyes away from his and push past him, shoving him with my shoulder as I try to leave this stifling room. He barely budges, and I don’t hear the pounding of his steps behind me, so I know he isn’t following.
Pulling the door open, I slip through the gap out into the hallway. I’m finally able to catch my breath now that he isn’t trying to prove I am lying.
I stomp through the hall and up the stairs, to the only other place on this ship I have to go, even though I still share it with him.
It isn’t until I’m at the top of the steps about to turn down the hall that I hear Fin’s voice call out, “You found her, mister Weston! You’re so good at this game!”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
All my focus is trained on getting as many barriers between Weston and myself as possible, but the moment the door slams closed, I realize I’m now trapped inside the bedroom.
Shit.
I stomp over to the desk and throw myself down in the chair, trying to calm down from the standoff between us. A groan of frustration rumbles in my throat and I let my head fall back into the soft cushion.
My efforts haven’t been working. Weston still doesn’t trust me, and I have no one to blame for that except myself. My early escape attempts got me nowhere and ended up hindering any progress I needed to make with the Castaways.
How am I ever going to get out of here?
Glancing around the empty room, I realize that I’ve never been in here, alone, in the middle of the day before. Sig has always come to collect me almost immediately after I wake up, and I’ve avoided the room otherwise for fear of running into Weston. I also never wanted to tip him off that I was trying to find information if he were to come in and catch me in the act. That would not bode well for building trust.
But now, an idea strikes, one I’ve been trying to find the right time for, and it’s sitting right in front of me.
His desk.
Chaotic and littered with every type of paper and writing utensil, I can barely see the wood surface underneath. Rolls stacked haphazardly, crumpled balls and flattened packets give me confidence that if I move anything, he won’t notice.
I stand, pushing the chair out from under me with the backs of my legs and crouch down to try the drawers first. My hopes rise as I try every drawer, only to have them catch at the last second, the lock clicking behind it. I know exactly where the key is, because it is sitting in Weston’s pocket. He never takes it out unless he’s using it. After my last attempt to take something from him while he’s sleeping, I won’t be trying it again.
Moving on quickly, I focus instead on the piles stacked on the surface. I scan everything quickly, trying to figure out where to start, when a familiar folded piece of parchment catches my eye. Snatching it from the pile, I unfold it as fast as I can without ripping it and smooth it out on the surface. My eyes scan the contents, only to confirm it is exactly what I thought.
My map.
Sig must have given it to him when she took it from me back in the brig, and it has been sitting on this desk right under my nose ever since.
Ice runs through my veins as what I feared is confirmed. Weston has known the exact location of our camp for days, weeks. My map has everything spelled out for him. Why was I so stupid to draw camp, including the portal? He could have attacked at any time, and for all I know, he already has.
There’s no way to know the fate of everyone back at camp, especially with the secrets Weston and the Castaways are keeping from me. The only thing I can do now is hope that his focus has been elsewhere. Maybe being a pain in the ass haskept him preoccupied, so he hasn’t executed an attack on the Voyagers. That would be one good thing that came from this whole fucked up situation.
I set my map to the side and rifle through the parchment underneath. There’s a large flat piece that spans almost the entire length of the desk, and I start there. Shuffling everything off it, I gasp when the image underneath is revealed.
It is a map…of Dawnlin.
My eyes trail over the intricate details, beautifully inked on the page, much nicer than anything I could have drawn, and my breath catches in my throat as my gaze falls on the lower part of the island.
Camp. Weston’s map already has the location of camp. My eyes fly up to the next most important part of it, the location of the healing waters, which is also inked in.
The Castaways have known the exact locations this entire time.
