The second we step onto the pool terrace, I notice something’s wrong. Deeply wrong.
The pool is empty, not a single ripple disturbing the surface. No sleepy guests sipping ginger water. No staff serving breakfast. Cups are still half full, toast and pancakes getting eaten by lizards and birds. Everyone… just vanished.
Tom comes up beside me, scanning the terrace with narrowed eyes. His hands curl into fists, because that’s what he does when instinct kicks in.
He says what’s already going through my mind. The blunt version.
“What kind of post-apocalyptic shit is this?”
“I don’t know, Sapphire, and I’m not sure I want to find out.”
We take the familiar path to my studio.
Rakes and shovels lie abandoned in the flower beds. The sprinklers still run, their soft tapping against the silence making everything worse.
Tom walks beside me like a stray cat in enemy territory, restlessly checking every corner.
We pass the tennis court, rackets and balls abandoned on the ground, until the path opens onto the main building.
Everyone is gathered in the square in front of the lobby. Staff. Guests. All of them.
Tom and I exchange looks.
“Why is everyone there?”
I lift a hand, signaling him to lower his voice. “We should join them. It won’t look good if we’re the only ones hanging back.”
He nods, falling into step with me.
“Maybe they found the Gremlin in the ditch and now they’re looking for us.”
A low hum leaves my throat. Not quite yes, not quite no.
“If that was the case,” I whisper back. “Wouldn’t they have sent people down to the beach already?”
But even as I say it, doubt crawls under my ribs. My gut—still flipped inside out—doesn’t trust my logic. It barely trusts the ground beneath my feet.
Then I see a wall of guards. Dozens. Law enforcement and private security.
And behind them—
Oh god. Dogs.
My head tips, dizziness threatens to take me out at the knees. Next to me, Tom goes rigid. I catch the flash of panic in his eyes before he buries it.
There’s no such thing as coincidence. I get spiked, and less than twelve hours later there’s a drug raid at Arcadia?
That’s exactly what this is. How the hell did Terrence manage to pull this off?
Everything speeds up.
A unit of guards circle the crowd, closing us in. One passes close enough that I catch the scent of cologne and leather. His eyes sweep over us, counting heads.
His gaze lands on me, staying a little longer than feels comfortable.
My mouth goes dry.
“Everyone, get in line!” he barks, pointing at the counter where more guards are setting up a checkpoint.
