Footsteps move closer.
“Charlotte?”
I lean toward the door. “Yeah.”
“Stay where you are, and keep Jameson quiet. Don’t open the door.”
Another pause, then his footsteps fade, heading back toward the stairs.
Jameson presses closer. “Lottie?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m scared.”
I tighten my arms around him. “It’s okay. Ryan’s here. He’ll take care of us.”
It’s easier to say that than anything else.
Easier than thinking about the screams I heard earlier.
About how long it’s been since anyone upstairs made a sound.
About Mum and Dad.
I shut it down before it can go any further.
The hallway goes quiet again.
I listen to Ryan’s steps fade completely. Then nothing.
Jameson stays tucked against me, his breathing slowly evening out, though every so often his fingers tighten in my shirt.
“Is Ryan okay?” he whispers.
“I’m sure he is.”
I don’t know if he hears the doubt in my voice.
The boat feels wrong now. Too still. No gentle rocking—just the occasional creak somewhere deep in the hull.
Outside, nothing moves. No voices. No footsteps. Just wind brushing the side of the yacht and water somewhere beyond it.
Jameson lifts his head again. “Lottie?”
“Yeah?”
“Can we come out now?”
“Not yet.”
Silence stretches again.
Then—a creak in the hallway. Footsteps. Slow. Getting closer.
I hold my breath, and they stop right outside the door. Then the handle turns.
The door opens and light floods in, sharp enough to sting my eyes. Ryan stands there, breathing hard, like he’s been running.
