A few feet on, she finds him; there, beneath the overhang of the restaurant. He’s kneeling on the sand, muscles straining through the fabric of his shirt. The raw physicality is always the first thing Elin notices about Steed, but he’s a dichotomy: the hard, honed body belied by the softness of his features—heavy-lidded, sensual eyes, a wide, full mouth. He’s that rare kind of man: the type women simultaneously feel protected by and protective of.
They’ve slipped into an easy working relationship. He’s younger than her, late twenties, but there’s none of the thrusting bravado you sometimes get in men of that age. He’s astute, has a knack for asking the right questions, an emotional intelligence that’s all too rare.
A woman is standing beside him. She looks to be in her late forties, tall and muscular. Her blue swimming cap is still on, the same hue as her swimsuit, the thin layer of rubber emphasizing the shape of her skull. Despite the heat, she’s shivering, jiggling from foot to foot in a nervous rhythm.
Steed turns, and as he moves Elin sees it: a leg, splayed against the sand—a pale calf, lettuce-like fragments of seaweed suckered to the skin.
She finds herself stepping forward to get a better angle.
A teenager. Ugly wounds—slashes to the face, chest, and legs. The clothes are almost completely shredded, the polo shirt split down the seam, across the torso.
Closer again, and her vision blurs, the syrupy haze of the air giving the scene a sloppy focus. As she takes another step, reaction tips over into realization.
She sucks in her breath.
Steed swivels around to face her at the sound, eyes widening in surprise. “Elin?” He hesitates. “Are you—”
But the rest of his words bleed into the air. Elin starts to run.
She knows now why they’d called Steed instead.
Of course.
2
Hana Leger and her sister, Jo, are waiting on the jetty for the boat to take them to the island, suitcases and bags piled around their ankles. Hana rubs the back of her neck. It feels as if the sun were homing in on the soft skin there, direct as a laser beam.
The water around them is thick with people: paddlers, swimmers, dinghies bobbing, lone figures tracing the horizon on paddleboards. Children splash in the shallows, kicking up spray. Chubby toddler arms punch at froth.
Hana’s stomach tightens, but she forces her gaze back to the squatting toddler.
Don’t look away. She can’t be blind forever.
“You okay?” Jo looks at her through her aviators, blows out over her upper lip. The motion lifts up the thin strands of white-blond hair that have fallen loose from her ponytail.
“Just hot. I didn’t expect it to be so bad down here. Sea breeze and all.” Hana’s dark hair, cut in a bedraggled bob, is damp, sticking to the nape of her neck. She ruffles it.
Jo rummages in her backpack. It’s one of those technical, lightweight packs, covered in zippers and pockets. Pulling out a bottle of water, Jo swigs and then offers it to her. Hana drinks: it’s warm, plasticky tasting.
Her sister cuts a striking figure. Tall, tanned, she manages to elevate the white cotton beach dress and leopard-print Birkenstocks, slightly fuzzy from wear, into something hip and effortless. Every part of Jo is lightly muscled from a regimen of yoga and running and skiing.
Hana follows her to the end of the jetty, squinting. The island itself is a blur—the bright circle of sun behind casting it into shadow. Only one thing is clear: the infamous rock protruding from the top left of the island—the side profile that gestures to a hooded figure, a protuberance jutting out like a scythe.
Hana’s stomach tightens, the sight a hit to her solar plexus. “I didn’t expect it to actually look like—”
“A reaper?” Jo turns, ponytail swishing against her face.
“Yes.” Despite her sunglasses, a murky shadow of the rock appears every time she blinks. It’s a stark contrast to the brochure—all white sandy beaches, lush foliage.
“But you’re looking forward to it? The break, I mean.” Jo raises her voice above the whine of a Jet Ski.
“Of course.” Hana squeezes out a smile, though she’s secretly been dreading this trip.
She’d actually said no when Jo first called. The idea of a holiday with Bea, their older sister, and Maya, their cousin, boyfriends included, seemed odd. They hadn’t seen each other in months, after steadily drifting apart over the past few years. While Jo said it was all about getting them together again, Hana struggled to understand it. Why now? After all this time?
She offered up what she thought was a solid excuse: without Liam, it didn’t feel right. But Jo was persistent: phone calls, texts, she’d even turned up at her flat—a rare occurrence—with a hard copy of the retreat’s brochure.