Hana shrugs, silent, but she doesn’t need to say anything. As she meets his gaze, yet again, words pass between them, unspoken.
“Where’s Jo now?” Caleb breaks the silence.
“Packing the last of her stuff.”
“And Maya?”
“In her room. I said I’d meet her there to walk up.” Hana frowns. “She’s thrown, I think, by the whole thing.”
“Aren’t we all? You know, when I googled this place, after Jo first sent through the details, I laughed at all the conspiracy theories, but now . . .”
Hana nods numbly. “I know.” It would have happened eventually, she thinks: the fallout from all these lies, whether they’d come to the island or not. But still, she can’t help feeling robbed, like the island keeps taking from them and will continue to take until they have nothing left to give.
“Storm’s set in pretty bad.” Caleb glances out the window. “Not going to be a nice walk up.”
He’s right, she thinks, following his gaze. Everything suddenly feels dark and melancholy, the clouds growing not just in number but in size—obliterating the blue. The strengthening breeze has already transformed the once tranquil setting into chaos—tiny branches now littering the terrace, flattened imprints of blossoms marking the smooth expanse of stone.
Hana’s about to turn away when the wind gusts. A sudden sharp crack, a blistering movement.
Caleb flinches.
They watch, frozen, as a large branch from the pine above plummets to the ground.
An amputation; the raw, white innards of the branch exposed where it’s been brutally wrenched from the tree.
Neither of them speak.
They simply stare at the branch as it writhes from side to side in the wind before a ferocious gust sends it tumbling past the window, lifting it up in the air before dropping it again.
An ugly, tortuous dance.
70
Elin recounts to Steed what Will told her, her eyes darting between the staff and the remaining guests swelling the lobby.
The work that Farrah started is in full swing: staff shepherding guests toward the corridor at the back of reception. The lobby is ringing with sound. Voices. Suitcase wheels. The erratic slap-slap of sandals on the floor.
“And Will didn’t get anything identifiable on who attacked him?” Steed asks, his eyes tracking the frenzied movements of a group of guests a few feet away. They’re arguing about something, a man pointing down at his case.
“No.”
Steed frowns a little. “Well, bad news on that front. I pulled a favor, got someone to run those names through the database . . . but no joy. It’s pulled up nothing apart from Farrah, and obviously we’re aware of that.”
“Should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.”
He nods. “I think it’s worth going back to basics. Speaking to everyone who’s left, see if anything comes up about the last few days. Someone might have witnessed something without knowing it was significant.”
“Good idea. Same for Farrah. Someone might have—”
But she doesn’t get to finish her sentence.
“Still no sign of Farrah?”
It’s Jared, the supervisor. His angular face is puckered with worry.
“Afraid not. We’ve searched the immediate vicinity . . . nothing.”
“Should we widen the search? There’s staff we can spare. Most of the remaining guests are already here, and the others are on their way.” Jared casts an anxious look outside at the growing mass of clouds, the fine spits of rain now pocking the window. “The storm’s really coming in now. If she’s out there on her own . . .”
Elin glances outside. She’s stuck: do as he says and they risk staff safety. Do nothing and the odds of finding Farrah narrow further. If they were to extend the search, the quarry and cave are an obvious place to start, but she can’t let anyone go that far.
“No, I don’t think—” Her words are lost amid the loud crackle from Jared’s radio, a sudden flurry of speech.
“Hello?” He brings the radio up close to his ear. “Can you repeat yourself?”
The person does, but it’s still inaudible.
Whoever’s calling must be outside, voice blurred by the howling of the wind.
“Let me go somewhere quieter.” Jared slips behind the reception desk into the small room behind.
Hovering outside, Elin shifts from foot to foot, nerves playing in her stomach.
A few moments later, he emerges from behind the desk. “One of the staff has found a bag on the rocks. Says it looks like Farrah’s.”