Clara moved ahead of the others, flashlight in hand, the beam slicing through the thick vegetation of the island. She was no longer the girl who laughed while taking photos in the gallery corridors. In the past days they had seen her wounded, hurting for her best friend, grinding her teeth. Now she was Clara again, but with an electric wire humming under her skin.
Something she couldn't name.
Ethan followed close behind her. Too close.
Every time she stumbled on a root, he caught her arm before she could fall. She answered with a sarcastic remark… but she never actually pulled her arm away.
Leo walked last. Silent. At war with himself.
Every step burned in his chest. Every cracked leaf under his boots brought Naiara's voice back to him. Every breath of wind returned an image he couldn't erase: her trusting his brother. Her following him.
Her looking at him the way she had looked at Leo.
Damian walked a few meters from Leo, and the air between them was poison.
A drawn wire that, pulled one more second, would snap into an explosion.
"We need to find the underground access," Leo murmured. His voice came out rough, almost strangled.
"The structure must be connected to the cliff. There's got to be an entrance somewhere. Or a control point."
Damian didn't answer.
Clara turned back toward both of them.
"Can you please not kill each other right now? I need both of you alive to find my best friend, okay?"
Leo didn't laugh. Neither did Damian.
But Ethan did. A half-smile, almost involuntary.
Leo noticed. And he noticed something else: the way Ethan looked at Clara.
How Clara lowered her gaze only after looking at him a little too long.
Leo didn't comment. He had no right to comment on anything.
Meanwhile, Naiara, on that same island, was trapped in an emotional paradox.
The Grey Man hadn't returned to her.
He hadn't called her. He hadn't sought her out. He hadn't asked her to dine with him or see him.
Silence. A silence that was consuming her more than his threats.
She was furious with herself for thinking about him so much. She hated that man.
Or she wished she could hate him with the purity with which one hates an enemy.
Instead she felt him on her skin like a shadow.
All day long she had paced her room, back and forth, clenching her fists, twisting the sheets, pressing her hands to her temples.
She couldn't get him out of her mind.
His gaze.
The way he spoke.
The way he challenged her in ways no one ever had. And for that she hated him even more.
When she finally lay down, late at night, she couldn't sleep. Her pupils fixed in the dark.
Her heart refusing to slow down.
She thought of the Grey Man.
The worst of all. And the one she couldn't forget.
Then she heard the doorknob turn.
Naiara jolted upright in the bed, heart leaping into her throat.
She reached toward the switch.
Clicked. Nothing.
Again. Nothing.
The lights in her room weren't working.
Darkness thickened, solid, whole. And a figure stepped in, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
It was him.
The Grey Man.
He moved inside without speaking, like a living shadow. He moved with the same calm as a lion crossing the savannah, knowing he stood at the top of the food chain.
Naiara backed up until she hit the headboard.
"What… what are you doing here?" she whispered, hardly any sound at all.
The Grey Man didn't answer.
He stopped one step from the bed.
Darkness wrapped around him, but she felt his presence like a touch on her skin.
His breath.
His heat.
His scent.
And then his voice. Low. Sharp. And dangerously calm.
"You stopped thinking about them, little strawberry."
She flinched.
The words hit exactly where he wanted them to.
Part of her wanted to deny it. Another part… knew it was true.
The Grey Man tilted his head slightly.
In the dark, she sensed he was smiling.
"Good."
And he left the room exactly as he had entered. Calm. Certain. Dominant.
Naiara remained there, trembling, heart pounding, with a truth clawing at her from the inside: she hadn't been ignored.
She had been chosen. And that terrified her more than everything else.