Chapter 5: The Cut Water Pipe

Lila ran all the way back to Driftwood Cottage.

She burst in, reaching for a towel and flashlight to go back to the reef—but stopped dead in the doorway.

The living room had been ransacked.

Couch cushions sliced open, stuffing everywhere; the mantel clock’s glass shattered, its hands stopped at 3:17; the sketchbook she’d left open on the table yesterday had been sliced page by page with a knife.

Her sister’s photo—the one she’d tucked inside the sketchbook—was gone.

Lila leaned against the doorframe, her back slick with cold sweat. She made herself look inch by inch: windows unbroken, lock unforced. Whoever had done this had a key.

Or—had been in the house all along.

She trembled as she turned on the faucet, wanting to wash her face. The pipe groaned, then sprayed a jet of rust-brown water that soaked her half.

The water line had been sawed through from underneath.

Her phone rang. It was the other inn in town, the Seagull Roost.

“Ms. Mason,” the front-desk voice was apologetic. “Um, we’re afraid we have to cancel your reservation. The town… the town just suddenly booked out for a fishing-season tour. Every room’s full. We’re sorry. Truly sorry.”

“But I booked three days ago—”

The line went dead.

Lila stood in the wreckage, listening to the surf outside. She understood what this meant: it was a polite, town-wide eviction. No hitting you, no cursing you—just making sure you had nowhere to go, until you left on your own.

She hefted the only intact bag she had, a backpack, and walked out of Driftwood Cottage.

The rain started again. She walked along the highway with no destination, until a gray pickup pulled slowly alongside her.

The window rolled down. It was Cane Walker’s expressionless face.

“Get in.” he said.

“I don’t—”

“You’ve got two choices right now.” He cut her off, voice cold and hard. “Either you blow off under the cliff tonight and someone finds you at high tide tomorrow. Or you get in my truck and stay at my place.”

He stared at her. In those gray-green eyes was something she couldn’t read—something like guilt, or fear.

“I’ve got one spare room. No second bed. No second lock.” He said. “You can walk out right now. I won’t stop you.”

Lila looked at him, then back at the black, heavy sea.

The foghorn sounded again. Wail… wail… as if counting someone’s name.

She pulled the door open and got in.