“Were you two fighting?”

My lips pinch together as I try to stave off a full-blown scowl. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

Sheriff Grigsby gives an apologetic nod. “The thing is, if he left after a fight, then maybe he did intend to stay gone. Not that I know your friend or anything,” he says quickly. “It’s just that sometimes people need their space to cool off, so to speak. Now if he ran to the store for some milk and never came back, that’s quite a different scenario. You can see why I would need to ask then, right?”

Ugh. I do see, but Galen is too responsible—and thoughtful—to pull something like this. And helping a complete stranger understand that is like trying to seize a crab with your armpit. Not happening.

When I have no answer, the sheriff continues soothingly. “Now don’t you worry, Emma. Go to the Huddle, enjoy yourself, and I bet by morning we’ll have found your friend. In the meantime though, young lady, you should know that you’re not as ‘alone’ as you think. You belong here.” Then he asks me all sorts of questions about Galen’s vehicle, which way we came from, if I thought he would take the same path home. And with that, Waden and his ‘lot,’ including Scuba Darrell, squeeze past us one by one. I watch until they disappear from sight, until I can’t sense them anymore. I have no confidence in them at all.

Because maybe I’m wrong. Maybe Galen did leave me behind. Maybe I misjudged him like I have so many times before. It’s not as if he doesn’t have the whole freaking planet on his mind right now. What with our fight, his grieving over Rachel, his irritation at finding a certain illegal town called Neptune. Why wouldn’t he need some time to step away and deal?

And what will he do if they find him? Be mad at me for sending them? Leave again? Maybe I should have left things alone.

“They’ll find him,” Reed says softly. And all of a sudden, that’s what I’m afraid of.

22

THE ROOM is a whirpool of blur. Occasionally Galen will catch glimpses of Tyrden’s back at the open door, of the men he’s talking to. Is Reder there? He’s not sure.

He only hears a few of the booted steps it takes for the group of strangers to approach the bed. The newcomers make no sense when they speak, are only capable of babbling. Sometimes they utter a coherent word. Those times the word is “search” or “Huddle” or “missing.” Then there is “out of sight.” The word “stubborn”—that’s from Tyrden’s mouth.

Emma’s face flashes across Galen’s mind, but he can’t keep it there, can’t make it stick. Who are they talking about? Is Emma missing? Something isn’t right, but it won’t present itself. I have to find Emma. I have to protect her from these strangers.

Then the strangers disappear. Suddenly, he’s in the water.

He can escape. But every time he tries to swim deeper and deeper to safety, something grabs his fin and pulls him back to the surface, something stronger than he is. When he looks back, he stops fighting.

Rachel. He’s pulled her too far in, she can’t breathe, she can’t breathe, why isn’t she breathing? Her foot is no longer bound by the air cast. “Swim,” he tells her frantically. “Swim!”

Now she’s tied to a cement block, sinking sinking sinking. He reaches for the knife he knows is in her boot. He just needs to cut her ropes, and she’ll be free. Like last time.

But there is no boot. Only feet. Bare, manicured feet. Bubbles escape her mouth in a desperate cry. The ropes have somehow weaved themselves into chains, handcuffs and chains. The cement block is there though. It’s there and it keeps pulling her down down down into a box. No, a building. It pulls her into a building and there is nothing he can do. The roof swallows her up and she cries out and he’s got her but he can’t lift her. She’s too heavy. The blocks are too heavy.

“Help me!” he screams around him. “Rayna! Toraf! Emma!”

Rachel is dying.

Rachel is dying.

Rachel is dying.

“Let me go, Galen,” she whispers, but he can’t let go.

“Galen, let me go,” she says again. Her face is so peaceful. Decorated with her usual smile.

Rachel, please. Please don’t die.

Rachel, no.

Rachel is dead.

Again.

23

WE FIND our way to a pool ladder attached to the rock. As I wait my turn, I take in our surroundings. On either side of us are huge red curtains, not the velvety kind you see at a theater, but a kind of thick tarp stretched across the walls, tethered top and bottom to the cave. I don’t know if they’re hiding something behind them, or if they’re making a halfhearted attempt at decoration down here under the water.

Finally it’s our turn to go up, and I watch as Reed’s swimming trunks disappear to the surface. Beams of strong lights strike through the water, dancing around without much purpose, and it reminds me of the big lights at Hollywood. I wonder what kind of production I’m in store for as I follow Reed up the ladder, slipping a few times on algae congregated on some of the steps.

When I reach the top, and before I gather my bearings, a cheer resounds through the cave. What exactly they’re cheering about I’m not sure, since I’ve already met half of them or more. Maybe it’s some sort of initiation to be taken here for a Huddle—wait for the stranger to come up the ladder, then scare the snot out of her when she surfaces. Yay for strangers. If it is some sort of Neptune tradition, Reed really should have told me. I would have at least braided my hair. Or something. Not to mention, being cheered while wearing a bathing suit reminds me of a nightmare I have sometimes about being naked in the middle of the school hallway. I do adore wearing clothes when I’m the center of attention.