“And what about the souls that are already there?” Joaquin asked. “Can we get them back?”
There was a long, heavy silence. No one moved. No one breathed.
“You already know the answer to that,” Tristan said finally. “No one ever comes back from the Shadowlands. That’s why it’s imperative
that we all understand what we need to do.” The mayor took a step back as he commanded control of the room. “From this moment on, no matter how many coins we each have, no matter how strong the call, no one is to leave this island. Are we clear?”
“Yes,” the room said as one.
“Good,” Tristan said.
Then he looked me in the eye, his gaze so intense it took my breath away.
“Rory,” he said firmly. “We need to talk.”
Tristan and I were silent as we walked back to his house, Krista and the mayor trailing slightly behind us. Every now and then I would catch his gaze; the guarded look in his eyes made me hold my tongue. He held the front door open for me, and together we moved up the creaky stairs and into his dusky room, the only light the full moon glowing through the window. He closed the door behind us, and I turned to look at him. His expression was filled with sorrow and sympathy, apology and regret.
“I’m so sorry, Rory,” he said. “About your dad. You must be—”
“How?” My voice cracked. “How did you know?”
“It’s a special…awareness I have,” he said, taking a step toward me. “When a Lifer’s charge is first revealed to them, it’s revealed to me as well.”
“So that’s how you knew about Aaron,” I said, tears flooding my eyes.
He nodded. “Are you all right?”
“No,” I replied, shaking my head as the tears spilled over. “How can I be all right? He’s moving on. He’s…he’s going to leave me.”
Tristan closed the distance between us then, pulling me into his arms. I inhaled the scent of him, so like the calming, floral scent of the island itself, and released all the misery, confusion, and anger I’d been feeling since the moment I’d had that flash.
Tristan stroked my hair back from my face, clinging to my shoulder with his other hand. He kissed the top of my head and whispered in my ear, “It’s okay. I’m here.”
Gradually, my tears began to slow, my breathing returning to normal, until finally I was quiet.
“Where were you today?” I muttered, looking him in the eye. “Where were you when you found out about me ushering my dad?
“I was at the cove,” he said.
“With Nadia?”
Tristan knitted his brow. “What? No. Not with Nadia. I mean, she did come by here earlier today, but I didn’t go anywhere with her. I was at the cove, reading.”
“Reading?” I repeated dumbly.
Tristan released me slowly, as if afraid I might crumble at any sudden movement, and went to his desk. For the first time, I noticed that piled on top were dozens of leather-bound journals, some with yellowed pages, others with crisp white ones. He grabbed one from the top of a pile and brought it to me, sitting down on the edge of his bed. I sat next to him.
“What’s that?” I asked, dragging my hands over my face to try to dry the tears.
“I’ve never shown this to anyone,” he said, tilting the spine up. “It’s my daily log. The most recent one. I’ve been keeping them since I got here, so there are actually quite a few by now, but this is the one that matters.”
“Why?” I asked.
He blinked and looked at me like it was so obvious. “Because you’re in it.” Tristan held the journal out to me, gazing directly into my eyes. “Take it.”
“What?”
“I want you to have it,” he said firmly, placing it in my hands. “I want you to see what I wrote tonight before I came back to town—how you’ve changed everything for me.”