I stare at the door Langston had to unlock to relay an instruction. There is a woman who lives in the other half of the house.
Who is she?
I walk to the solid wood door. I put my hand on the door handle and twist.
It’s locked.
I jiggle the door handle a couple more times just to be sure, but the door is definitely locked.
I consider spending all my time trying to break in, but I have more important things to do today. I need to find a way off this island before Langston returns.
I run upstairs to Langston’s bedroom.
I search for his phone, his laptop, any electronic device that I can use to contact Waylon.
God, Waylon, I miss him.
Langston is a bit of a minimalist. He has a nightstand with no drawers. His dresser only has clothes in the top two drawers and the bottom drawers are empty. His bathroom only holds the absolute basics—toothbrush, soap, towels. I find nothing useful.
I search all the guest bedrooms.
I search the library.
I search the kitchen, the dining room, the living room. I search the entire house but find no phone, no computer, no tablet. Nothing that can help me contact Waylon.
I grab a banana from the counter for energy, not bothering to cook anything while I think about what to do next.
My eyes linger on the door again.
The door that has remained locked the entire time I’ve been here.
It has to be locked for a reason.
My guess is a computer and phone sit on the other side of that door, maybe in Langston’s office.
I shove the last bite of banana in my mouth while I listen carefully, trying to determine if anyone else is in the house.
I don’t hear Amelia or Joel. I don’t hear maids cleaning. The house is eerily quiet.
I grin and pull a bobby pin from my hair while I walk to the locked door. Hopefully, it will lead to a phone, computer, or some way to contact the outside world on the other side.
There are security cameras watching me, but Langston is on a plane right now to God knows where, and Joel is probably passed out drunk on his bed, ignoring me.
I hated growing up with a group of monsters who knew how to hold a gun before they hit puberty. They also knew how to hack security cameras and break into any room.
I jostle the door handle and then insert the bobby pin, easily popping the lock.
I smile slyly when I open the door. I can’t believe that Langston didn’t use more than a simple lock to keep me out.
My smile is quickly wiped away at my realization. If he was truly hiding something important, something he didn’t want me to have, he’d have made it harder.
There is a long hallway before the second half opens up.
I gasp when I see the living space.
It’s big and grand—made of marble, quartz, and all the shiny things of a modern fairytale castle. The ceiling on this half of the house is double the height of the other side. The decor is 11th-century castle with a modern touch, not beachy, warm, and full of nature like the rest of the house.
But the biggest difference of all is how dark it is. There are windows, but they are all covered with heavy, black-out curtains. You wouldn’t even know you are on the beach in this half of the house.