Page 108 of Riptide
"It's her," he said quietly as she approached. "It's Blaire Mitchell."
Ellie looked over the guardrail, took in the scene below, and let out a slow breath. "Well. That's going to complicate things."
Gabe stared out at the fog, at the water, at the rocks that had ended Blaire Mitchell's life. "It really is."
37
Cara was settinga filter in the coffee machine when the bell above the basement door chimed.
She turned.
Wade came through first, just Wade, no preamble, no explanation. Reagan followed, already dressed, already alert in that unnerving way of hers. Then Tom, laptop bag over his shoulder, and Piper—who should have been heading for homeroom—clutching her own laptop to her chest like she'd walked out the door with it mid-thought and never stopped moving.
They filed into the kitchen without being asked.
Wade moved past her toward the coffee station like he'd done it a hundred times. He pulled four mugs off the shelf, poured without asking. "We said we'd be here. So we're here."
Reagan found the stool Tom was already reaching for, yielded it without comment, and leaned against the counter instead. Piper hopped up beside the cooling rack, legs dangling, laptop already open on her knees.
"There's nothing—" Cara stopped. Tried again. "There's nothing left to do. We've been through everything."
"We know." Reagan slid a mug across the counter toward her. "We're still here."
Nobody pretended it was fine. Nobody offered false reassurance or another angle they hadn't already tried. They just arranged themselves around her kitchen the way people arrange themselves around someone waiting for bad news—not to fix it, just to make sure she wasn't waiting alone.
Cara wrapped both hands around the mug.
The ovens hummed. The timers ticked. Outside, Haven Cove was still dark and quiet, the ocean invisible behind the fog.
She looked at these four people who had walked into her borrowed life and made it real, and felt something crack open behind her sternum.
"I don't know how to do this part," she admitted. "I know how to run. I know how to fight back. I don't know how to just... wait."
"Nobody does." Tom didn't look up from his screen. "That's why you make good coffee."
Piper reached over and stole a cardamom bun off the nearest cooling rack. "These are still warm. You've been here a while."
"Since four."
"Four." Reagan looked at her steadily. "Cara."
"I couldn't sleep."
"Obviously." But Reagan's voice was gentle. "Eat something."
The back door opened and Diane appeared, unwinding her scarf, already scanning the kitchen with that efficient morning-shift gaze. She took in the four extra people, the depleted coffee station, Piper perched on the prep counter eating a cardamom bun at six in the morning, and didn't miss a beat.
"I've got the front." She hung up her coat and reached for her apron. "You all look like you need somewhere to be that isn't my kitchen."
Wade was already moving toward the basement stairs. Tom tucked his laptop under his arm. Reagan collected the mugs, topped them off, distributed them without being asked.
Cara caught Diane's eye. "Thank you."
"Go." Diane's voice was matter-of-fact, but her expression wasn't. "I'll come get you if anything comes up."
The basement felt like a tomb.
Cara sat at the table, third cup of coffee growing cold in front of her, watching the others exist in various states of exhaustion. Tom had his laptop open but wasn't typing—just staring at the screen like it might offer answers. Reagan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes closed. Not sleeping. Just waiting. Wade sat in the corner, perfectly still.
