It’s dark when I wake up. There are no voices echoing up from the lower terrace.

Those are the first two things that I notice, and when they both register in my foggy brain, I sit bolt upright underneath the white canopy. 

What time is it?

I fumble for my phone, which is tucked further under my pillow than I thought, and swipe at the screen to unlock it. It’s a little past ten o’clock.

I turn over onto my back, dropping the phone back on the surface of the bed, and stretch out, yawning. At least I didn’t miss the entire night. I would have been so pissed at myself for letting Abby down.

Once I’ve worked out the kinks, I take a short detour into the bathroom to brush my teeth and throw my hair into a bun, and then I pad downstairs. Where did those two go?

Gideon and Abby aren’t in the kitchen, or anywhere in the living room. In fact, it’s a kind of deadly quiet in the house. There’s nothing but the sound of the tropical breeze and the waves rolling onto the shore in a steady rhythm. My heartbeat is louder than either of them.

Maybe they’re talking quietly out on the terrace.

I head through the living room toward the big double doors that open to the poolside terrace, straining to hear any sound that might indicate where they are. My shoulders are tense and tight. Abby’s going to laugh any second now. I don’t know why the hell I’m so nervous about this. I don’t know why the hell I should have such a creeping, sick feeling in the pit of my gut, and I pause at the double doors, lean against the frame, and close my eyes.

For a long time after the accident, I had to do this every fifteen minutes—find somewhere to brace myself and close my eyes, letting my breath calm me. It got worse when Abby got out of the hospital, and worse again when my mom would leave to drive her to her physical therapy appointments. Every time they got into the car, I felt dizzy and lightheaded, unable to find my balance.

The same thing is happening now, and I have to calm down.

I’m on Necker Island with Gideon. It’s one of the most exclusive vacation spots in the entire world. He’s promised me that he has everything under control, so there’s no reason to worry.

It’s the silence that’s getting to me. That’s all.

Once I’ve steadied myself, I head out onto the terrace. All the cocktail things have been cleared away, and a couple of staff members are gathered around a table, lighting candles in the center, speaking in hushed tones. One of them, a woman, turns away to take three plates off a rolling tray near the table and reaches down, setting one in front of one of the seats. The man says something, and they go back and forth. She moves it to one of the other spaces.

I’m about to stride over to ask them for any information they might have about the sexy billionaire who’s renting out this entire island and where he might be, along with my sister, when I hear their voices.

It’s Abby’s laugh, ringing out through the night, and at first I can’t place which direction it’s coming from. Both of the people setting the table look up, and I follow their eyes toward a platform that blends artfully into the Great House. The top section is blazing with lights. Most of them are meant to look like torches, but there’s one bright floodlight. Gideon is lit up from the side like some kind of Greek god, and nearby, Abby’s dark hair pokes above one of the railings.

She laughs again, and I hurry across the terrace, finding the entrance to the platform outside its still-warm tiles. There’s a stone staircase leading up, and I take the steps two at a time.

At the top, I can’t process what I’m seeing for a few long heartbeats.

Gideon is leaning against the side of the platform, arms crossed above his chest. There are two staff members on either side of Abby, one checking the straps on the harness that she’s strapped into. The other pulls a helmet over her head, buckling it underneath her chin.

My entire chest goes tight and cold.

“What the hell is this?”

My voice is sharp and loud, and everyone turns toward me.

One of the staff members looks back down at Abby. “One last time.” 

She reaches up, gamely, making eye contact with me as she grips a handle above her head with both hands, flexing her muscles. “I’ve got this.” She winks at the guy to her left. “I’ve been working out.”

“I’m sure you have.”

Nobody has answered me yet, and anger rises up alongside the fear that’s choking me.

I swallow again. Gideon’s face is frozen somewhere between confusion and surprise. “Kennedy, we were—”

“Going on the zip line!” Abby cries with a big grin on her face. “And tomorrow we’re going skydiving. Ready, boys?”

The staff members both grip handles on each side of the harness. I can’t make out the words they’re saying to one another any more—their voices merge into my panic.

“Abby, stop!” I try to shout the words, but they come out as a strangled cry.

“Not a chance, sis.” She is shouting, over her shoulder, and then the men at either side of her swing her forward. “One, two, three,” they say in tandem, and then they’ve flung her over the edge of the platform. She screams as she flies away from us, into the dark night, and I can’t tell if it’s in terror or delight.

The sound reverberates to my very core, and I’m in that car again, hearing the crunch of the rooftop against the bottom of the ditch and Abby’s high-pitched scream, cut off suddenly as the car makes impact again. My hand is tight against the buckle of the seat belt, hanging on for dear life—I got it buckled, I got it buckled, Abby, Abby, Abby—and then that darkness, that long, stifling darkness.

“Abby!” The scream rips from my throat and I’m in motion, everyone standing stock-still, staring at me.

I take the stairs two at a time and when I hit the terrace I ditch my shoes, running for the beach. Abby zooms overhead, still screaming, down the beach.

I run for her life.