I didn't sleep. After the kiss… after Milo's mouth bruised mine like he'd been starving for years… after the dizzy way we stumbled back to the cottage, silent but too close. I just lay there, eyes wide, the island whispering outside my window. The fire had faded. But not in me. Morning on the island didn't come gently. It came golden and sharp, as if the sun had claws and didn't care who it scorched. Lena was already outside when I stepped onto the porch. She sat on the stone ledge, barefoot, braiding her long dark hair. Her expression was unreadable. Too calm. Too quiet. "Morning," I said, trying to sound normal. She didn't answer right away. Just stared out at the ocean. Then finally, without looking at me: "You disappeared last night." My stomach flipped. "I needed air. "Her braid tightened. "So did Milo?" Silence. She stood, letting her braid fall over one shoulder. Her eyes met mine. Deep, green, ancient. She smiled but it didn't reach her soul. "The island makes people… strange," she said. "Be careful who you burn with, Celine. Fire has favorites. But it always leaves someone ash." And just like that, she walked away.
Inside, the notebook was on my bed. I hadn't touched it since yesterday. I swear I hadn't. But now there was a new line scrawled across the top page, in handwriting that wasn't mine: "One heart wants. One heart bleed. The island always knows. "The ink shimmered faintly, like heat on stone. I snapped it shut. That afternoon, I tried to write. Really write. The whole reason I was here. All the other writers were scattered in the shaded grove near the temple. Laptops, paper, ink-stained fingers. Some laughing. Some whispering. A few watching me too closely. Lucien passed me with a nod. "Didn't think you were the type to steal another woman's fire." My mouth dried. "What?" He just smirked and kept walking. They knew. Or they sensed it. The island fed secrets to the soil. I spotted Milo at the far end of the clearing, talking to Lena. Her hand was on his chest. He didn't pull away. I turned and walked fast. Anywhere else. That night, I wrote a single line in the notebook just one. "I wish none of this had happened. I wish I could take it back." The words melted into the page. Nothing changed. The island had heard. But it wasn't forgiving.
POV: Milo
I woke to silence. No birdsong. No Lena's soft hums. No footsteps on the cottage floorboards.
Just stillness and a gnawing feeling in my gut that something was wrong. "Lena?" I called; voice cracked with sleep. "Babe? "The sheets beside me were cold. I pushed them back and stood, checking the bathroom, the tiny kitchen, even outside. Nothing. No note. No signal. I ran back inside, heart hammering, and found Ravenna sitting by the window, cradling that strange notebook of hers like it was sacred. Or dangerous. "She's gone," I said, trying to sound calm. But I wasn't. Ravenna stood slowly, eyes wide, guilty. "Gone where?" "I thought maybe you knew," I snapped before I could stop myself. "You were both talking last night laughing like everything was fine." That guilt again. It flickered across her face like lightning. She didn't answer me.
I grabbed a hoodie and stepped outside, barefoot, into the wet earth. The village below was stirring, smoke from hearths rising but something was off. The energy was... tighter. Pressured. Like a storm before the thunder. A woman with a basket of herbs stood near the path and met my eyes. "The island corrects imbalances," she said plainly, like she was discussing the weather. "It doesn't wait for your permission." "What the hell does that mean?" I asked, but she was already turning away. Ravenna appeared beside me, quiet, tense, the notebook shoved deep into her bag.
We walked downhill to the market, shoulders brushing but miles apart in thought. My mind was screaming Lena's name. I kept seeing her laughing, spinning in that red sundress she wore yesterday and then I kept seeing her vanishing. Erased. As we reached the village square, the stench of smoke struck me. Blackened wood. Crumbling stone. A shrine beautiful and ancient was half-collapsed, flames still licking the air. People were gathered around it in murmurs, some in prayer, some in disbelief. "The island is stirring," someone whispered near us. "It's waking up again." Ravenna' s breath hitched. I glanced at her, really looked and she was terrified. "Ravenna …" I said softly, "What are you not telling me?" She didn't answer. Just clutched that damn notebook tighter, like it held a truth she couldn't face. I wanted to scream. To shake her. But I didn't. I just stood there my fiancée missing, the island burning, the girl I once loved hiding secrets behind her beautiful eyes and realized: Nothing was random anymore. This wasn't fate.
Something someone was writing this. And I didn't know how to stop it.
POV; Ravenna
The rain hadn't stopped since dawn. I heard the front door slam before I saw him Milo, soaked to the bone, dripping across the wooden floor like a ghost dragged in by the wind. His hair clung to his forehead, wild and darkened by the storm. His white shirt clung tighter, transparent and molded to his body, sculpted like some cruelly carved statue of a war god flawless and ruined all at once. He looked like he had fought the storm and lost. "Milo?" I stepped forward, my voice trembling with something I didn't want to name. He didn't answer. His eyes met mine, blazing. There was something volcanic in them pain, fury, desperation. His jaw clenched like he was biting back an avalanche. "She's gone," he said finally. "She's fucking gone. "Lena.
I nodded slowly, swallowing the guilt down like poison. My fingers curled tighter around the edge of the table. "I... I know," I whispered. "I tried to find her. I tried to" "Don't," he snapped. "Don't act like you understand." He took a step forward. The space between us tightened like a noose. "You don't know what it's like to lose her. You don't" His voice cracked. His breath hitched. We were inches apart now. Close enough to feel the heat beneath the rain-drenched skin. Close enough that I could smell the storm still clinging to him. Close enough that the pain in his eyes blurred into mine. "I didn't mean to hurt her," I whispered, and then lower, almost to myself, "I didn't mean for any of this." He stared at me like he was searching for someone else beneath my skin. And maybe he was. Maybe we both were. "I kissed you," he said finally, voice low and rough. "That shouldn't have happened." "It did."
His hand shot up, gripping the edge of the table behind me knuckles white. Not touching me, not yet. But everything in his body was straining toward me. "You're supposed to be my best friend," he muttered. "You're not supposed to feel like this." And then I did something I knew I'd regret. I stepped into him. His breath caught. He didn't pull back. The heat between us surged, a breathless silence pressing against our lips like thunder. "You want to tell me you didn't feel it?" I asked. "That it didn't shake you too?" "Ravenna …" he warned. "Milo." I tilted my face up. And he cracked. His mouth crashed into mine with a ferocity I wasn't ready for but had craved in silence. His hands found my waist, fingers digging in like he hated himself for touching me, and couldn't stop. I gasped against his lips as he pushed me back into the table, his body flush against mine wet, hard, shaking.
"I shouldn't," he breathed into my mouth. "Then don't," I dared him. But he kissed me again, deeper, messier. One hand slipped beneath my damp shirt, trailing fire across my skin. My back arched into him, and I moaned softly when his thigh wedged between mine. "Fuck," he hissed, voice broken. "You feel like a sin." "Then sin," I whispered. Rain-slicked skin tangled against the wooden table. His mouth moved down my neck, across my collarbone, over the curve of my breast his touch hungry, desperate, like he was trying to forget everything but this moment. But he couldn't. Neither could I. His hands trembled when they cupped my face, his lips finding mine again not just lust now, but something aching. Something that tasted like grief and guilt and a longing we didn't dare name. We moved together slow, then fast, wild, then tender as if we were chasing something that only existed in the silence between thunderclaps. I came undone in his arms. And when he collapsed beside me, breathless and shaking, I didn't ask what it meant. Because I already knew the price.