Chapter 51: Reid
After she’s done showing us the report, her face lights up the whole damn place.
For a second, I forget to look away. There’s a kind of electricity in her — that stubborn, head-in-the-clouds type that doesn’t know when to stop talking because she’s too damn excited to breathe.
She says she’s still finishing a few details and charts, that the final version will be on the drive later.
It’s good. Great, from what I gathered. One day on the water and she found something worth an entire research season.
Safety liability or not, she’s good. I have to admit it.
Jake nods, smug, like it’s his find. “You two worked well,” he says, standing. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She gives him a small smile, a polite little wave, and goes right back to typing.
“You should go too,” I tell her.
She doesn’t even look up. “I just need to finish this part—give me two seconds. Then you can look whenever you want. Or Jake. Or both. I mean, I’m not telling you what to do, it’s just—”
She’s still talking.
Something about how she’s not telling me what to do—it’s “just a suggestion,” she swears—and how maybe Jake would want to see her notes first, or maybe both of us, “if that’s okay, or not okay, I just meant—”
All while she’s stuffing papers into her bag, laptop cord hanging off the edge of the table, trying to do six things at once.
It’s chaos.
Her chaos.
And damn if it isn’t almost… funny.
There’s this small part of me that wants to smile at it. The rest of me doesn’t know what to do with her at all.
She’s shoving her pen into the side pocket when her phone starts ringing on the table.
Face up.
Bright screen cutting through the low café light.
Unknown number.
I barely glance at it—just a flick of my eyes before I go back to my notes. Probably spam.
But the ringing doesn’t stop.
And she doesn’t move.
It takes me a second to realize she’s gone completely still.
Head tilted just slightly toward the sound, eyes locked on the screen. Not blinking. Not breathing right either.
Her fingers are still wrapped around her bag strap, knuckles white. She looks… wrong. Like the air just got sucked out of her lungs and she’s trying not to show it.
Something cold runs down my spine.
I look again. She’s staring at the phone like it’s alive. Like it might reach across the table and grab her.
“Madeline?” I say, low.
No response.
Her throat moves once, a silent swallow, but her gaze doesn’t break from the phone. She’s trembling now—barely, but enough that I can see it in the way the strap quivers under her hand.
I reach out and flip the phone face down.
The sound of it hitting the wood makes her flinch.
“Hey.” My voice comes out softer than I mean it to. “You okay?”
That pulls her back.
Her eyes snap to mine—glassy, lost—and she blinks fast like she’s trying to remember where she is.
“I—” she starts, voice catching. “I’m sorry.”
Before I can say another word, she’s on her feet, fumbling to grab her phone and bag at the same time.
“Madeline—”
But she’s already moving, shoving the strap over her shoulder with shaky hands. “I have to go,” she says too quickly, almost tripping over the words. “Sorry, I just— I need to—”
She doesn’t finish the sentence.
By the time the bell over the café door chimes, she’s gone.
I sit there, staring at the spot she was standing, the echo of her voice still clinging to the air.
One second she was rambling about charts and porpoises; the next she looked like she’d seen the devil himself.
First that night, when Mrs. Carver found her outside the inn, shaking and barely breathing.
Now this.
I lean back in my chair, the noise of the café blurring around me.
What the hell is she so afraid of?
Because that wasn’t embarrassment. That wasn’t stress.
That was fear. Real, raw, bone-deep fear.
And I can’t shake the feeling that whoever just called her—whatever she’s running from—
it’s not finished with her yet.
I let out a sharp breath, dragging a hand down my face. All that digging I did on her—records, transcripts, interviews—and still nothing. Nothing that explains the way she freezes like that. The way her whole body shuts down. Clean background, spotless reputation. But whatever’s eating her? It’s not in any file.
I shove my own work into my bag, drop a few bills on the table for the coffees, and some extra to thank the employees.
The air’s colder now, the kind that scrapes your lungs clean. I tell myself I’m just heading to the Vigil. Just to make sure everything’s in order before heading home. That’s all.
But then—
I see her.
Down by the wall where the cliffs start to fall away. Sitting on one of the boulders, small against the vastness of the sea. The sun’s sinking low, bleeding gold through her hair until it looks like it’s burning. She’s barefoot, or close to it—shoes dangling from her fingers, head bowed toward the waves.
Something twists in my chest, sharp and unwanted.
None of my damn business.
Whatever that phone call was, whoever it was—it’s not my problem. She’s an employee. A bright one, yeah, but still just a name on the payroll.
I turn away. Take a few steps.
Then stop.
Swear under my breath.
I’m already walking back before I can talk myself out of it.
The rocks shift beneath my boots, crunching loud enough to warn her. I don’t want to startle her. But she doesn’t move. Doesn’t even look up.
When she finally does—those eyes, unfocused, glassy with something I can’t name—there’s no spark of irritation, no flicker of that usual fire she gets when I piss her off.
Just… nothing.
And somehow, that nothing hits harder than any glare ever could.