Strings of Fate: The First Loop

CHAPTER 18

I feel the words settle on my skin like sea mist—gentle, but cold. I don’t respond right away.

Because if I’m being honest... I don’t know if that’s true.

He looks at me like he means it, like it’s obvious.

But inside, I feel like a cracked vase held together by thin lines of willpower and silence. I think of my mother. My father. The things I don’t talk about. The parts of myself I cover with laughter and light.

I wonder—can someone who’s falling apart even fix anything?

Maybe broken people try to mend others because it's easier than mending themselves. Maybe we hope that by unbreaking someone else, we might piece together the scattered bits of ourselves too. But it never really works like that, does it? You can’t build yourself whole from someone else’s healing. You just end up carrying more weight. More cracks. More silent goodbyes.

The clouds roll in faster than I expect—thick, gray, swallowing the stars whole.

A cold wind sweeps across the beach, lifting the hem of my dress and sending a shiver down my spine.

Then, like a curtain being drawn across the world, the sky splits open.

Rain.

A sudden downpour, heavy and unforgiving.

James grabs my hand. “Let’s go back to our rooms, B—it’s a storm!”

We run, our footsteps splashing through shallow puddles forming in the sand, laughter slipping out of our mouths without asking. The wind tugs at our clothes, at our hair. The rain soaks through everything, fast and wild. I squint through it, my breath catching in my throat from the cold and the shock and the rush of it all.

But I’m smiling.

Even as we run into the storm, even as it hides the stars—part of me feels alive.

Ruined dress. Wet hair. Running from the sea with James’s hand in mine.

For a second, I forget the brokenness. For a second, I don’t feel like I have to fix anything at all.

Just run. Just laugh. Just feel.

The rain was still pounding as I stepped into the room, soaked to the bone, hair clinging to my skin, my sandals squelching against the wooden floor.

I reached for the towel, ready to dry off—when something stopped me.

My wrist.

Bare.

Empty.

The bracelet—my mom’s bracelet.

Gone.

I stared at the spot like it could magically reappear if I looked hard enough. But no soft gold glinted in the light. Just my pale wrist, marked with the faint tan line where it always sat.

No.

No, no, no.

I dropped to my knees and tore through my bag. Every pocket. Every zipper. I threw open drawers, flung pillows off the bed. Pulled back the sheets, checked under the mattress. My heart slammed against my ribs.

I opened the bathroom. Nothing. I scanned every corner like a madwoman.

Nothing.

I gripped the edge of the bed, breath catching. No, it has to be here.

But in the pit of my stomach, I knew.

It wasn’t.

It was gone.