The days on the island were quieter than I expected. After everything that had happened—the storms, the ambush, the secrets of the Rift Control Agency—I thought the silence might suffocate me. But a week later, I found myself falling into a rhythm, as if the island had its own way of smoothing over jagged edges.

Rio, on the other hand, didn’t seem to know what to do with the quiet.

“You’re pacing again,” I said, glancing up from the small table where I was sorting through a stack of papers Vale had left me before we split up.

Rio shot me a glare but didn’t stop. She was barefoot, her jacket draped over the back of the couch, and she looked as restless as ever.

“There’s nothing to do here,” she muttered, running a hand through her fiery hair.

“Plenty to do,” I said with a shrug. “The market’s open. You could take a walk. Maybe go talk to Piper.”

Her glare sharpened. “I’m not here to make friends.”

I sighed, setting the papers aside. “Technically, you are,” I reminded her. “You’re supposed to be trying to blend in.”

She stopped pacing and flopped onto the couch with an exaggerated groan. “This place is too... normal,” she said, throwing an arm over her eyes. “It’s creepy.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’d rather be dodging bullets in a forest somewhere?”

“At least that was interesting,” she said, her voice muffled.

Despite her complaints, she had grudgingly let me show her the market and even managed to hold a polite conversation with Piper the day before. It wasn’t much, but it was progress from when she first arrived.

“You should try enjoying the peace while it lasts,” I said, leaning back in my chair.

Rio sat up, fixing me with a skeptical look. “You think this is going to last?”

I hesitated, her question cutting through the fragile bubble we’d been living in.

“No,” I admitted. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t make the most of it while we have it.”

She stared at me for a moment, then rolled her eyes.

Later that day, we wandered down to the harbor. The village was alive with activity, the streets bustling with locals and the occasional tourist. Rio kept her head down, her movements casual but deliberate, as if she were still bracing for someone to recognize her.

“You’re fine,” I said quietly as we walked past a group of fishermen unloading crates of their catch. “No one’s looking at you.”

“Feels like they are,” she muttered.

“They’re not,” I assured her. “You’re just not used to being somewhere safe.”

She didn’t respond, but her shoulders relaxed slightly.

We reached the end of the dock, where the water stretched out into the horizon, glittering under the late afternoon sun. I leaned against the railing, the salty breeze tugging at my hair.

“This is why I moved here,” I said, gesturing to the view. “Back at my old island, it was never this peaceful.”

Rio stood beside me, her gaze fixed on the waves. “It’s... nice,” she said reluctantly.

“See? You admit it.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

For a while, we just stood there, letting the sounds of the harbor wash over us. The creak of boats, the chatter of fishermen, the distant laughter of children—it all felt so normal, so far removed from the chaos we’d left behind.

“You miss it, don’t you?” she asked suddenly.

“Miss what?”

“The Agency,” she said, glancing at me. “The danger, the adrenaline. All of it.”

I hesitated, her question catching me off guard.

“Maybe,” I admitted.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the water. For the first time in days, Rio looked almost at ease, her usual restlessness replaced by something quieter.

“Thanks,” she said softly.

“For what?” I asked.

She shrugged, not meeting my gaze. “For... not giving up on me. For giving me this, even if it’s temporary.”

I smiled, though there was a weight behind her words that I couldn’t ignore. “You don’t have to thank me,” I said. “We’re in this together.”

For a moment, she didn’t say anything. Then she smirked faintly, her sharpness returning. “You’re still annoying, though.”

“Wouldn’t want it any other way,” I said, laughing.

The next few days fell into an almost comfortable routine. Rio still complained about the island being too quiet, but I caught her wandering the streets on her own a couple of times, blending into the slow pace of life here better than she’d admit.

For my part, I tried to settle back into the life I planned on living here before everything with the Rift Control Agency. I helped Piper at the bakery a few mornings, ran errands in the afternoons, and spent the evenings convincing Rio to let me teach her how to cook something other than instant noodles.

“You’re going to burn the entire kitchen down,” I said as Rio poked at the sizzling pan on the stove.

She shot me a glare, but there was a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “I haven’t set anything on fire yet.”

“Except a couple Rift Control agents…” I muttered, stepping in to adjust the heat.

“You got me there…” she said.

The quiet moments were starting to feel... normal. And that terrified me.

The sense of unease followed me the next morning as I made my way down to the market. The sky was clear, and the air carried the familiar tang of salt and fresh bread.

When I returned to the apartment, the feeling still hadn’t left. Rio was lounging on the couch, a book in her hands—one she’d swiped from a stand at the market a few days ago.

“Hey,” she said without looking up. “You’re late.”

“Lost track of time,” I said, setting the bag of groceries on the counter.

She glanced at me then, her blue eyes narrowing slightly. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I said quickly. “Just... It’s weird to go from all of that action to completely peaceful.”

That night, I stayed up later than usual, sitting by the window and staring out at the quiet street below. The moonlight painted the cobblestones in pale silver, and the village was eerily still, as if the world itself was holding its breath.

I didn’t realize how much time had passed until I heard Rio’s voice behind me.

“You should get some rest,” she said.

I turned to see her leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed and her hair tousled from sleep.

“Can’t sleep,” I admitted.

She gave me a long look, then shrugged. “Your funeral.”

With that, she disappeared back into the bedroom, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I didn’t move from the window until a faint sound broke the stillness. A soft tap-tap against the door.

Frowning, I crossed the room and opened the door cautiously. The hallway was empty, but a folded piece of paper lay on the floor just outside.

I picked it up, my pulse quickening as I unfolded the note. The handwriting was precise, the words brief:

Meet me at the docks at sunrise.

There was no signature, but I didn’t need one.

It was from Vale.