“Yes.” The girl nodded. “Four gigabytes for one month, included in the price.”

Shoving more money her way, I took my food and my phone and stumbled back into the muggy evening.

I needed a bench. A park. Somewhere to sit.

Ducking across a busy road, I followed the scent of salt.

The sea that’d once been my prison cell but now became the guard refusing entry back to its islands.

I’d already been down to the port this morning.

I’d walked the massive piers and padded over the litter-covered docks, catching the eyes of fishermen and exporters, attempting to ask them if they knew of Goddess Isles. I’d struggled with the local tongue, using Sully’s name as a talisman that could somehow teleport me back to him.

It’d been utterly pointless.

But at least I felt closer to Sully sitting by the ocean, even if it was polluted and brown.

Finding a spot on a stack of shipping crates, accompanied by the pungent whiff of dead fish, I ripped at the phone box while eating my dried pastry. I followed the set-up instructions and then did something I probably should’ve done days ago.

The guy at the hangar had said no one could find Sully without an invitation.

Yet Drake had found him, and I doubted Sully willingly gave out his address.

Therefore...there must be a way.

If no one will tell me...I’ll find it myself.

Loading Google Earth, I typed in Jakarta. From there, I zoomed out, I panned over the sea, and I began the tedious search for forty-four islands all hidden far from me.

* * * * *

I rubbed my tired and stinging eyes from staring at a bright screen in the dark.

Night had fallen.

My phone’s battery had reached critical.

I’d tracked my way across the Pacific Ocean, Indian Ocean, and Java Sea. I’d squinted at land masses from some satellite that Google Earth used to spy on mankind, and suffered hope and disappointment, hope and disappointment, over and over again as one island was discounted, followed by another and another and another.

No archipelagos appeared.

No hints of coral reefs and utopian atolls.

Just endless water, blobs of fishing boats and cruise liners, and the never-ending blockade preventing me from returning to Sully.

Had he paid off Google Earth to hide his islands?

Was I blind and not looking hard enough?

Had I dreamed it all and been reduced to an insane girl sitting in the dark at a commercial port in Jakarta, reckless with her safety, stupid with her longevity, utterly obsessed with a man who’d sent her away...permanently.

God.

I dropped my phone into my lap and buried my face in my hands.

This can’t be happening.

How had my life derailed so spectacularly without my permission, and now that I wanted what I’d been given, I couldn’t damn well find it?

How can he hide a nest of islands from everyone?

How was that possible in this day and age?

Dragging my hands through my hair, I sniffed up tattered determination and grabbed my phone again. Sully had guests fly in and out. He released goddesses, for God’s sake.

There had to be some mention of him.

I’ll try Facebook.

Logging on, I went to put in Calico’s real name, Sonya Teo, but my inbox caught my eye, habit making me click on that first.

Scott Martin’s message bubble popped up from the night of my abduction. If I thought he cared about me, and that we were building a meaningful connection, I’d been a stupid idiot.

Scott Martin: El, where the hell are you? It’s late, and I’m drunk from those damn Irish and their super livers. I’m crashing on the bottom bunk tonight. When you get in, take the top. I’ll see you in the morning.

Scott Martin: What the fuck, El? Did you sleep somewhere else last night? I saw that English twat flirting with you before you went into the kitchen to cook us dinner. You better not have been with him while I was too drunk to notice.

Scott Martin: This is getting rude. I’ve had to check out of the backpackers as we’re catching the flight tonight for the bachelor party. I have your stuff...you coming or what?

Scott Martin: I’m at the airport. I’ve left your bag at reception of the backpackers. Poor form, Eleanor. If you wanted to end it because I refused to go to Asia with you, the least you could’ve done is tell it to my face.

Scott Martin: Look, I’m sorry. You okay? I’m getting a little worried. Just message me instead of giving me the cold shoulder. You’re still welcome to come to the party. Message me when you get these, and we’ll work something out. Let me know you’re alright at least.

Scott Martin: Okay, I know this is a dick move, but...your profile is still showing active, so I know you’re okay. Look, this isn’t working. I have no interest in going to Asia. Ever. I’ve enjoyed getting to know you, Eleanor, but...feel free to chase your own destination from this point on. See ya.

Wow.

How could I ever have felt guilty when I’d fought my attraction for Sully out of loyalty to that asshole? How could I ever, ever compare what I felt for Sully to the minuscule blip that Scott had been?

I wanted to feel something.

Rage. Injustice. Pissed off.

But all I felt was...nothing.

He was nothing.

His lack of concern while I’d been kidnapped and sold only added more panic to my desire to return to Sully.

Sully would never treat me that way. He would never forget about me so heartlessly.

He sent you away, remember?

Only to keep me safe!

My heart rabbited.

He’d sent me away to keep me safe.

He’d given me no option to return so he knew I would continue to be safe.

But what about him!?

He’d held me and kissed me, and I’d felt his love, his regret, his pain.

He’d known something bad would happen.

He’d protected me by giving me up.

He’d sacrificed us because he loved me.

God, I can’t do this anymore!!!

Regardless of safety or sanity. Despite the impossible task.

I need to go back.

He would’ve come for me by now. He would’ve appeared at the end of the street or pulled me into an alley if he’d won against his brother—because if he felt a tenth of the pain caused by our separation that I did...nothing would’ve kept him from chasing after me.

That wasn’t ego.

That was inevitability.

The only reason he hadn’t was...he’s hurt.

Sully!

Launching from my chair of crates, I opened a tracking app and installed it on my phone. While I sped down the dock, I called my father.

It went straight to voicemail.

It didn’t matter.

I only wanted to update my insurance policy.

The answer machine beeped, and I rushed, “Dad, the man I mentioned, Sullivan Sinclair? He’s in trouble. I’m travelling to a set of islands that isn’t on any map. There’s no airport code or address. All I can give you is this phone number and a tracker app that I’ve installed. Trace the call, Dad. Give my location to the police. I don’t know how I’m going to find my way there, but I will. I have no choice—”

I slammed to a stop as a pallet loader drove past, cutting off my race down the dock.

I went to travel around him.

I opened my mouth to give more details to my father.

But then, I froze.