Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 113051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
“Alright,” she says with another easy smile. “Let’s go.”
She opens the door and glances at me over her shoulder, waiting for me to follow.
I let out a shaking breath. Part of me, the part that can’t stand to lie, wants to confess everything right now, just so I won’t have it weighing on me while I’m here, just so I don’t spend my days wondering when the rug will be pulled out from underneath me.
The other part of me wants to lie for as long as I’m able to, with the hopes that maybe, just maybe, even if they find out what happened, I’ll be able to convince them to let me stay.
So I manage to keep the fear inside.
I swallow the truth down.
I tuck it away.
And I follow her.
CHAPTER 3
Enchanting.
Lush.
Moody as hell.
Madrona Lodge, the name Everly uses to refer to the entire compound, is like stepping into a Grimm fairy tale. I think earlier I was too overwhelmed to get a good feel for the place, perhaps because David had been watching my reactions so closely, but now it feels like it’s sinking in. The compound is immaculately kept, with neat stone paths that snake their way under the fragrant cedar boughs, dried needles lining the ground. The fog is still clinging to the treetops—ravens appear here and there like shadowed ghosts—but now, the mist is sliding down between the dark, rustic buildings, making the place seem like a dream.
Everly takes me to the left, past a giant totem pole that stands sentry at the boat launch, the mess hall, where the students and visiting researchers have their meals, then the west lodge, which is the lodge and dining room for the staff, and the slew of private cabins that the main researchers live in. Everly points out hers overlooking the inlet, number six. I would have thought that the head of the organization, who is probably worth near billions, would have something more extravagant, but it makes me like her more that she doesn’t.
“Come visit me anytime,” she says to me as I follow her down a path and away from her cabin. “I’m serious. Anytime, day, middle of the night, if you need someone to talk to, need someone to listen, I’m there. You’re not alone.”
I know she probably means it in a “hey, don’t think of me as your superior, I’m super approachable” kind of way, but I’m starting to wonder why I’m going to need someone to talk to in the middle of the night.
She stops and points up the path where the trees thin out, and I can see a large expanse of grass with some boats and empty trailers on it. “You’re going to get a soaker with those shoes if we continue.”
“A soaker?” I ask.
She laughs. “Ah yes, I forgot that’s a Canadian term. It means you’re going to get your shoes wet. It’s been raining cats and dogs over the last few days, so the fields are mostly puddles at the moment. But you won’t have a need to be up there much anyway, aside from the propagation lab. Maybe the field below the solar farm for some bocce ball on a sunny day with a beer. The weather will clear at some point. Anyway, the rest is everything we need to keep this place running.”
She leads me back toward the main lodge and tells me about how self-sustained they are, thanks to their solar farm, their own wastewater and potable water treatment plants, plus a new industrial-scale greenhouse they built to complement their garden, along with the chicken run and a barn and pasture where they raise a couple of pigs and goats.
“If you wake up to screaming, it’s probably the goats,” she says with a laugh. She glances over her shoulder at me, noting the puzzled expression on my face. “Because they’re loud and ornery, not because we’re slaughtering them.”
Good to know.
“What’s in the floating lab?” I ask as we pause near the wharf, gesturing to the shed on the dock below. The tide is even lower now, enough that the ramp is a near vertical climb, the briny scent of the ocean flooding my nose.
“It has pumped seawater, tanks, and tables to keep marine specimens for short periods,” she explains. “A few of our researchers concentrate solely on marine and coastal biodiversity and nearshore habitats. Plankton, sea stars, kelp. Seeing the effects of climate change on bacteria and viruses in the water.”
The sound of a twig snapping behind me turns my head.
A tall man steps out from the path underneath the trees and walks straight past us down the wharf. He doesn’t even glance our way, and from the determined look in his eyes, I’m not sure if he even sees us standing off to the side here.
But I wish he would, just for a second, because he has to be one of the most intriguing men I’ve ever seen. Broad-shouldered in a black coat, his short hair a dark reddish brown, like the color of cedar bark at dusk, his face looking as if a famous artist sculpted it from marble, peppered with light stubble. Chiseled cheekbones, a strong jaw, and even with the faraway look in his eyes, his gaze is cold grey and intense as he scans the foggy inlet and makes his way down the steep ramp.