Saltwater silence

Chapter Twelve: The fractured circle

Dawn of Doubt

A pale gray light filled Rhys’s cottage as Isla wiped her hands on a towel and surveyed the wreckage. Broken glass crunched under her boots, and paint chips drifted like lost feathers on the wind. The scent of saltwater and splintered wood hung in the air. A half-empty cup of tea on the windowsill trembled. “They were thorough,” Rhys muttered, slinging his jacket onto a chair. Blood-stained towels were strewn on the floor by the damaged door.

Isla’s throat felt tight. “I don’t understand how they found you,” she said, voice low. She knew it wasn’t chance. Aetherion’s men hadn’t stumbled onto this remote cottage by accident. Someone had told them. Maybe someone they trusted. “Someone must have leaked the address,” Rhys whispered, eyes dark. Isla nodded, trying to steady herself. Her heart hammered at the thought.

Outside the window, gulls wheeled over the gray harbor. Rhys crossed to the smashed front door and stared at the jagged lock where he’d wedged it shut after barricading himself in. “Somebody opened this lock from the inside,” he said slowly. Isla stepped forward, heart sinking. She saw the imprint of a thin pad on the wood. Someone had known exactly how the latch worked. Someone she had just been living next to, working with…

Rhys turned to Isla. His jaw was set, but a flicker of hurt passed across his eyes. “Isla,” he said, voice raw, “did you tell anyone about this place?”

She swallowed and shook her head. “Of course not. Only you and I know about the cottage.”

Rhys paced the living room like a caged animal. The small group of supplies in the kitchen had been tossed aside. Photos and notes lay half-hidden under drawers. He picked up a photo of them three weeks ago on the docks, Isla and him and their young friend Mara smiling at sunrise. “Did Mara know we were staying here?” he asked quietly.

Isla picked Mara’s photo off the floor as if it were a hot coal. Mara was the town librarian, a local ally who had helped them decipher old maps and pointed out safe houses. She was kind, funny, and trustworthy. And now, potentially a traitor. Isla folded the photo in half, ignoring the stitching of Mara’s warm smile. “She shouldn’t have known,” Isla said. “We never told her.”

Rhys blinked. His voice was steady but cold. “Then who does?”

Silence stretched. The only sound was the distant click of a boat engine as one of the harbor fisherman pushed out to sea. Isla’s mind raced. It didn’t make sense: Mara loved this coast, the same as them. If anyone understood why Rhys and Isla were fighting Aetherion Biotech, it was her. Was she involved?

The knot in Isla’s chest tightened. “Maybe we should ask Mara,” she said quietly. “Maybe she saw something.”

He stared at her a moment, torn. They both knew that confrontation risked losing a friend if she was innocent – but not confronting risked letting a traitor slip away. Rhys exhaled shakily. “We have to find out, Isla. We have to consider every possibility.”

Questioning the Law

By noon, Isla climbed into her truck with a hard ball of dread in her stomach. The town’s new sheriff, Deputy Arlo Mercer, had offered help to Rhys during their first week in town. Rhys had been wary, but Isla trusted Arlo’s sincerity – until now. As she drove the narrow coastal road toward the police station, her mind replayed every conversation she’d had with Mercer. There had been subtle oddities: a defensiveness in his eyes, a hesitation when questions got too close to Aetherion.

Rain began to spit against the windshield as Isla reached the station. The building looked closed and hollow. Isla’s jaw set. They’re in trouble. I need to know if Mercer is clean.

Inside, Detective Arlo Mercer sat behind the front desk, reading a report. He wore a uniform with a shoulder patch she recognized from Rhys’s days at the harbor watch. His hair was a damp dark brown, and his gaze was serious. He looked up quickly when Isla entered.

“Isla,” he said, standing. His expression was polite. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

Isla closed the door behind her softly. “I thought I’d check in,” she said lightly, careful. Inside, the storm’s light hurt in the corners. If Mercer was involved, the dark small room might hide a lie. “Rhys wanted to say thank you for sending those patrols after the break-in,” she added, holding her face in a neutral mask. Mercer’s face went briefly pale – the favor had struck a nerve.

He nodded slowly. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t find any trace of them.”

The detective moved behind his desk and took a flashlight from a drawer. He clicked it on and off, the beam slicing through the thin light. “But before you ask… no, we haven’t caught whoever did this. We’re still looking.” He stared at her across the desk. His stance was stiff, like he felt she was hiding something.

Isla’s stomach twisted. She cleared her throat and showed Mercy the photo of their cottage in better times, before the break-in. The beam of his flashlight flicked across it. “This is where Rhys was attacked,” Isla said softly. “He wants you to know it.” Mercer’s eyes lingered on the wood-grain image.

“Noted,” he said curtly. Then his voice softened. “Isla, I know you’re upset. But I promise, I want to help.”

He raised the flashlight again, and his hand shook slightly. Isla’s brow furrowed. Why would it shake? She made a quick decision. “We’ve been operating outside official channels for a while. We have information about Aetherion’s illegal experiments – evidence we’re trying to get to the press. Now they’ve attacked us. We need to know if there’s a leak in the department.”

Mercer’s face darkened. His lips thinned. “A leak?” His tone was wary. “Who told you that?”

Isla held his gaze. “Someone in our group was here, cooperating with you. If you get information about us, do you relay it?”

Mercer’s heart stopped. He forced a measure of calm into his voice. “The department doesn’t get involved with vigilante activists. I only answered questions."

Rhys couldn’t know, but Isla suspected he’d been compromised. She realized she was accusing Mercer. She pushed down her nerves and stepped closer, voice low and urgent. “Mercer, I need to know if we can trust you. We need that right now.”

Mercer’s hands, which had been folded on the desk, clenched and unclenched at his sides. “Isla, you saw what happened. Aetherion is dangerous. We are dangerous. I’m just doing my job.”

His gaze darted to the side, and Isla saw moisture in his eyes. Nervous? Angry? Hard to tell. She thought of the note she found in Rhys’s pocket after the attack: a scribbled code they had never shown Mercer. He couldn’t have known, could he?

Isla swallowed and backed up slowly. “I have to trust someone, Sheriff.” She spoke quickly. “Look,” she said, drawing his attention, “I found this in the wreckage.” From her coat pocket, she withdrew a small strip of torn paper, an edge charred. It had writing in a cramped hand. She unfolded it and held it out. Mercer’s eyes widened when he saw the jagged symbols – a set of coordinates and a time. He blanched.

“I don’t know what that is,” she lied. “But they think we do. People got hurt.” Her voice cracked. Mercy’s breathing was heavy; maybe she realized it.

“Where did you get that?” Mercer finally asked, voice thick.

“It was among Rhys’s stuff after the break-in,” Isla said. “He dropped it. We think it’s something he was going to share with you.”

Mercer’s hands hovered over the note, trembling. He looked as if he might cry, and then fury snapped across his face. “You—don’t just come in here accusing me.” He stood abruptly, knocking his chair back. “I’m doing my best with very little. And you think I’m reporting to them?”

Isla flinched under Mercer’s glare. He rubbed his forehead with one hand. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice low. “But I can’t tell you what I don’t know. The only leak is the fact that I haven’t solved this case yet.”

Isla realized they were getting nowhere. Mercer was defensive, perhaps because someone else in that department might be the leak. She needed to find the truth elsewhere.

“I just need to know: are you on our side?” Isla whispered. It felt like even asking that could destroy trust.

Mercer averted his eyes for a moment. “I’m on the side of law and order,” he said quietly. “You’re on your own on this one.”

He turned and walked to a drawer. Isla held her breath. He opened it and retrieved a cylindrical evidence bag. He opened it and pulled out the torn paper from it, already cataloged. Isla’s breath caught. He had taken that. The detective had placed it in evidence.

“You took it,” she said flatly.

Mercer’s eyes flashed. “It was found at the scene.”

It was a trap, Isla realized. “And you knew Rhys had it? You knew we were coming.”

Mercer’s face went rigid. “Why are you accusing me of this? What evidence do you have against me?” His voice was controlled but desperate.

Isla looked around the small office. “Nothing concrete,” she admitted. “Just... we’re afraid, Arlo. We need someone to be there for us.”

Suddenly, the overhead light began to flicker. The storm outside made the windows rattle, and Isla felt the room tilt with uncertainty. Mercer folded his arms. “Be careful who you trust, Isla.”

She bit back a retort and left the station with a bruise in her gut. The question of Mercer’s loyalty remained unanswered. Outside, the rain had slacked off, but Isla’s heart hammered. She started her truck and drove slowly through the town, glancing at closed shops and deserted docks. Even in daylight, shadows felt too long.

Who do we trust? she thought.

Her call to Rhys ended in frustration. He answered with dull silence. Isla told him of Mercer’s reaction and of the evidence bag, and Rhys’s voice on the phone grew cold. “Thanks,” he said softly.

They agreed to meet back at his cottage by dusk to plan. Isla hung up and passed a neon sign of the Fishhook Tavern with the doors locked for the afternoon. Everybody else, every friend — can we trust any of them?