“What’s that?” Irene muttered, her eyes widening as she quickly looked in the direction where the rustles came from. “Jack, is that you?”
She looked in the direction where their shelter was located and saw Jackson still cleaning some of the supplies scattered on the ground.
“s**t. It wasn’t him?” Irene bit her lower lip upon that realization. “Then, where is the sound coming from?”
It was rustling—a sound made when the wind made contact with some trees or leaves. It shouldn’t have bothered her that much, only if she had been in the forest.
But now, Irene was on the beach, where no tree was anywhere to be seen.
Irene knew that her curiosity could somehow kill her in the future, and she should run in the opposite direction instead of walking toward it.
Yet she was now doing the latter.
