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The Night the Waves Couldn’t Save Her

The air outside the beach house was cooler than she expected, the salt from the sea clinging to her skin as she stepped down the wooden steps. Emma didn’t look back — she couldn’t. The walls behind her felt too heavy with tension, too tight with the weight of everything she didn’t want to face right now.

She followed the narrow path toward the driveway, her sandals whispering against the sand-scattered boards. The night was quiet, save for the distant crash of waves… until she caught it — the low, steady purr of an engine that didn’t belong to anyone here.

Her steps slowed.

The black SUV had been parked just beyond the line of trees, shadowed enough that she might’ve missed it if not for the glint of a side mirror catching the porch light.

Before she could turn back, movement flashed in her peripheral vision.

A man stepped out from the dark, tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in black. His pace was calm, deliberate, but there was nothing casual about the way his eyes locked on hers.

“Emma Rose Grindberg.” He said her name like it was already decided she’d go with him.

Her pulse spiked. “Get out of my way.”

He didn’t. The next moment, his hand shot out, gripping her arm in a vice-like hold. She jerked back, but the sand beneath her shoes betrayed her footing. Another figure moved in from the side, the SUV’s rear door swinging open.

“Let—go!” Her voice cracked, but the sound was swallowed by the wind.

The man shoved her forward, and before she could regain balance, she was half-lifted, half-dragged toward the waiting vehicle. Fingers dug into her arms; a palm clamped over her mouth just as she tried to scream.

The world became leather seats, a shadowed interior, the slam of the door — and the ocean faded behind them as the SUV sped away into the night.