Free Daughter of Deep Silence by Carrie Ryan Page A

to handle that just yet. So I decide to wander my way back to the O’Martin estate—taking turns at random to familiarize myself with routes I’d only seen online. I drive past acres and acres of forest and marsh, all protected thanks to Cecil and managed by Shepherd. I smile, rolling down the windows and letting the fresh summer air play through my hair.
    It’s so different here along the coast, that I still haven’t fully adjusted. I grew up in Ohio and my family had been solidly middle class, which meant access to the ocean was rare. And for years after the
Persephone
, the thought of living anywhere near the ocean terrified me.
    I couldn’t even stand the taste of salt on my food, much less face the prospect of a horizon that never ended. Which is why when Cecil had given me my choice of European boarding schools, I’d chosen one tucked deep in an alpine valley, far away from the sea, from my old life, from anyone who’d ever known anything about me or Libby.
    But I’ve always known that eventually I’d have to conquer my distrust of the ocean. It’s the only way I’d be able to get close enough to Grey and his father to implement my plan. Luckily, rage is a powerful emotion, strong enough not just to burn away pain but also to sear back the whispering tendrils of fear.

    Back at the O’Martin estate I leave my car parked in the driveway before striking out on foot, the sweetgrass basket balanced in my arms. It’s not a long walk to the Wellses’ house—only a mile and a half—but for privacy reasons, most of the lots on this island remain shrouded with stunted pines that tangle the ocean breeze before it can make it to the road. I’m sweating by the time I turn into their driveway.
    The Wells house is monstrous and modern—all sharp angles and slick panes of glass that do nothing but lash out against the natural curving beauty of the island coast. It clashes against the moss-draped oaks lining the long driveway, as though, like the family inside, it were determined to make the land bend to its will.
    After ringing the bell I stand on the porch, waiting. Despite the fact that it’s still early in the summer, my sundress sticks damply to my back and already the late morning hums with the thickness of humidity and cicadas.
    I’m pleased that when Grey finally opens the door, his eyes widen in surprise.
    “I was worried about your mom,” I say, holding out the sweetgrass basket. “I don’t want to intrude, especially if she’s still not feeling well, but I did want to stop by and make sure she’s okay. See if there’s anything I can do.”
    He hesitates, trying to reconcile my presence, wondering whether to sort me into the enemy or the friend camp. My hope is that after our walk on the beach yesterday, I’ve at least earned a “to be determined” designation. Just to be sure, I let my chin drop a fraction, allowing one corner of my lip to kick up higher than the other in a self-conscious smile.
    In response, he glances over my shoulder at the empty driveway and must figure out that I walked up here. His grip on the door loosens and he steps aside. Having been born and raised in South Carolina, he well knows that manners dictate you offer someone refreshments when they’ve gone out their way like I have.
    I nod my head in thanks as I step inside. When Grey takes the basket from me, his eyes linger for a moment at where I’d been clutching it against my chest. As I expected, the air-conditioning is running at full blast, and the thin material of my sundress does little to hide that my skin instantly prickles into goose bumps.
    I cross my arms, rubbing at the exposed skin to warm it. It’s just enough of a natural response that I can tell Grey’s not sure whether I caught him ogling or not. Flustered, he turns and leads me through the house.
    “It’s funny you showed up here,” he remarks as we walk.
    “How so?” I ask, taking the opportunity to scan my surroundings as I follow him. The