My stomach drops at that. If they should have returned hours ago, then where are they now?
“I’ll try calling them again,” I demand, grabbing my phone with shaking fingers. The call goes straight to voicemail—again. Matheo’s calm voice instructs me to leave a message, but words stick in my throat.
“Ms. Jones, I’m afraid cell reception is compromised by the ash in the atmosphere,” Irwan explains gently. “The volcanic particles interfere too much.”
“The car they rented from you, does it have GPS tracking?”
Irwan nods quickly. “All our fleet vehicles are equipped with it.”
“Then track them. Now.”
He pulls out his tablet, fingers flying across the screen. After what feels like an eternity, his face goes pale. “The vehicle’s last known location was approximately two miles from the data center, on the access road. But, ma’am, I’ve just received word that many roads have been damaged by earthquake activity caused by the eruption. Emergency services can’t reach this far inland.”
“Helicopter tours.” The words burst from my lips. I remember seeing the brochure in our welcome packet. “Your resort offers helicopter tours.”
“Ms. Jones, I understand your concern, but?—”
“Four of your hotel guests are missing during a high-profile wedding.” My voice drops to a lethal whisper. “A wedding attended by tech executives, entertainment industry professionals, and other very well-connected people who will be extremely interested to learn how Heat Island Resort handles guest safety.”
Irwan’s throat bobs as he swallows hard.
“These same well-connected people will tell their networks about their experiences here,” I continue, stepping closer. “About whether this resort prioritizes guest welfare or bureaucratic red tape when lives are at stake.”
Behind me, Josie places a supportive hand on my shoulder. “Trinity’s right. We can’t just wait.”
He wrings his hands. “The pilot would need to agree.”
“Get him. Now.” My omega authority bleeds through every syllable. “Because if something happens to them while you’re explaining why you can’t help, that conversation with the media will be very different than if you moved heaven and earth to bring them home safely.”
Irwan straightens, a decision crystallizing in his expression. “I’ll contact our pilot immediately.”
Convincing the pilot to take me is easy once I offer him triple his normal hourly rate. His eyes widen at the figure I mention, and suddenly the volcanic ash becomes a manageable risk rather than an insurmountable obstacle.
“You’re certain about this, ma’am?” He glances at the darkening sky. “Visibility’s compromised, and it might not be safe to land.”
“They’re my pack.” The words slip out before I can stop them. Not my hired escorts. Not my business arrangement. My pack.
The pilot nods, understanding flickering across his weathered face.
It’s only when I climb into the helicopter that the pilot gives me a strange look. I follow his gaze down to the purple confection of my bridesmaid dress, its silk fabric completely inappropriate for a rescue mission. The skirt pools around my legs in the cramped cockpit, and my strappy heels look about ready to snap if confronted with any surface harder than manicured grass.
I briefly consider changing, running back to grab jeans and better shoes. But there isn’t time. Every minute we delay is another minute they’re out there, possibly hurt, definitely in danger. The bridesmaid dress will have to do.
“Ready when you are,” I tell the pilot, buckling my harness with shaking fingers.
The helicopter lifts off with a mechanical whir that vibrates through my bones. Below us, Heat Island spreads out like a tropical postcard gone wrong—palm trees bent sideways by wind, ash coating the usually pristine beaches in gray powder. The quick journey across the island feels eternal, my stomach lurching with every air pocket we hit.
I press my face to the window, scanning desperately as we approach the data center. The volcanic haze makeseverything look like a sepia photograph, shapes blurring together until I can’t tell rocks from vehicles from anything else.
“There.” I point toward the access road, my heart hammering. “That looks like an abandoned car.”
The pilot banks left, giving me a clearer view. It’s definitely their rental—a dark sedan tilted at an odd angle in front of a sinkhole just big enough to tear through the road. Steam rises from under the hood, and the driver’s side door hangs open like a broken wing.
But no sign of Matheo, Cash, Lucas, or Kyren.
“Can you land?” I ask, though the narrow road and scattered debris make it obvious we can’t.
“Negative. Too much volcanic debris, and that chasm...” He gestures toward a jagged crack in the earth that wasn’t there this morning. “They must have gone back to the data center on foot.”
