When a shy girl from Figure Eight suddenly gets whisked into a dangerous treasure hunt involving four pogues known for their knack for trouble, she finds herself navigating not only the troubled waters of adventure but also the complexities of frien...
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Sydney's eyes fluttered open to the distant wail of sirens, the sound cutting through the morning's heavy silence. She groaned softly, her mind groggy and slow to wake as she sat up slowly, she rubbed her eyes and watched her room the soft, golden light of dawn be filtered through her curtains.
Then she heard it—the faint, rhythmic dripping of water somewhere in the house. Her ears perked up, the sound both distant and unnervingly close. A chill crept up her spine. The hurricane.
Her pulse quickened as she remembered the predictions. Hurricane Agatha was supposed to hit the Outer Banks last night, but everyone on Figure Eight seemed so sure it wouldn't be a big deal, insisting it would be "just a little wind and rain." The brunette let out a sigh, realizing now just how much those Kooks she overheard had underestimated the storm.
She slipped out of bed, her feet meeting the cool wooden floor, and padded across the room to close the open window. As she pulled it shut, the scent of damp earth and the salty sea filled her nostrils—a strangely calming aroma. She could see the backyard through the streaked glass: branches laying scattered across the lawn, shingles from the roof were peppered over the ground, and one of the large, old oak trees had fallen over and left many branches littered the pool.
Her first thought was of Sunny. Her pulse quickened as she hurried down the grand staircase, her socks slapping softly against the polished wood. "Sunny?" she called, her voice echoing through the vast, empty rooms. The house seemed eerily quiet, the usual hum of electricity silenced.
In the dining room, she found him—a golden retriever with wide, anxious eyes—curled up under the table. He lifted his head, his tail thumping weakly against the floor as she approached. Sydney knelt down beside him, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Hey, boy," she murmured, pressing her cheek to his warm fur. "It's okay. It's over now."
She stood and surveyed the room. Everything looked fine expect the occasional drip from the ceiling that kept landing on the wooden floor. She grimaced at the noise. Her dad would have a fit about the water damage, but he wasn't here—hadn't been here for weeks, actually. She was alone a lot, but she had never dealt with the aftermath of a storm by herself before.
A noise outside caught her attention—a faint, anxious voice carried on the breeze. Glancing back at Sunny, Sydney muttered, "Stay here, buddy," before moving to the back door.
She pushed it open with a creak and stepped onto the patio, the stone cold and wet beneath her socks. As she glanced at the backyard again she realised just how messy it was. Sydney had no idea how she was supposed to clean this up. How do you get rid of a fallen tree? She sighed, but it wasn't the damage that had caught her attention. Across the low stone wall separating their property from the neighbor's, she saw Mrs. Jennings standing on her front porch, clutching the railing with one hand, the other hand cupped around her mouth.
