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"HERE," Sam says, sitting down next to Violet on the sand as she watches the others knock a volleyball around, kicking up sand and screaming fouls. In his hands, the black sketchbook was a talisman, a relic of something that could've been but never will be. Luka's sketchbook. The one she'd turned over his room for in search of, but never found. All this time it'd been here, on the beach, where Sam and Luka had buried their pasts in the sand and let the tides wash away. "I took it from his room the day he was taken. I thought he wasn't coming back, and I'd just lost the other half of me. I should've given you this much earlier, but I just... I didn't know how to let go."
After training with the vampires, Sage and Violet followed the wolves back to La Push on their skateboards as the sun began to set, casting a purple tint over the sky. They weren't as fast, and Kit had to slow herself down, separate herself from her pack to stay with the two girls so they weren't lagging behind alone, but they'd gotten there in time for the dinner that Emily had packed into four gigantic baskets—a feast for the wolves—and carried down to the beach. Jared had brought along a volleyball he'd found in the house, as well as a net (the full set-up nobody knew Sam or Emily owned), and challenged Paul to a game. The entire walk to the beach, they'd been talking about which sports they'd staked dominion in back in high school, and whilst Jared had the swimming pool, Paul abstained from team sports and preferred boxing, Embry and Kit dominated the soccer field, Quil was a baseball fanatic, Seth's place was in the tennis court, and Jacob only really liked basketball, nobody claimed their expertise at volleyball. That was when Paul had started boasting about his killer serves.
All the while, as they began their little scrimmage on the beach, next to the waves lapping at the shore, Sage was engaged in conversation with Emily about starting a business with her baking, and Violet had sat down next to the picnic to watch the wolves tumble and roughhouse with each other. They'd extended their offer to Violet, who declined, knowing that she was both deficient in any form of sport that involved a ball and wasn't about to make a fool out of herself anytime soon, and that their heightened strength lent them a brutal advantage, which meant she'd just be a drag on someone's team anyway.
And so, she'd been sitting by herself, helping the wolves keep score. Every once in awhile, she yelled the numbers back to them.
"Violet! What's the score!" Embry yelled.
"Eight-fifteen!"
Kit smacked the back of Quil's head. "Goddammit, Quil, stop trying to catch the ball when it's going out!"
Violet turned back to Sam.
Taking it from him with tentative movements, Violet brushes her hand over the cardboard cover, felt the grit of years of hard work in the scratched surface scored by nights of frustration and oily fingerprints. She didn't dare open it, for fear of what it might unleash. Violet had never been afraid of the things that were twined inside Luka's mind, but she was afraid of what it might provoke in the dark and twisted labyrinth of hers. The wind cutting through the beach flutters the edge of a piece of paper sticking out of the sketchbook, wedged in the middle of it.
