Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 1270

Chapter 1270: Chapter 1270

That evening, the treehouse felt tighter. Closer. The kind of closeness that didn’t comfort. Everyone was tense. Meals were small. Conversations were clipped.

Grace began humming again - soft, barely there. But this time it was different. Jude couldn’t explain it. It wasn’t eerie. It was familiar. Like a song he had heard before but forgotten.

Stella leaned into her. "That’s the same song Rose used to hum."

Grace stopped.

"No," she said. "I don’t remember that."

"You are," Stella insisted. "Exactly the same."

Grace frowned. "I don’t remember learning it."

Everyone fell silent.

Then Jude said, "Sing it again."

Grace hesitated, then sang.

It was beautiful. Haunting.

And when she stopped, no one moved.

Because outside the treehouse, echoing back through the trees -

The same melody answered.

Soft.

Slow.

As if sung by a hundred mouths.

Zoey stood, knife already in her hand.

"We’re surrounded," Sophie said.

Jude moved to the edge of the platform and peered into the trees.

They were there.

The women.

Dozens.

Standing in the fog.

Silent.

Watching.

Then, as one, they began to hum.

The same melody.

Matching Grace’s note for note.

Until it filled the clearing like a heartbeat, like wind against bone, like the slow unraveling of something sacred.

And Jude realized something as he gripped the post and looked out into the sea of black eyes and soft mouths.

This wasn’t a warning.

This was an invitation.

And someone - maybe more than one - was already humming along.

No one moved.

The treehouse felt smaller, as if the walls had drawn in to hold them all in place, pressing their shoulders together, tightening around their lungs. Outside, the women didn’t approach, didn’t blink, didn’t breathe. They just stood in the mist, humming that low, slow melody, the sound vibrating the wooden floor beneath Jude’s feet. It was the same song Grace had hummed. The same one Rose used to sing while cooking, brushing her hair, curling beside him in the hammock on warm nights with her lips pressed to his neck.

But it didn’t feel like love now. It felt like memory being used as a trap.

Lucy gripped his wrist tightly. "They’re not moving. Just standing."

Sophie moved to the opposite window, peering through the thin curtain of vines. "But they’re closer now."

Zoey’s jaw tightened. "They know we’re listening."

"I wasn’t humming on purpose," Grace said suddenly, her voice small and confused. "It was just in my head. Like it got planted there and started growing."

"Like the dreams," Stella whispered.

Jude turned toward her. "You’re dreaming again?"

Stella nodded slowly. "Every night. And Rose is in all of them. Sometimes she’s alone. Sometimes with the others. But she’s always smiling. And she’s always... waiting."

"Waiting for what?" Natalie asked.

"For me," Stella said.

Zoey paced a slow line near the doorway, blade still in hand, eyes never leaving the shadows outside. "They’re using her voice. Her music. Her smile. They’re using everything we love about her."

Emma knelt near the window, whispering a prayer. Her fingers trembled against the wood. "I thought I saw her again last night. Just past the trees. But I didn’t go. I didn’t move."

"She wants us to come," Lucy said. "Not just her. All of them."

"And the more we hesitate," Sophie added, "the more they’ll use."

Suddenly, the humming stopped.

Not all at once, but in a gentle fade, as if someone were turning down the volume of the entire world.

Jude stepped forward. The fog outside had grown heavier, curling between the women’s legs, licking the trunks of the trees like fingers. But they were still there. Still silent. Still staring.

And then one of them took a step.

Not toward the camp.

But away from it.

She turned and walked into the trees.

Another followed.

Then another.

Until, one by one, the entire group turned and disappeared into the forest, swallowed by mist.

Only Rose remained.

She stood alone, barefoot in the clearing, her hair unbound and hanging in loose black waves down her back. Her dress looked like something born from the island - woven leaves, black feathers, thin twigs braided along her waist like a belt. Her arms were bare. Her eyes were dark.

But not as black as before.

Now they shimmered with something else.

Recognition.

She looked up, met Jude’s gaze, and tilted her head.

Then she pointed - slowly, deliberately - toward the cave.

No one said a word.

And then she turned and vanished into the fog.

"What the hell was that?" Natalie whispered.

"A direction," Jude said.

"A trap," Zoey muttered.

"A test," Sophie corrected, her voice low.

Jude turned back toward the others. "Tomorrow, we go."

That night, no one slept. Not because of fear, but because the island wouldn’t let them. The fog remained thick, clinging to the leaves, curling through the floorboards, seeping into their dreams even when their eyes stayed open. The fire never went out, but it burned low and slow, and even the flames seemed quieter than usual.

Jude lay between Lucy and Emma. They didn’t speak, but their hands remained on his skin - Lucy’s fingers tracing small circles on his chest, Emma’s breath warm against his neck. The three of them lay wrapped in shared silence, not sexual but intimate, and when Lucy finally kissed his shoulder and Emma nuzzled against his throat, it felt like a fragile promise of warmth in the cold creeping toward them.

At sunrise, they left in three pairs. Jude went with Zoey. Sophie with Lucy. Emma with Natalie. Susan, Stella, and Grace remained behind to watch the camp, reinforced by layers of sharpened sticks, thorned vines, and two traps Zoey had carefully rearmed the night before.

The cave hadn’t changed from the day before. But now the altar pulsed softly, as if waiting. Jude approached it again. Zoey held back, blade drawn, her breath shallow.

There were words now.

Carved into the stone.

Fresh.

Not there before.

He traced them with his fingers. The script was crude, but readable.