Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women
Chapter 920

Chapter 920: Chapter 920

In the clearing, light spilled across the moss in golden puddles. The scent of jasmine and some heady purple flower Grace had named weeks ago filled the air. They didn’t speak as they sat on the moss. Their hands moved without thought, finding buttons, sliding cloth. Grace leaned over him, eyes glowing with something slow and feral, and Jude let her move as she pleased, his breath catching as her mouth brushed his collarbone.

There was no rush between them. Every movement was familiar and reverent. She knew his sighs; he knew her pauses. He rolled with her, their bodies fitting as they always had, and for a while the island vanished, the watchers vanished, the silence itself melted away.

They lay together after, tangled and breathless, sun-warm and sweat-slick. Grace rested her head on his chest, her fingers tracing small, absent circles against his ribs.

He whispered, "We should do this more often. Just us."

She hummed a response. "It’s hard. But we can. We have to want it."

"I do," he said, and turned to kiss her again, slow and grateful.

When they returned to camp, the afternoon sun was already slipping toward orange. Laurel ran to them, face sticky with fruit juice, eyes wide.

"Aunt Stella found something!" she cried, tugging at Jude’s hand.

He exchanged a glance with Grace and followed quickly, child bouncing ahead. Stella stood near the edge of the orchard, crouched beside something in the earth. Around her, Zoey and Amelia were arranging small stones.

"It was under the soil," Stella said, standing as Jude approached. "A ring of stones, perfect circle. And this in the middle."

She held out a smooth, palm-sized stone etched with a symbol that none of them recognized. But the moment Jude touched it, a ripple ran up his spine, a subtle pressure, like someone whispering a word too softly to hear but too powerfully to ignore.

"I’ve seen this," he murmured. "Not here. In dreams. In the volcano dreams."

Everyone grew still.

"The mountain?" Amelia asked quietly.

He nodded, fingers brushing the symbol again. "I don’t know what it means yet. But it... pulled at something. Something old. Maybe something buried."

Grace stepped up beside him, eyes serious now. "We said we’d walk gently. Speak peace. But maybe we’re being invited deeper."

"It’s a test again," Lucy said. "But this time it’s not just survival. It’s understanding."

They gathered around the symbol. Jude held it up to the sun, and the glyph shimmered faintly, almost pulsing. He knew then that something had shifted. The watchers had heard their song. And now, perhaps, they had responded.

That night, the fire burned brighter. All twelve wives gathered close. They ate together, but there was no laughter like before, just a calm, thoughtful hush. Each woman held a piece of ribbon. Jude passed the stone around, letting each one hold it.

Sophie whispered, "Do we go to the mountain?"

"No," Jude said. "Not yet. But we start looking beyond the edge. Close enough to feel what lies there."

"I want to come," said Susan. "If you go."

"I think we all will," said Emma.

Grace looked at him. "You don’t have to go alone this time."

He touched her knee under the blanket. "I won’t."

That night, he couldn’t sleep. He rose quietly and walked to the edge of the orchard. The watchers stood there, silent and flickering. He held up the glyph stone. One of the watchers leaned forward, its shape stretching toward him like smoke.

Jude whispered, "You gave this to us, didn’t you?"

No answer came. But the watcher stayed still, unmoving, like it was listening.

He stepped closer, just one pace. The watcher did not retreat.

From behind him, Grace’s voice came, soft and sure. "If you go too far, they might take it as a challenge."

"I know," he said, stepping back. "But I think they’re waiting."

She stood beside him. "Then we go together."

He looked at her, at the firelight casting her face in copper and shadow, and felt something deep in his chest settle. He took her hand.

From the orchard behind them came the sound of humming. Lucy and Serena were singing again, low and soft. Laurel’s laugh rose, then faded into silence.

Jude kissed Grace’s knuckles. "We walk the edge tomorrow. Just the edge."

She nodded. "One more step."

Mist clung gently to the trees. The watchers pulsed faint blue in reply.

Mist returned with the dawn, not thick like fog but light as silk, trailing through the trees and clinging to the orchard’s border as if hesitant to intrude. Jude rose before the others, his body still stiff with sleep and the echo of last night’s decision. Grace stirred only slightly as he pulled on a loose shirt and stepped barefoot over the stone threshold, careful not to wake her. He paused for a moment, looking at her , a curl across her cheek, the way her fingers curled near her lips. He almost returned to her warmth. Almost.

Instead, he stepped out into the crisp morning and let the mist wrap around him.

The glyph stone sat where he’d placed it by the fig-glyph tree. Even untouched, it felt warm. He crouched near it, running a finger along its curve, and thought again of the watcher that hadn’t stepped back when he’d drawn near. It wasn’t just observation anymore. It was invitation. And though they still had no clear idea what the watchers truly were , spirits, guardians, lost souls, ancient machines, something else entirely , they had begun to understand one thing: watchers were bound to the land, and now, perhaps, to them.

Footsteps behind him were soft but sure. He didn’t have to turn to know it was Emma.

"You’re going today?" she asked.

"Yes," he said. "Just the edge. I want to see where the glyph came from."

Emma nodded and crouched beside him, brushing mist from the hem of her skirt. "I had a dream last night. The mountain was open."