Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women

Chapter 901: Chapter 903

” Emma’s involuntary offering. Root cluster south of arch. ”

”Grace’s note: ” Drank water meant for mushrooms. Drank anyway. ”

And more: footnotes, spiral notations, rhymes, prayers.

They listened and spoke each memory aloud to affirm its truth. No one disputed, no one denied. Each memory reclaimed some space in their own minds, they held them up to the fire like skeins of cloth refusing to dissolve.

Then Jude placed his hands on the edge of the box.

”We’re travelers through memory nodes,” he said. ”Today we claimed another. We go deeper tomorrow. We shape our path. We name ourselves.”

They reached out to each other, touching forearms, palms. Each wife affirmed the memory of the other, ”No memory lost.” ”Hand held.” ”Name spoken.” Each affirmation a knot holding their group together.

Lucy then added quietly, ”The watchers didn’t come last night.”

A ripple of relief spread through the circle.

Grace exhaled. ”They respect our pact, for now.”

Jude looked to the forest. To the arch. To the low glow of tremor in the ground. ”They do. But tomorrow... we’re going deeper.”

They finished praying quietly, sharing warmth. Even though dusk had bled into night, none reached for blankets early, they stood vigil together, watching the forest exhale under the firelight.

In the corner of his vision, Jude saw a flash, a blue mist. But when he turned, it was gone. Not gone entirely, he thought, but patient, waiting.

He didn’t flinch. Just exhaled. He held Lucy’s hand, allowed Emma to lean against him, felt Grace’s shoulder connect. Others linked arms across the circle. They would not let go. Not tonight.

Later, after Emberwood had slept, he drifted between two blankets to rest, his hand still clutching Lucy’s. But sleep didn’t come easily, it never did nowadays, when the island tremored with its own life force, and shadows still whispered of shapes beyond understanding. He felt their hearts beating together, like roots under stone, entwined and unshakable.

The island’s breath pulsed softly under him. He thought: we will hold. And the island whispered back: we remember.

In the morning, he would step outside again, ready to push forward into the unknown, holding memory as his weapon, love as his shield, names as his map.

The fire cracked lazily, casting a soft glow over the group gathered around it. The night air was cool but not cold, and the jungle canopy above swayed gently with the wind. Crickets hummed in the distance. Frogs croaked. But despite the familiar sounds of the island’s nighttime rhythm, the air felt different, charged, almost waiting.

Jude sat cross-legged near the fire, a wooden skewer in his hand, slowly turning a roasted fruit he’d found earlier in the day. Across from him sat Sophie, arms tucked around her knees, lost in thought. Grace leaned on his shoulder, quiet and unusually subdued. The others were scattered in a loose circle, some lying down, some sitting, but all of them watching each other. Their faces flickered with firelight, but their eyes betrayed something else, uncertainty, fear, and a shared confusion none of them wanted to say aloud.

Earlier that day, Emma had gone quiet while helping him reset the fish traps near the shore. One moment she was laughing, trying to flick seaweed at him like a child, and the next she was staring at him with the intensity of a storm. She had spoken in a low voice, sultry, nearly foreign, making him shiver despite the heat. She had leaned too close. Her fingers had lingered too long on his arm. Jude had known Emma for years now, knew the rhythm of her moods, the way she joked, the way she teased. This wasn’t her. Not completely. And yet, when the moment passed, she blinked like she’d just woken up from a nap, and didn’t remember anything strange.

It wasn’t just her. One by one, every woman around the fire had shown flashes of that behavior. Lucy earlier in the day had cornered him in the supply hut and whispered things she never would’ve said before. Natalie had clung to him, kissing his neck and murmuring apologies for things that didn’t happen. Even Zoey, usually the quiet one, had tugged him by the shirt collar and held his gaze for too long. It had been happening all week, growing more frequent and strange.

Jude glanced around at them now, their shoulders tense, their bodies too still. They were waiting, for him, or for something to explain what none of them dared speak.

He broke the silence. ”I need to ask something,” he said, trying to keep his voice light. ”And I don’t want anyone to laugh or brush it off. Just... humor me, okay?”

All eyes turned toward him.

”Has anyone,” he said slowly, ”been feeling... weird lately? Like forgetting small things? Maybe not remembering what you said or did for a few minutes?”

No one answered.

He looked at Emma. Her eyes flicked toward the fire. ”Like... blackouts?”

”Yes,” he said, a little too eagerly. ”Exactly that.”

The silence was a living thing now, tightening around them like a noose.

Grace shifted, hugging her arms. ”I thought I was just tired.”

Lucy looked at Jude, her eyes wide. ”It happened to me. Yesterday. I was brushing my hair, then I blinked and I was on the floor. I thought I just fell asleep but... I don’t think I did.”

Sophie frowned. ”I thought I was dreaming. It felt like a dream. I was somewhere else, but then I was here, and I didn’t know how I got back.”

Scarlett’s voice trembled. ”I was in the garden and... I remember touching the basil leaves, and then I was inside. Jude was talking to me like nothing happened, but I don’t remember walking back.”

They were all speaking now. One by one. Fragments. Shivers. Emma bit her lip, staring hard at the fire. ”It keeps happening,” she said. ”And I never feel it coming. I just wake up somewhere else.”

”Do you remember anything from when it happens?” Jude asked.