You were on the San Francisco De Sales Island with Caine and Penny. It used to be the three of you from Coates plus the kids who lived in the mansion originally—Sanjit and his siblings, those movie stars’ adopted kids. They’d flown away in their helicopter about a week ago and you stopped Caine from killing them. A lot had happened since then for you and Caine. A lot.

Now you were lying in the biggest bed in the house in the master bedroom. It was soft and plush with pristine, clean white sheets. The bed was incredible, but what was better was that Caine was in it with you. Wrapped around your body from behind, his bare chest pressed to your back with his face buried in your shoulder. But you’d woken up with a strange feeling in your stomach. You didn’t know what it was, but it didn’t feel right. You sat up, Caine’s arm falling off you like dead weight. You only felt worse when you moved, so you got out of bed and went to the bathroom. Before you knew it, you were throwing up behind the closed door.