Page 28 of All That Glitters in Pelican Point

But in the end? Someone protected the ring. Buried it beneath the tide, sealed behind carved stone and ceremonial wards meant to keep it out of reach. It wasn’t just hidden—it was entombed. Guarded. By salt. By myth. And maybe by something no one’s dared to touch since.

I’m mid-ramble when Cruz stumbles in—barefoot, shirtless, eyes still half-lidded from sleep. And still, unfairly attractive.

“I swear to God, Devlin, if you’re here to distract me with your abs—again—I will throw this very old, very valuable piece of parchment at your smug face,” I say, pointing dramatically with a pencil.

He leans on the counter, smirking like sin itself. “Good morning to you too, sunshine. You always threaten people with historical documents before coffee?”

“You walked into my academic TED Talk, so yes.”

He snorts, pours himself a cup, and doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t crack a joke. Just watches… and listens.

That’s the thing about him—he might look like he was designed in a lab for reality TV, but when I talk history, he sharpens. Locks in. Like the facts matter. Like they mean something. Even half-awake, he’s laser-focused—on the story, yes. But also on me. And I feel it, all the way down.

I wave a page at him like it’s proof of life. “This? This is why the ring matters. It wasn’t just ceremonial—it was a promise. A pact to rewrite the future. And if what I’m reading is right, they hid it in a limestone reliquary. Deliberate placement, beneath high tide. Buried, blessed, and booby-trapped.”

From his perch at the galley table, Denny raises a brow, holding a protein bar like it’s a mic he didn’t agree to hold. “Did you say booby-trapped?”

I nod, flipping to a sketched map. “Wards. Flood chambers. Stone carvings meant to ward off desecration. Calusa didn’t mess around. If we’re right—this isn’t just archaeology. It’s a goddamn labyrinth.”

“So we find the chamber,” Denny says, chewing slowly. “Get the ring. Avoid death and Remy.”

“Exactly.”

“Piece of cake,” Cruz mutters, through a bite of Denny’s stolen protein bar.

I narrow my eyes. “You’re remarkably confident for someone who hasn’t read fourteen pages on ceremonial maritime burial rites.”

He grins. “I have my talents. You’ve got the brain. I’ve got the brawn. Together, we’re unstoppable.”

“Or about to die very dramatically.”

“Let’s aim for unstoppable,” he says, pushing off the counter and walking toward me.

The banter slips into something quieter. Tighter. The space between us shrinks, thick with tension that isn’t about legends or maps or ancient rings. It’s us. The tether. The static that’s been building between every look, every accidental brush of skin, every long breath we’ve taken in the same quiet room.

He looks down at me. “You’re amazing when you’re like this. All fired up, solving puzzles like the world’s ending.”

I can’t help the way my lips twitch. “You say that like it’s not normally the case.”

“It is,” he says, his voice rougher now. Lower. “But right now? It’s really hard not to kiss you when you’re quoting 17th-century treaties like they’re battle plans.”

My breath catches.

Because the air just changed.

And the look in his eyes says we’ve crossed the point of no return.

* * *

We cut the GPS feed. Leave two decoy trackers blinking like fools on opposite ends of the reef, each one pinging with cheerful, misleading urgency. Cruz places them with a precision that makes me nervous and kind of turned on—his jaw locked, eyes scanning the horizon like we’re being watched, which we probably are.

Denny helps, reluctantly. He groans when I hand him the second decoy and mutters, "You owe me at least three coffees and a burrito for this."

"Deal," I say, strapping on my dive gear. "But only if I live."

He sighs and tosses a half-hearted salute. "Try not to die. And for the record, if you do, I’m not editing the footage to make you look heroic. I’m just putting clown music over it and calling it a cautionary tale."

Then we cut the comms. Full blackout. No radio, no sat feed, no GPS. Just silence—intentional and absolute. Cruz stands over the console, his fingers hovering for a second before he flips the switch. The comms go dead with a soft click, like a held breath finally let go.

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