Chapter 2: Shadows on the Sand

Zara woke to the kind of silence that pressed against her eardrums, thick and absolute, the desert holding its breath outside her window. She blinked at the ceiling, the soft glow of dawn filtering through the blinds, painting stripes across the crisp white sheets tangled around her legs. Her body ached—not the sharp sting of exhaustion from yesterday's drive, but a dull, restless hum that had chased her through fitful dreams. Dreams of sand and heat and a pair of hazel eyes that wouldn't let her go.

She groaned, rolling onto her side to check the clock on the nightstand: 6:14 a.m. Too early, but sleep wasn't coming back. Not with the memory of Rylan Voss's voice still curling in her mind, low and rough, like gravel under her boots. She shoved the thought away, kicking off the covers and swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. Today was about work—about proving she could still frame a story through her lens, no distractions. Especially not him.

The suite's bathroom was a sanctuary of cool tile and gleaming fixtures, and she lingered under the shower's spray longer than necessary, letting the hot water sluice away the grime of the road and the unease of that first meeting. She scrubbed at her skin until it pinked, washing off the dust and the faint, irrational feeling that Rylan had seen more of her than she'd meant to show. By the time she stepped out, steam fogging the mirror, she felt almost human again—sharp-edged and ready.

Dressed in a loose tank top, cargo shorts, and her battered hiking boots, Zara slung her camera bag over her shoulder and grabbed her notebook. The resort was her canvas now, and she'd start with the basics: wide shots of the exterior, the lobby's elegance, the oasis that had taunted her from the Jeep. She'd build the story piece by piece—luxury carved from desolation, a retreat for the lost or the wealthy or whoever could afford it. Wanderlust wanted allure, and she'd give it to them, even if she had to wrestle it out of this place herself.

The elevator ride down was quiet, the hum of machinery a faint counterpoint to her steadying breaths. When the doors opened, the lobby greeted her with the same pristine stillness as last night—no guests, no staff, just the faint citrus scent and the echo of her footsteps. She paused by the reception desk, half-expecting Rylan to materialize again, but it stayed empty. Good. She didn't need him hovering while she worked.

Outside, the air was already warm, the sun climbing higher over the dunes, casting long shadows that stretched like fingers across the sand. Zara adjusted the strap of her bag and started with the building itself, circling its perimeter to catch its angles against the stark landscape. The glass walls gleamed, reflecting the sky in fractured blues and golds, while the sandstone base seemed to grow straight out of the earth. She crouched low, framing a shot with a lone cactus in the foreground, its spines sharp against the smooth lines of the resort. Click. The shutter snapped, a small victory.

She moved on, drawn toward the oasis she'd glimpsed yesterday. A narrow path wound through the grounds, lined with palms that rustled in the faint breeze, their fronds whispering secrets she couldn't decipher. The water came into view—a shimmering pool fed by some hidden spring, its surface rippling gently under the morning light. It was smaller than she'd expected, but no less striking, bordered by smooth stones and tufts of desert grass. Zara knelt at the edge, adjusting her lens to capture the contrast: the lush green against the endless gold beyond.

As she worked, a prickle ran up her spine—not the heat, not the solitude, but something else. She lowered the camera and glanced over her shoulder. There, across the pool, half-hidden by a palm: Rylan. He stood with his hands in his pockets, watching her, his silhouette dark against the rising sun. Her stomach flipped, a mix of irritation and something she refused to name.

"Morning," he called, his voice carrying easily over the water. He stepped closer, boots crunching on the gravel path, and she stood, brushing sand from her knees.

"Didn't peg you for an early riser," she said, keeping her tone clipped. "Thought you'd be too busy running this place."

He shrugged, stopping a few feet away. "It runs itself, mostly. I just keep an eye on things." His gaze flicked to her camera, then back to her face. "You're starting early."

"Best light," she said, lifting the Nikon like a shield. "And I don't waste time."

"Fair enough." He nodded toward the oasis. "What do you think?"

She hesitated, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a compliment. But the truth slipped out anyway. "It's… unexpected. Doesn't feel like it belongs here."

"That's the point." His lips twitched, that half-smile again, and she hated how it tugged at her attention. "Took years to make it work. Irrigation, engineering—more trouble than it's worth, some days."

"Then why bother?" She adjusted her stance, crossing her arms to mirror his casual posture, though it felt anything but.

He looked out at the water, his expression shifting—something distant, almost wistful. "Because it's mine. Something I built when everything else fell apart."

The words hung there, heavy with a story she didn't have the pieces to yet. She wanted to ask—her curiosity, the part of her that chased every thread of a narrative, demanded it—but she bit it back. She wasn't here to unravel him. "Well, it's a good shot," she said instead, turning to frame another angle. "That's what matters."

He didn't respond, just watched as she clicked the shutter again. The silence stretched, not uncomfortable but charged, like the air before a storm. She could feel his presence behind her, steady and unyielding, and it took effort to keep her focus on the lens. When she finally lowered the camera, he was closer—close enough that she caught the faint scent of cedar and sun-warmed skin.

"See anything else worth shooting?" he asked, his voice softer now, teasing at the edges.

She met his eyes, and there it was—that spark from last night, sharper in the daylight. "Maybe," she said, letting the word hang, a challenge of her own. "Depends on what's worth looking at."

His grin widened, slow and deliberate, and her pulse kicked up despite herself. "Plenty to see if you know where to look," he said, stepping back with a nod toward the dunes. "Storm's coming later, though. Might want to get your shots in before it hits."

"Storm?" She frowned, glancing at the clear sky. "Didn't see that in the forecast."

"Desert's got its own rules." He tilted his head, studying her. "You'll figure that out."

She didn't like the way he said it—like he already knew her, like he'd pegged her as some city girl out of her depth. "I've handled worse," she shot back, turning to pack her gear. "Thanks for the heads-up."

"Anytime." He lingered a moment longer, then started back toward the resort, his stride easy, unhurried. She watched him go, her fingers tightening on the camera strap. Trouble, she thought again, and this time it felt less like a warning and more like a promise.

The morning wore on, and she lost herself in the work—snapping the lobby's chandelier, the sweep of the rooftop terrace, the way the sand seemed to swallow the edges of every frame. But Rylan's words stuck with her, a burr under her skin. A storm. She hadn't packed for that, hadn't planned for anything but heat and light. By noon, the sky had shifted—a faint haze creeping in, the air growing thick with a tension she couldn't name.

Back in her suite, she uploaded the morning's shots to her laptop, scrolling through them with a critical eye. The oasis stood out, its colors vivid against the muted dunes, but her mind kept drifting to Rylan's silhouette by the water. She closed the laptop with a snap, leaning back in the chair. She needed food, coffee, something to ground her before the afternoon's shoot. And maybe a plan for whatever this storm might bring.

Downstairs, the lobby was still quiet, but a faint clatter drew her to a small dining area off the main hall. A handful of guests—three, maybe four—sat at scattered tables, sipping drinks and murmuring over plates of fruit and pastries. Rylan was there too, leaning against the bar, talking to a woman with a clipboard. Zara hesitated, then made for the coffee station, keeping him in her peripheral vision.

"Miss Kade," he called as she poured a cup, and she cursed inwardly. No escaping him now. She turned, raising the mug like a toast.

"Voss," she said, matching his tone. "Keeping busy?"

"Always." He excused himself from the woman and crossed to her, stopping just outside her personal space. "How's the shoot going?"

"Fine." She sipped the coffee—black, strong, exactly what she needed. "Got what I needed this morning. Afternoon's for the details."

"Better hurry," he said, glancing out the window. The haze was thicker now, a yellowish tinge creeping over the dunes. "That storm's not waiting."

She followed his gaze, unease prickling her spine. "How bad?"

"Bad enough." He shrugged, but his eyes were serious. "Stick close to the main building when it hits. Sand gets everywhere otherwise."

"Noted." She took another sip, studying him over the rim. "You sound like you've seen a few."

"More than a few." He leaned a hip against the counter, casual but deliberate. "Comes with the territory."

She wanted to ask what else came with it—what had driven him to build this place, what he'd meant by everything else falling apart. But the words stayed lodged in her throat, and she let the silence settle instead. He didn't push, just watched her with that steady gaze that made her feel seen in a way she wasn't sure she liked.

"Enjoy your coffee," he said finally, pushing off the counter. "I'll be around if you need me."

She nodded, watching him head back to the bar. The storm was coming, and with it, something else—something she couldn't frame or focus, not yet. But it was there, in the air, in the space between them. And as the first faint gust rattled the windows, she wondered just how deep this desert would pull her in.