Stuck in an Island with Twelve Beautiful Women Chapter 1270

That evening, the treehouse felt tighter. Closer. The kind of closeness that didn’t comfort. Everyone was tense. als were small. Conversations were clipped.

Grace began humming again - soft, barely there. But this ti it was different. Jude couldn’t explain it. It wasn’t eerie. It was familiar. Like a song he had heard before but forgotten.

Stella leaned into her. "That’s the sa song Rose used to hum."

Grace stopped.

"No," she said. "I don’t rember that."

"You are," Stella insisted. "Exactly the sa."

Grace frowned. "I don’t rember learning it."

Everyone fell silent.

Then Jude said, "Sing it again."

Grace hesitated, then sang.

It was beautiful. Haunting.

And when she stopped, no one moved.

Because outside the treehouse, echoing back through the trees -

The sa lody answered.

Soft.

Slow.

As if sung by a hundred mouths.

Zoey stood, knife already in her hand.

"We’re surrounded," Sophie said.

Jude moved to the edge of the platform and peered into the trees.

They were there.

The won.

Dozens.

Standing in the fog.

Silent.

Watching.

Then, as one, they began to hum.

The sa lody.

Matching Grace’s note for note.

Until it filled the clearing like a heartbeat, like wind against bone, like the slow unraveling of sothing sacred.

And Jude realized sothing as he gripped the post and looked out into the sea of black eyes and soft mouths.

This wasn’t a warning.

This was an invitation.

And soone - maybe more than one - was already humming along.

No one moved.

The treehouse felt smaller, as if the walls had drawn in to hold them all in place, pressing their shoulders together, tightening around their lungs. Outside, the won didn’t approach, didn’t blink, didn’t breathe. They just stood in the mist, humming that low, slow lody, the sound vibrating the wooden floor beneath Jude’s feet. It was the sa song Grace had humd. The sa one Rose used to sing while cooking, brushing her hair, curling beside him in the hammock on warm nights with her lips pressed to his neck.

But it didn’t feel like love now. It felt like mory being used as a trap.

Lucy gripped his wrist tightly. "They’re not moving. Just standing."

Sophie moved to the opposite window, peering through the thin curtain of vines. "But they’re closer now."

Zoey’s jaw tightened. "They know we’re listening."

"I wasn’t humming on purpose," Grace said suddenly, her voice small and confused. "It was just in my head. Like it got planted there and started growing."

"Like the dreams," Stella whispered.

Jude turned toward her. "You’re dreaming again?"

Stella nodded slowly. "Every night. And Rose is in all of them. Sotis she’s alone. Sotis with the others. But she’s always smiling. And she’s always... waiting."

"Waiting for what?" Natalie asked.

"For ," Stella said.

Zoey paced a slow line near the doorway, blade still in hand, eyes never leaving the shadows outside. "They’re using her voice. Her music. Her smile. They’re using everything we love about her."

Emma knelt near the window, whispering a prayer. Her fingers trembled against the wood. "I thought I saw her again last night. Just past the trees. But I didn’t go. I didn’t move."

"She wants us to co," Lucy said. "Not just her. All of them."

"And the more we hesitate," Sophie added, "the more they’ll use."

Suddenly, the humming stopped.

Not all at once, but in a gentle fade, as if soone were turning down the volu of the entire world.

Jude stepped forward. The fog outside had grown heavier, curling between the won’s legs, licking the trunks of the trees like fingers. But they were still there. Still silent. Still staring.

And then one of them took a step.

Not toward the camp.

But away from it.

She turned and walked into the trees.

Another followed.

Then another.

Until, one by one, the entire group turned and disappeared into the forest, swallowed by mist.

Only Rose remained.

She stood alone, barefoot in the clearing, her hair unbound and hanging in loose black waves down her back. Her dress looked like sothing born from the island - woven leaves, black feathers, thin twigs braided along her waist like a belt. Her arms were bare. Her eyes were dark.

But not as black as before.

Now they shimred with sothing else.

Recognition.

She looked up, t Jude’s gaze, and tilted her head.

Then she pointed - slowly, deliberately - toward the cave.

No one said a word.

And then she turned and vanished into the fog.

"What the hell was that?" Natalie whispered.

"A direction," Jude said.

"A trap," Zoey muttered.

"A test," Sophie corrected, her voice low.

Jude turned back toward the others. "Tomorrow, we go."

That night, no one slept. Not because of fear, but because the island wouldn’t let them. The fog remained thick, clinging to the leaves, curling through the floorboards, seeping into their dreams even when their eyes stayed open. The fire never went out, but it burned low and slow, and even the flas seed quieter than usual.

Jude lay between Lucy and Emma. They didn’t speak, but their hands remained on his skin - Lucy’s fingers tracing small circles on his chest, Emma’s breath warm against his neck. The three of them lay wrapped in shared silence, not sexual but intimate, and when Lucy finally kissed his shoulder and Emma nuzzled against his throat, it felt like a fragile promise of warmth in the cold creeping toward them.

At sunrise, they left in three pairs. Jude went with Zoey. Sophie with Lucy. Emma with Natalie. Susan, Stella, and Grace remained behind to watch the camp, reinforced by layers of sharpened sticks, thorned vines, and two traps Zoey had carefully reard the night before.

The cave hadn’t changed from the day before. But now the altar pulsed softly, as if waiting. Jude approached it again. Zoey held back, blade drawn, her breath shallow.

There were words now.

Carved into the stone.

Fresh.

Not there before.

He traced them with his fingers. The script was crude, but readable.