Nineteen

STACY SAT IN the hammock in shock. A helicopter? Our daughter? A trip to the taiga? The tundra explorer . . . she was my mother. Everest nuzzled Stacy’s shoulder. Stacy felt like she was losing her parents all over again. She’d hoped to someday meet the explorer. Learn from her. Now that would never happen. She was dead. And my father was the artist. We were all in the helicopter together—but only I survived. They never made it to the mesa biome. The mesa pack . . . hunters must have killed their parents. And I am the only person in the world who knows about these wolves. The weight of this thought pushed down on Stacy’s shoulders. It’s up to me. To protect them . . . it’s up to me. Stacy was devastated, but a small part of her was also so proud to be the daughter of such an amazing woman. Caring for the wolves—the way she had been for years—was carrying on her parents’ legacy. Everything she’d gone through—the expedition on the tundra, coming back to the mesa, and helping Pearl—it was what needed to be done.

I’ve got to get back to the taiga and tell Addison all of this. As much as Stacy loved island life, she knew they would need to leave soon so she could tell the rest of the pack what she’d learned from the journal . . . and so she could pay what she owed for Pip’s visit to the animal hospital. Pip! I’d forgotten about him for a minute. Pip and Milquetoast and Page and Molly . . . they’re my responsibility to take care of. But . . . will the mesa wolves come with us? They seem to like it here, but will they be okay on their own?

Suddenly, Paisley came running toward Stacy and Everest, beckoning them to follow her.

“What is it, Pais?” Stacy said, scrambling out of the hammock. They followed Paisley to the dead beach. Stacy stopped running and bent over to catch her breath. When she looked up, she couldn’t believe what she was looking at. . . .