The next day, at almost 8 pm, Anna began her journey to Lala Island on the other side of the city. From what she read online, the island was owned by the Riordan. It was a private island. As she passed through the lonely dust-choked roads that led to the island, she couldn’t help but feel nervous with every passing mile. When Caspian had asked where she was heading, she’d lied about it. She told him that Dali had an emergency and that she needed to be with her and after much persuasion, he’d agreed. She felt bad for having to lie to him. After this was over, she might tell him the truth. Her thoughts were interrupted by the blaring sound of her phone. With one hand on the steering wheel, she answered the call with the other. “Dali?” She spoke. “Hey, you’re not coming anymore.”“I’m sorry, I can’t make it. I suddenly fell ill.” The lie came too easily, like a practiced art she’d mastered in time. She didn’t need to inform Dali that she’d only contacted her a few hours ago to create
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