“Makayla… Makayla, wake up,” a strange voice said.
Makayla jerked upright, looking wildly around her. Frantically brushing her long hair out of her face, she blinked rapidly in the bright light before groaning and covering her eyes. Bowing her head, she used her tangled hair to block out the early morning sun.
“I fell asleep,” she grumbled, peering through her fingers at the compass. “Are we still heading south?”
“Yeah,” Tyrell said.
Makayla shoved her hair back and stood up, wobbling before she sat back down with a thump. Growling under her breath, she stood up again. This time, she grabbed the helm and held onto the cool metal for support.
“What time is it?” she snapped, steadying herself.
Tyrell touched his phone. “Just a little after eight,” he said, looking at her with a frown.
