A D R I A N
The radio dies mid-sentence.
Her voice, half a breath, half a challenge cuts off in static, and the silence that follows is worse than any sound the storm could make. The monitors on the command desk flash red, beacon flicker gone. Beyond the window, the sea turns black, the breakwater lights already dissolving into rain.
“Skiff Two just vanished,” Rocco says behind me, voice low.
I’m not listening. All I can see is her out there in that small boat, stubborn, soaked, alive until she’s not.
I grab the headset, slam the transmit key hard enough to crack plastic. “Elara, respond.”
Nothing.
The horizon flashes once, white fire through ink. Then nothing again.
I’m already moving before the thought fully forms. If she’s in that storm, I’m in it too.
The wind hits like a fist
