E L A R A
The chamber is barely a pocket, a cruel trick of stone. The ceiling curves low enough that Adrian has to hunch, and every breath I drag into my lungs tastes of salt and damp. Water laps at the rock like a patient predator, waiting for another chance to rise.
The deckhand is worse. His pulse flutters beneath my fingers, thready and faint, each inhale shallow enough to make my chest seize. His skin is clammy, lips tinged gray-blue. Shock is sinking its claws in.
I press harder on the makeshift dressing over his ribs, praying the bleeding has slowed. My jacket is already knotted tight across his chest as a sling, darkened with seawater and blood, but it won’t hold forever. I need compression, warmth and things I don’t have in this black hollow of a cave.
Adrian kneels beside me,
