A D R I A N
The storm burns itself out, leaving only the hiss of retreating waves and the ragged rhythm of her breathing.
We made it inside one of the sea caverns near the east cliffs. Salt smoke and damp air cling to us; driftwood pops in the small fire I forced to life. Every flicker reveals her, knees drawn tight to her chest, hair plastered to her cheek like seaweed threads. Alive.
For a long time, I just watched her breathe.
“Easy,” I say finally, voice low enough not to wake the echoes. “You’re safe.”
Her eyes open, gray-green, too bright in the dim. “Barely,” she murmurs.
“Barely counts.” I kneel beside her, checking the pulse at her wrist. Strong. Warm. A goddamn miracle. “You scared me.”
A faint, rasping laugh. “Occupational hazard.”
“Seems we share one.”
Color still hasn
