Page 28 of Rainse
I looked at Rainse — really looked. The exhaustion on his face, the faint tension in his shoulders, the way he kept glancing at the horizon as if expecting the sea to take something else from him. He’d saved me, yes, but he’d also given me something I hadn’t realised I’d lost.
Wonder.
The ocean had always been my research subject, a collection of numbers and patterns. But on this tiny island, with him, I’d remembered what had drawn me to it in the first place — the mystery, the beauty, the reminder that some things can’t be measured or controlled.
I still didn’t know what the bond meant for me, or what I wanted from him, exactly. I only knew that I didn’t want this to end in anger. Not when there was so much more I could learn — about him, about his people, about myself.
“Yes,” I said finally, meeting his eyes. “Let’s contact them. The sooner we’re off this island, the sooner we can figure out what comes next. And... Rainse? I will stay until we have the results of the test. I know you're worried I'll leave as soon as I'm in touch with the Minerva. But I promise, I won't. I'm too curious to find out if this bond is real. If it really can be scientifically explained. And I want to-” I almost didn't say it. But the words tumbled from my lips. "I want to spend more time with you."
His expression softened, relief flickering across it before he turned toward the sea.
I sat there for a moment longer, hugging my knees to my chest. The horizon had darkened, clouds gathering like a bruise over the water. Maybe a storm was coming. Or maybe it was just the world shifting again, asking me what I wanted to do with the life I’d nearly lost.
For the first time, I had an answer.
Live. Really live.
11
Rainse
The Tidebound descended through the clouds like a living thing. Her metal hull shimmered as the camouflage circuits disengaged, revealing curves that mimicked the shape of a breaching whale. The engines purred low and steady, stirring the sand around us into eddies. Even after all these sunpasses on Earth, watching her arrive still made my chest tighten. Spaceships were for rich people, for the elite, not for simple finmen warriors like me.
Verity stood beside me, one arm pressed against her ribs. The wind pulled at her hair, tangling it around her face, but she didn’t move. She stared at the ship the way I’d once stared at the open ocean — half wonder, half disbelief.
“It looks alive,” she said softly.
“She is,” I murmured. “In her own way.”
The Tidebound’s underbelly opened with a hiss, lowering a landing ramp that unfurled onto the sand like a silver tongue. Water poured down its grooves, glimmering in the light. Kelon had told me once that the designers had done that on purpose — the finfolk didn’t trust anything that stayed completely dry.
Verity’s bare feet hesitated at the edge of the ramp. “It’s… slippery.”
“It adjusts,” I said. “You’ll be safe.”
She took a tentative step forwards, then another, her balance steady despite the uneven surface. I followed a pace behind, ready to catch her if she stumbled, but she didn’t. She walked straight up into the open belly of the ship, and the door sealed behind us with a soft sigh.
The temperature changed immediately. Inside, the air was cool and humid, carrying the faint scent of salt and metal polish. The floor beneath our feet curved gently, the walls smooth and rounded, lights shifting like reflected waves. Half of the corridor ahead shimmered with a thin layer of water that receded as we approached, the ship’s systems recognising my dry form.
Verity’s eyes were wide. “This is… incredible.”
“It’s home,” I said quietly.
She turned toward me. “Half of it’s underwater?”
“More than half,” I said. “Finfolk need immersion. We don't like being away from water for too long. But some of us prefer spending some of their sunpass in air rooms, and of course some cargo would be destroyed if kept in water. A lot of the rooms inside the ship are adaptable. Wet or dry."
“Adaptable,” she echoed, her gaze tracing the seams in the wall. The ship responded, dimming the lights slightly as if acknowledging her attention. She smiled faintly. “It really does feel alive.”
“She likes you,” I said before I could stop myself.
Verity looked at me over her shoulder, one eyebrow raised. “Ships don’t like people, Rainse.”
“You’d be surprised.”
We reached the lift that led to the upper deck. Its door slid open with a soft ripple of sound, and I gestured for her to enter. The moment the door closed, water rose halfway up my calves while the floor beneath her stayed dry — a subtle adjustment, designed for mixed company. She watched the waterline with fascination.
“So, this is what it’s like,” she said quietly. “Space travel.”
