Page 10 of Rainse
But the bird was still circling. That meant something. Land? Fish? A ship?
I grabbed my life jacket and waded into the shallows, waving it above my head. Orange against the blue sky—surely someone would see it.
"Here!" I shouted, even though my voice wouldn't carry beyond the beach. "I'm here!"
I waved until my arms ached. The bird circled once more, then flew off toward the north.
I lowered the life jacket, panting. My ribs throbbed. The sun beat down on my head.
Nothing. No one.
I was utterly, completely alone.
The reality of it hit me like a wave. I sank down into the shallows, salt water lapping around my waist, and let myself feel the full weight of my situation.
I was stranded. Injured. Dependent on an alien who might be my saviour or my captor—I still wasn't sure which.
And the worst part? Some traitorous part of me didn't want to be rescued. Not yet.
I hated that part.
5
Rainse
The sea welcomed me like a heartbeat. It pulsed around me, cool and familiar, washing away the confusion that the human stirred in my chest.
I caught two fish within minutes, slicing through the water with ease and trapping them in my hands. They were small, silver creatures, all bones and salt, but they’d do for now. Humans needed to eat often, or their strength faded.
When I returned to the island, the sun had sunk lower, turning the world to copper and rose. She had fallen asleep, a fragile shape beneath the kelp. Her breathing was shallow but steady. I could still see the faint bruising beneath her ribs, dark marks blooming where the sea had struck her. Humans healed slowly. She would need warmth and stillness for several sunpasses before the pain eased.
I scaled the fish with a shell and placed them on a flat rock near the waterline. Then I remembered that humans didn't eat raw fish. They liked their food cooked or roasted. But I had no fire. Back on Finfolkaheem, I knew which kind of rocks I could beat together to create sparks. Here, I was out of my depth. And there wasn't much dry wood on this islet. Kelp could burn if dry, but it wouldn't sustain the fire for long.
I cursed softly in my own tongue. The sea swallowed the sound.
There was driftwood scattered among the rocks, sun-bleached and dry. I gathered what I could, snapping longer pieces across my knee until I had a pile the length of my arm. I could build her a shelter of sorts, a place to hide from the wind.
By the time I finished, my hands were raw. I sat back and looked at what I’d made — a crude nest of wood and leaves, the beginnings of a camp. The fish still needed cooking.
Her lips were pale, her skin cold to the touch. The sun would sink soon, and once it did, the air would cool fast. Humans lost heat quickly.
She would need fire.
I crouched beside her, running my fingers lightly through the kelp covering her shoulders. It had begun to dry, losing the moisture that had kept it cool earlier. I didn’t dare touch her skin again for long — it stirred something I couldn’t afford to feel — but I could tell her temperature was dropping.
The agency island wasn’t far. I could swim there, unseen, and return before she woke. There would be tools, blankets, maybe even food that wouldn’t make her sick.
The thought filled me with guilt and relief in equal measure. I was already lying to her. What was one more secret?
“I will be back soon,” I murmured, though she couldn’t hear me. “You will not be cold.”
The horizon had deepened into shades of violet when I slipped into the water again. The sea was calm, reflecting the first faint stars. I dove deep, letting the current pull me toward the faint lights in the distance — the agency’s island, my brothers’ new home, the place I’d sworn not to betray.
My chest tightened with the familiar mix of defiance and loyalty. I wasn’t stealing from them, not really. I was protecting what was mine. And once I was ready, I would introduce Verity to my brothers and the agency.
I surfaced once halfway there, the line of the island clear against the dusky sky. The air smelled faintly of smoke and oil — the humans cooking their evening meal. I tasted it on the wind, the warmth and salt of it, and thought of the fragile woman lying alone on the sand.
They would call this wrong. Reckless. But I’d spent too many years obeying rules that had done nothing but hurt me.
