The first time I swam here, Wingo stayed close, keeping a watchful eye on me. But for the past ten days or so, he’s been off doing his own thing. I guess he trusts me now.
Swimming always brings back memories of my sister. She loved the water—completely fearless. She didn’t care about falling or bumping into things. In the water, she was free. Exhilarated. Alive.
I keep swimming, lap after lap, crossing the lake from one side to the other, again and again without stopping. I must’ve been lost in those memories forover an hour. My body’s starting to feel it—every muscle aching, fatigue setting in. Time to head back.
Then—bam. A sharp pain shoots through my right calf. It’s sudden and brutal, like something tearing inside me.
I try to swim toward the shore, but my leg won’t cooperate. My calf is locked up, cramping hard. I’m kicking with one leg, flailing with my arms, doing everything I can to stay afloat. I reach down, trying to grab my foot, to stretch it out, to make the pain stop—but it’s no use.
I can’t keep my head above water. Panic sets in fast. I try to call out for Wingo, but I can’t catch my breath. Water floods my mouth, and panic takes over. This is really starting to suck.
I lift my head, desperate for air, and I think I see someone standing on the bank. But I can’t hold on. I sink again, grabbing my foot, trying to massage the cramp out of my rock-hard calf.
Then—an arm wraps around my waist and pulls me upward. I try to help, but my leg’s useless.
My head breaks the surface, and I gasp—more sob than breath.
“Don’t struggle, I’ve got you. I’m taking you back to the edge,” says a voice I know too well.
Pherebos.
Wait—what? He’s not supposed to be here. And he can’t swim… or at least, that’s what I thought.
He guides us through the water, shielding my face from the waves. Then he stands, water up to his chest, and lifts me into his arms. I’m still clutching my foot, trying to stretch the muscle and stop the pain.
He carries me to the towel I left near the shore and gently lays me down. Then he kneels beside me, his hands warm and steady as he takes hold of my leg.
“Let me see what you did to yourself,” he says softly.
My calf is tight, knotted into a visible lump. I can’t help but let out little groans as he massages it, slowly working the muscle loose. The pain starts to ease, but it’s still there, lingering.
Pherebos looks up at me, his expression caught somewhere between concern and frustration.
“Let me see what you did to yourself there,” he says.
My calf is completely seized up, the muscle balled into a visible knot. I wince and let out small groans as he works on it, his hands firm but careful, coaxing the tension out little by little. The pain starts to ease, though it still lingers like a warning.
Finally, he lowers my leg and looks at me. There’s a strange expression on his face—half a smile, half fury. His jaw is tight, but his eyes are searching mine, like he’s trying to decide whether to scold me or just be relieved I’m okay.
He must’ve just gotten off SIL—he’s still wearing his official Confederation uniform. And suddenly, I realize how much I’ve missed him.
“You’re home,” I say, flatly.
“So it would seem. And lucky for you, considering the mess I found you in.”
His voice is calm, but I can feel the fury simmering underneath.
“You can swim!” I accuse, still breathless.
Best defense is a good offense, right?
He replies, brushing his wet hair back and glancing at the lake.
“Ileana,” he sighs, “I come from an almost entirely aquatic world.”
I open my mouth to ask more, but he cuts me off.
“But I don’t want to talk about it.” His tone is final. “Can you walk on your own?”
