I just nod, swallowing hard, forcing down the knot in my throat. “Alright, then.”
What else can I do but let him do his thing? I know nothing about diving. I’ve never even tried doing it. Not like this.
Vinicola shuffles closer, reaching out to put a cold hand on my shoulder. “He is a strong man, Miss Captain,” he murmurs, voice hushed and hopeful. “He’ll pull through.”
I huff out a breath, more to shake off the tension in my chest than to agree. “I don’t even know how the hell he managed all that,” I mutter, shaking my head. Zayan’s strong, yeah. But that depth? The damn beast lurking below? All that exertion rightafter hauling the sand? He may always act invincible, but even his heart isn’t made of steel.
At least some color’s sneaking back to his cheeks. Fabien hovers near, pressing a careful hand to Zayan’s forehead like he’s taking stock of what’s left of him. The irony isn’t lost on me—Fabien, of all people, sticking around, looking after someone he barely tolerates on a good day. He’s still got the hourglass jammed in his soaked coat pocket, the one we pried from that damned pillar. Any other day, he’d be off studying it, locked away in his armory. But here he is, lingering, despite all his solitary habits.
Fabien was the one who threw sand into the gouge when Zayan finally dragged himself back to surface. And it was him who flipped that damned hourglass. Vini and I might’ve been the ones pulling at Zayan, doing what we could to keep him breathing, but Fabien…well, he figured out the trick. Like he guessed, turning that hourglass brought the land back under our feet, sent the shark off, and, just as if the sea hadn’t tried to swallow us whole, our skiff appeared on a flat, calm stretch of blue, as if none of it had ever happened.
But that wasn’t the only surprise. When Fabien tipped the hourglass horizontal—stopping the sand and sea both from spilling over us—it was like the thing drained itself dry. Every grain, every drop, disappeared into some hidden compartment, leaving the glass empty, like we’d used up its magic just by surviving.
There was something written on it, that much I could see at a first glance. I barely got a glance what, but Fabien didn’t seem interested in wasting time on it either. Instead, he stashed the hourglass in his pocket and helped Vinicola and me haul Zayan’s body over to the skiff. Whatever mystery the Lady wanted to toss our way, he ignored it, focused instead on keeping Zayan breathing.
He hasn’t left since. He’s still here. Like part of the crew.
“Can I…?” My voice wavers, but I push past it. “Can I lie down next to him?” My fingers clench, itching to do something, but I know better than to pace or move too much; the last thing Zayan needs is a chill from even a hint of wind. “Wait. We need to get him out of these wet clothes. Get him dry.”
Fabien meets my eyes, the surprise there faint but real. Then he nods. “You’re right. Warmer that way.”
I don’t waste time waiting for anyone to step up. My fingers find the buttons of Zayan’s shirt, stiff from seawater, and I start undoing them, pushing back the slight tremble in my hands. The cold fabric clings to his skin, resisting, until Vinicola, his hands just as unsteady, reaches in to help me peel it away.
Once Zayan’s down to his underclothes, I grab the nearest blanket, rough and dry, and wrap it tightly around him, trapping whatever warmth I can muster.
I look up, meeting Fabien’s eyes. “Now. Now, I’m lying down beside him.”
He hesitates but eventually nods.
Without another word, I settle next to Zayan, careful not to jostle him. The blanket barely covers us both, but I stretch it as best I can, pressing close enough that my body warmth bleeds into him, hoping it’s enough to keep the chill at bay.
He didn’t even look at me… right before the second dive, not once.
I push the thought down, shove it somewhere deep, where I keep all the things I can’t afford to dwell on. He’s here, and that should be enough. His breaths fall in a steady rhythm against my side, each rise and fall a reminder that, for now, he’s alive.
I lean forward, resting my lips on his shoulder, just a whisper of a kiss, something small enough that even I can pretend it’s nothing.
Now, it’s just me and him, waiting.
Just me and him—and the ache in my heart.
“Gypsy,” someone whispers, the voice thin and hoarse. “Gypsy, you’re—strangling me.”
My eyes snap open, taking a second to place the voice, the heat of skin under my fingers, and the rise and fall of the chest beneath my arm. Zayan’s chest.
I pull back just enough to catch his face, his eyes half-open but locked on me, bleary with exhaustion and still alive. Relief punches through me so hard I have to fight down a gasp.
“Zayan,” I manage, my voice sounding as ragged as he looks. “You’re awake.”
A faint smile twists at his lips, pale but no longer edging toward blue. “Barely,” he croaks, sounding rougher than a barnacle scraping wood. “But you were clearly trying to fix that.”
I let out a half-laugh, half-sob I can’t quite keep down. “Shut up,” I growl, swiping at my eyes like I could erase the feeling clawing its way out.
His smile widens, just the barest bit, and he lifts a trembling hand to brush my face. “You okay?” he rasps.
What kind of a question is that? I want to shake him. He’s the one who nearly got himself killed. He dived down like a damn anchor, wrestled a shark, scooped sand from the bottom of the sea, and hauled it all back up on two breaths.
I scowl, muttering, “I should be asking you that.”
