"You'll miss. Your depth perception is probably shot from the fever." She started cleaning up the supplies. "Now. Tell me exactly how to check on your turtle babies, and then you're going to lie down and rest."
"I don'tlie down and rest. I don't know how to do that."
"Then you'll learn. Consider it a growth opportunity."
For a long moment, he just looked at her—frustrated and feverish and something else underneath. Something that looked almost like wonder.
"You're not going to let this go, are you?"
"Nope."
"Even if I pull rank as the actual scientist here?"
"Especially then." She smiled, but it was softer than she intended. "Someone's got to save you from yourself, Carmichael. Might as well be me."
"Why do you care so much?" he asked as she steered him toward the bed.
Lily planted her hands on her hips. "Because without a functioning hand, you can't do that thing I love—you know, when your head's between my thighs. Good enough reason to shut up and rest?"
Alex went quiet. Settled against the pillows without another word of protest.
That's what I thought.
She tugged the blanket over him, stuffed her notebook in her bag, and blew him a kiss on her way out. His eyes were already closed.
The nest was exactly where Alex had described—a subtle depression in the sand that she would have walked right past a month ago.
But she wasn't the same person she'd been a month ago. Alex had taught her to see differently. To slow down. To notice the small things that revealed the big picture.
She crouched at a respectful distance, scanning for the signs he'd described. No cracks inthe surface. No breathing movements. Just sand, patient and still, keeping its secrets.
But there were tracks. Fresh ones—wide sweeping marks from the water's edge to the nest and back again. The mother, checking on her babies.
She keeps coming back,Lily thought.Crossing an entire ocean to make sure they're safe.
Something about that image stuck in her chest like a splinter.
She stayed longer than necessary, watching the sand like it might reveal something if she was patient enough. The sun climbed higher, warming her shoulders. The waves kept their rhythm. A tropicbird screamed overhead.
This is what he loves. This patience. This faith that something miraculous is coming if you just wait long enough.
She understood it now, in a way she hadn't before.
She just wished he'd have the same faith in them.
When Lily returned to the cabin two hours later, the only sound was Alex's steady breathing.
He was exactly where she'd left him—sprawled on his back, good arm flung over his head, the blanket kicked halfway off in sleep. But even from the doorway, she could see the difference. The flush had faded from his cheeks. His forehead, when she pressed her palm to it, was warm but no longer alarming.
The fever had broken.
She checked his hand next, carefully lifting the bandage just enough to peek underneath. The angry red had dulled to pink, the swelling already receding. Still ugly, but no longer terrifying.
Good. That's good.
She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and eased onto the chair beside the bed, pulling out her notebook. She'd taken detailed notes at the nest—observations about the tracks, the sand conditions, the weather. Alex would want to add them to his records when he woke up.
His field journal sat on the nightstand where he'd left it that morning. Brown leather, soft from years of handling, the pages warped from humidity and salt air. He'd told her she could read it. Context, he'd said. For the nest observations.
