Lily reached for it, hesitated. This felt different than the permission he'd given in a feverish haze. More intimate. More invasive.
But she needed to transfer her notes somewhere. And she was curious. Sue her.
She opened to a random page somewhere in the middle.
Day 4. Water temp 26.3°C. Visibility excellent. Observed juvenile hawksbill feeding on sponge near Site 4. Stayed in area for approx. 40 min. Seemed unbothered by my presence. Note: hawksbills have the most expressive faces of any sea turtle species. This one looked annoyed, like I was interrupting lunch. Fair enough.
Lily bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud.
She flipped forward a few pages.
Day 7. The staghorn colony at Site 7 is showing signs of stress. Pale patches along the outer branches. Could be temperature-related—water's been warmer than expected. Could be nothing. But I've been watching this reef for three weeks now, and something feels different. Wrong. Like the early stages of a fever youcan't quite shake.
Sometimes I wonder if the coral knows. If it senses what's coming the way animals sense storms. Probably anthropomorphizing. But still.
She turned another page, then another. His handwriting was neat and unhurried, the letters slanting slightly to the right. Not the cramped scrawl she'd expected from a scientist. This was the penmanship of someone who took his time. Who cared about getting things right.
Day 12. Checked turtle nest. No activity. Patience.
The mother came back again last night—I found fresh tracks at dawn. She must swim hundreds of miles between visits. All that distance, all that effort, just to make sure her eggs are safe. And she'll never see them hatch. She'll never know if they made it.
There's something heartbreaking about that. And something beautiful. Devotion without expectation of return.
Lily's throat tightened.
She flipped back toward the beginning, to entries made before she'd arrived.
Day 1. Finally here. Two years of applications and rejections and bureaucratic nonsense, and I'm finally here. The cabin is smaller than the photos suggested. The solar panels work. The water tastes like rain.
Megan called before I left. Told me to "try to be a human being for once." I told her I'd think about it.
I won't think about it.
Day 3. Found a tide pool on the eastern shore that's unlike anything in the surveys. Complex structure, high biodiversity, several species I need to cross-reference. Spent four hours there. Forgot to eat lunch.
This is why I do this. These moments when the world shrinks to a single point of focus and nothing else exists. No noise. No expectations. No performance.
Just the work. Just the water.
Just me.
Lily paused on that last line.No performance.She knew something about that—about the exhaustion of being "on" all the time, of curating yourself for public consumption until you forgot what the uncurated version looked like.
Maybe that's what this island was for him. A place where he didn't have to perform. Where he could just... be.
She turned to the most recent entries. The ones after she'd arrived.
Day 16. The influencer is still here.
Lily snorted.The influencer.Classic Alex.
She talks constantly. Asks questions I don't have time to answer. Wore a pink bikini to a research site today like we were at a resort.
She also noticed the blenny before I pointed it out. And her questions aren't stupid. They're actually...
The sentence stopped there. Unfinished. Like he'd caught himself admitting something he wasn't ready to say.
Day 17. Took L. to the lagoon. Don't know why. Felt like showing off, which isn't like me. Or maybe I just wanted to see her face when she saw it.
