A towel was pressed into his chest. Then another. He barely registered the heat when it followed, a blanket wrapped tight around his shoulders, heavy and suffocating. His teeth didn’t chatter. His body didn’t react at all.
They guided him inside.
The building smelled like disinfectant and old coffee. The kind of place meant to stabilize, not comfort. Steam rose from his sleeves and dripped onto the floor. Someone took his name. Someone else checked his pupils. He answered when spoken to because the questions were simple and the answers didn’t require thought.
Yes. No. I’m not hurt.
They sat him in a chair with the others, close enough that knees touched, blankets overlapping. Bridge curled inward, arms wrapped tight around herself, eyes red but still searching the room like she expected the water to follow them inside. Joss paced once, then stopped when an officer told him to sit. He stared at the floor like it had personally betrayed him.
Than kept his eyes forward.
A mug was placed in his hands. Something hot. Sweet. He held it because it was given to him, not because he wanted it. The warmth seeped into his palms, crawled up his arms, and stopped at his chest like it had hit a wall.
Fly was there.
Than didn’t look at him at first, but he felt him the way he always did, a steady presence just off his shoulder. When he finally turned his head, Fly was standing, answering questions in a low, even voice. Calm. Controlled. The same voice that had cut through the wind.
Than watched his mouth move and couldn’t hear the words.
There was an empty space in the room. Not a chair. Something larger. A shape that should have been filled and wasn’t. Than’s eyes kept sliding back to it without his permission.
Time lost its structure.
Someone said the Coast Guard had suspended active search due to conditions. The words passed through the room like weather, registered without landing. Outside, wind rattled the windows and rain hammered the roof in relentless sheets. No one cried. No one spoke.
Than nodded when someone touched his shoulder again.
He didn’t know what they expected from him. Tears. Anger. Sound. He had none of it to give. Everything he was had gone still, coiled tight around the last image of Mei standing on the deck, alive, looking at him like the world made sense.
The blanket slipped a little. He didn’t adjust it as thunder rolled somewhere out over the bay.
He sat there, breathing shallow, eyes fixed ahead, waiting for something to change the fact that she wasn’t coming through the door.
Nothing did.
The room stayed quiet after the words settled.
Suspended active search.
Fly felt them land the same way he felt everything else now. Logged. Stored. Contained. He stood where he could see all of them at once, crew gathered close, blankets and damp hair and hollow eyes. Than hadn’t moved an inch. Fly clocked that and filed it away too.
An officer stepped in and in a low, careful voice, said, “Midshipman Gallagher.”
Fly nodded once and followed him out.
The corridor smelled like rain and bleach. Boots squeaked on tile. Somewhere deeper in the building, someone was on a phone, voice tight and urgent.
Hollis was pacing when Fly reached the end of the hall.
He looked dry now. Jacket off. Hair slicked back like it always was when he wanted to look composed. His face was flushed, eyes bright with a kind of agitation Fly recognized instantly.
“This is on you,” Hollis said, the moment Fly stopped walking. No preamble. No pause. “You disobeyed a direct order in the middle of a sanctioned race.” Fly didn’t answer. “You altered course,” Hollis pressed, stepping closer, invading Fly's space. “You exposed the boat. You created the instability. If you had held your line?—”
“Holding that line would have put us beam-on to the swell,” Fly said quietly. It cut anyway. “That wasn’t a risk, sir. It was a death sentence.”
Hollis scoffed, a bead of sweat trickled down his temple. “You think I won’t say it? You think I won’t put it on the record? You’re a student, Gallagher. You don’t get to decide when orders stop mattering.”
“I decide when the safety of my crew is on the line,” Fly said, his voice dropping, colder than the sea air. “I was the skipper, and she’s dead.” He stepped closer. “That should have been your priority, sir.”
