Then I was torn away.
The force ripped me from the creature and hurled me backward like refuse. I slammed into the deck hard enough to knock the air from my lungs, skidding across soaked planks until pain swallowed everything.
I couldn’t breathe.
Couldn’t hear.
Just pain—and then—
Silence.
Not peace.
Withdrawal.
The Leviathan was gone.
I tried to push myself up.
My arms gave out.
I hit the deck like a broken thing, the impact knocking the air from my lungs as pain exploded through me. The world skidded—wood, blood, rain—then everything went black.
Nothing.
—or almost nothing.
Sound bled back in first. Disconnected. Muffled. Like hearing the world through water.
—“Nerina!”
Hands grabbed at me. Rough. Shaking.
“She’s not moving—”
“Gods, she’s not breathing—”
Boots pounded across the deck. Someone swore. Someone else was calling for Dr. Gideon. I felt pressure at my ribs—too hard—followed by a panicked shout.
For a distant, drifting moment—before thought fully returned—that panic warmed me.
They cared.
Despite the blood. Despite the fear. Despite whatever they thought I was.
“Don’t move her—don’t—”
A wave crashed over the rail, icy and real, soaking me through.
I gasped.
Air tore back into my lungs in a violent, choking rush—and immediately my stomach heaved.
I barely had time to turn my head before bile burned up my throat. I retched hard, vomit spilling onto the planks as my body convulsed again, harder this time, ribs screaming in protest.
“Easy—easy—”
Hands steadied me, one voice close and frantic, another swearing as someone hauled my hair back.
