I kiss her.
My mouth finds hers with precision born of desperation. No air left to share—just contact, just the press of my lips against hers, the physical reality of my body anchoring hers in the present moment. I pour everything into it. Every ounce of wanting. Every furious refusal to let her go.
Come back to me. Come back.
For a heartbeat, nothing changes. She’s still fighting, still reaching for the gold that glows with patient hunger.
Then—
She gasps against my mouth. Her body goes rigid, then limp, then rigid again in a different way. Her hands stop pushing and start clutching, fingers fisting in my shirt, pulling me closer instead of away.
Her eyes are clear.
“Zoric.” My name, bubbling up between us. Terror and relief and recognition. Return.
I pull back just far enough to meet her gaze. Hold up one finger.
We leave. Now.
She nods. No argument. No lingering glances at the treasure that nearly claimed her. Just an immediate understanding of how close we came to losing everything.
We push off the deck in unison. TheFortune’s glow intensifies as we rise—angry, maybe, or just hungry for what it couldn’t have. The light reaches after us, stretching toward our retreating forms with tendrils that feel almost solid against my skin.
I swim harder. Push through water that fights every stroke, cold that tries to lock my muscles, pressure that makes my ears ring and my vision blur at the edges.
Aviora stays close. Her hand closes on mine in the darkness, fingers interlacing, grip tight enough to bruise. We rise in tandem—lungs screaming, bodies failing, the surface impossibly far above.
Don’t stop. Don’t look back.
The light fades. The cold lessens. The darkness gives way to gray, then to the pale illumination of an overcast sky.
We break the surface gasping.
The patrol boatis fifty yards away. Brek spots us first—his shout carries across the water, followed by the splash of oars as Margit steers toward us.
I tread water beside Aviora, one arm wrapped around her waist, refusing to let go even now that we’re safe. Her breathing is ragged, her skin pale, her eyes still carrying shadows of whatever she saw in theFortune’s depths.
“You came back.” I don’t recognize my own voice—rough, broken, carrying emotions I’ve spent years learning to suppress.
“You kissed me.” A ghost of her usual sharpness surfaces through the shock. “Underwater. Without air.”
“Seemed important.”
“It was.” Her palm presses cold against my cheek. “Zoric. What I saw down there—Finn wasn’t just a memory. The gold was using him. Showing me things. Promising that if I just touched it, I could release his pain. Let him rest in peace.”
“It was lying.”
“I know. But for a moment...” Her voice cracks. “For a moment, I wanted it to be true badly enough to drown for it.”
I draw her closer. Press my forehead against hers. We float there in the cold water, surrounded by the Wrecktide’s deceptive calm, breathing air that tastes sweeter than anything I’ve ever known.
“You came back,” I say again. “That’s what matters.”
“Because you were there.” Her lips brush mine—brief, trembling, but real. “You’re what brought me back.”
The patrol boat reaches us. Brek’s hand reaches down, hauling Aviora over the gunwale with the easy strength of youth. I follow, collapsing onto the deck beside her, my body finally acknowledging the toll of a dive that should have killed us both.
“Did you find it?” Margit’s voice is sharp with hope. “TheFortune?”
