“It’s gone.” My voice comes out broken, barely recognizable. “It’s actually gone.”
“You did it.” He turns me to face him, treads water to keep us both afloat. His palms frame my jaw—cold with seawater, warm with everything he’s feeling. “You actually did it.”
“We did it.” I grip his wrists, hold on tight. “I couldn’t have—if you hadn’t been there?—”
He kisses me.
This kiss is different from all the others. Not hungry, not desperate, not proving anything. Just tender. The press of his mouth against mine, carrying everything we’ve survived, everything we’ve lost, everything we’re going to build from whatever’s left.
“I love you.” The words spill out of me when we break apart. “I love you, and I’m not running anymore. From Finn. From guilt. From you.” I lean into him, my temple against his jaw. “I want to stay. I want to build something. I want?—”
“I know.” His knuckles graze my face. “I want that too.”
We float there for a moment, wrapped around each other in water that’s no longer trying to kill us. The sun climbs higher. The waves calm. In the distance, I can see Dreadhaven’s walls—battered, broken, but still standing. Still home.
“We should get back.” I don’t want to move. Don’t want to break this moment. But the water is cold, and we’ve both been injured, and there are people waiting for us who don’t know yet that the nightmare is over. “The others will be worried.”
“Let them worry a moment longer.” Zoric pulls me closer, presses his lips to my hair. “I need to hold you. Just for a moment. Just to remember what this feels like.”
I let him.
The sun rises over a coast that’s been cursed for centuries. The water shimmers with ordinary light instead of hungry phosphorescence. The Wrecktide has become just water—dangerous, yes, but no longer malevolent. No longer hungry.
And in the middle of it all, two survivors cling to each other and learn what it feels like to be free.
The swimback to Dreadhaven takes longer than it should.
We’re both exhausted—drained from the dive, the fight, the emotional upheaval of facing an ancient evil and somehow walking away. Zoric’s cuts have stopped bleeding, but he moves more slowly than usual, favoring his left side where a tentacle caught him during the battle. I’m not injured physically, but my limbs feel like they’re made of stone. Every stroke toward shore requires effort I’m not sure I have left.
We make it anyway.
The harbor quay is crowded when we arrive. Thorne stands at the front, her weathered face drawn with tension that breaks into something like relief when she spots us approaching. Behind her: Brek, bouncing with barely contained energy. Margit, her expression unreadable but her shoulders relaxing as we come into view. Even Henek is there, his hostility temporarily suspended in the face of whatever we’ve just accomplished.
Zoric helps me onto the quay. My legs don’t want to hold me—I stumble, catch myself on his arm, let him steady me against his side. His hand settles on my hip with the natural possessiveness I’ve come to expect. To crave.
“It’s done.” His voice carries across the gathered guards. “The hunger is destroyed. The Wrecktide is safe.”
Silence. Then?—
“Safe?” Brek’s voice cracks with disbelief. “The water that’s been cursed for centuries is just... safe?”
“Look for yourself.” I gesture toward the harbor mouth, toward the open water beyond. “The light is gone. The presenceis gone. Whatever was feeding on ships and sailors and grief—it’s dead.”
More silence. I can see them processing, struggling to accept that the threat they’ve lived with their entire lives might actually be over. That the coast might finally be free.
Then Thorne steps forward. Her good hand closes on my shoulder—not rough, not gentle. Just firm. Acknowledging.
“You did this.” Not a question.
“We did this.” I glance at Zoric, at the man who dove into darkness beside me without hesitation. “I couldn’t have done it alone.”
Thorne nods slowly. Her gaze shifts to Zoric, carrying questions she doesn’t ask, assessments she keeps to herself. Whatever she sees in his face seems to satisfy her.
“Then we owe you both.” She releases my shoulder, steps back. “Dreadhaven owes you both.”
“We don’t want?—”
“Doesn’t matter what you want.” A ghost of a smile crosses her weathered features. “Debts are debts. This one’s larger than most.” She turns to the other guards. “Get them blankets. Hot food. Whatever they need.”
