“I’m here.” He rasped, eyelids drooping.
She moved her hands to his shoulders, then down to his wrist. His pulse was weak, barely detectable. The wound in his arm was inflamed. Blood mixed with water, diluted to pink in the downpour. She peered closer—a darker discoloration ringed the injury, spreading in thin tendrils beneath his skin.
The assassin’s words pushed to the forefront of her mind:
The island had a solution for us.
Lionfish venom’s a nasty thing.
Letting a blade cut you.
Now you’ll pay the price.
“Oh, God.” The pieces clicked together with horrible clarity. “The assassin—he mentioned lionfish venom. Could he have put it on his knife?”
“The groundskeeper.” Zach’s face whitened as realization dawned. “Blade looked wet. Cut my arm.”
“Venom.” Her voice came out steady despite the ice flooding her veins. She needed confirmation, to know she wasn’t making assumptions that might kill him. “Zach, tell me what you feel. Could it be lionfish venom?”
“Fits…” His head moved in what might be a nod. The single word seemed to cost him, his breath caught on the syllable. “Cut hurts… shouldn't. Dizzy. Muscles not working…”
That was all he managed, but it was enough.
Emma’s mind kicked into a higher gear, that calm resilience that lived at her core rising to meet the crisis. She couldn’t panic. Panic would kill him as surely as the poison. So instead she focused on every scrap of memory from her time with Ana-Luz: kneeling beside the wounded fisherman, the sharp herbal scent of the paste used. Small dark berries. Leaves with serrated edges, crushed to release their oils.
What had Ana-Luz said?The green herb stopped the swelling. The black berries pulled the venom out. Island medicine. Folklore.
It was all she had.
“Stay with me.” Emma squeezed his shoulder and pushed to her feet. “I’ll be right back.”
She scanned around her, rain stinging her eyes. Ana-Luz found many of her herbs in the cliff area.
Her attention snagged on a bush clinging to life in a crack between stones, dark berries gleaming despite the storm. She stumbled to it and stripped the fruit with shaking hands, dropping them into her palm. When she’d taken every berry the bush had to offer, she searched for the leaves.
She scrambled further away, slipping on the trail. The berries fell from her hands and scattered in the wind. “No!” she slid after them, collecting all she found. She crawled back to Zach and put the berries in his shirt pocket for protection.
She peered around again. She hadn't seen any near the berries, so maybe in the opposite direction. She crept along the narrow path, studying the bushes she passed. A tiny shrub with serrated leaves grew low to the ground further up the path. She scrambled to it as fast as the wind allowed.
Please… let these be the right things!
Back at Zach’s side, Emma worked quickly. She crushed the berries between her palms, their juice staining her skin purple-black. The leaves came next, torn and ground between stones until they released their sharp, medicinal scent. She mixed them together, ignoring how her hands trembled, how inadequate this felt against an invisible enemy invading his bloodstream.
“This will hurt,” she warned him, though she wasn’t sure if he was conscious enough to hear. She peeled back the makeshift bandage.
The wound beneath made her stomach clench. The discoloration had spread further, dark tendrils radiated out from the injury like poisoned tributaries. Something hid in the cut flesh—a shadow that didn’t belong, an unnatural taint.
She didn’t have the hot water Ana-Luz applied first, so Emma pressed her fingers around the edges of the cut, applying careful pressure to force out at least some of the venom. Zach’s entire body went rigid, muscles locking tight, and a groan escaped his throat. His body slumped. His head lulled to the side. But poisonseeped out, blacker than blood, viscous in a way that made her skin crawl.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she murmured, tears running down her face. She continued applying pressure until no more of the tainted substance emerged. She scooped up the berry-leaf mixture with a last prayer that they were the right things and packed it into and around the wound. The result looked thin. Too thin for the size of the cut. It wasn't enough.
Zach’s hand shot out, gripping her wrist with surprising strength. His eyes opened, pain-bright but alert. For a moment they just looked at each other, rain streaming over them both.
“I trust you.” Trust, complete and absolute, shone from his eyes before they fluttered closed again.
“Almost done.” She bit back a sob and worked swiftly to bind the poultice in place with the last clean sections of her torn shirt. Her hands shook, but she didn’t stop until she tied off her makeshift bandage. “Stay with me, Zach.”
Her sports bra did little against the cool rain, but she didn’t care. All her focus narrowed to the man in front of her, to the slight rise and fall of his chest, to the pulse jumping in his throat.
