I resist, of course.
When one creeps a little too close to my shoe, I slide sideways on the rocks.
“Nope. If I’m not allowed to touch you, you don’t get to touch me either.”
“Who are you talking to?”
I startle so hard I nearly lose my footing. My balance tips forward, then back, and I land flat on my ass with a quietoof. My first instinct is to check I didn’t crush anything, craning to look around me like a panicked crab myself.
Holden stands a few steps away, hands in his pockets, one side of his face cloaked in shadow.
“The crabs,” I say quickly, as if that explains anything.
He lets out a soft chuckle. “So the animal whispering isn’t limited to the lab.”
I squint, unsure if that’s amusement or judgment in his tone. His face, as usual, doesn’t give much away.
Then his brow furrows, a shift so subtle I almost miss it.
“You’re a little far from camp.”
I glance around. He’s not wrong. I hadn’t realized I’d wandered this far.
“Sorry. You didn’t have to come get me—I was going to head back soon.”
“I can’t exactly let students roam around alone at night.” His voice is quieter now. “Or during the day either, for that matter.”
“Right,” I murmur, and drop my gaze back to the tidepool. I shift to push myself up, ready to fall into step behindhim.
But instead, he crouches beside me, balancing easily on the balls of his feet. He dips a fingertip into the edge of the nearest pool, tracing a ripple into its mirrored surface.
“We can stay a little.”
His gaze meets mine then, dark and unreadable in the low light. I blink in surprise, then smile, small and honest. He takes a seat beside me, legs stretching long over the edge of the rock ledge. The tide is still low, the waves whispering far off below us.
For a moment, neither of us says anything. The world hums quietly between us—salt and stone and silence. And in the shallow water, the crabs keep dancing.
The silence doesn’t last long though—something stirs in a crevice closer to the edge. I move toward it instinctively and, behind me, I hear Holden mutter a curse under his breath.
“Coralie, will you—can you just be careful?”
His hand finds the bend of my elbow, gentle but firm. It doesn't stop me from leaning in.
“Oh my god,” I whisper.
Once he’s sure I’m not about to tumble into the Pacific, he releases me and crouches beside me to see what’s caught my attention.
“Wow,” he says. “What species is that?”
I blink at the octopus, barely visible in the shadows, its body a rippling shade of brownish purple. Just behind the mantle—there it is: the distinctive false eye spots.
“It’s a Galápagos reef octopus,” I breathe. “They’re endemic. Only found here.”
It’s smaller than Damon, but breathtaking. Delicate arms tucked tightly, watching us just as carefully as we watch it. I didn’t expect the wave of emotion that crashes into me—the sheer, aching rush of missing my own little mollusk. God, I hope he’s okay.
Holden’s gaze shifts to me the way it always does—like he’s tuning into something unsaid. And, true to form, he doesn’t ask directly. He just starts gently probing, like it’s safer that way.
“What’s special about this one?”
