I change quickly and climb into the top bunk, the mattress creaking under my weight. I wait for the sound of his return—footsteps on gravel, the soft creak of the door—but they don’t come.
Instead, I fall asleep to the hush of waves and the echo of his voice in my mind.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“The goal here isnotto find out what happens when you mix dehydration with sunstroke, but thanks for your enthusiasm,” Holden says flatly, removing his cap and setting it on Chloe’s head like it’s the most efficient solution available. She mutters a thank-you and slumps under the nearest bit of shade. He’s been a little clipped this morning, ever since the dive plan was pushed to tomorrow due to gear issues. Or so the guides said.
When my alarm went off at dawn, I rolled to my side groggily, rubbing my eyes, only to be met with a brief but undeniably unfair glimpse of Holden pulling on a T-shirt—abs and all. It was the kind of moment that would haunt the average girl for the rest of her trip, but I didn’t have time to dwell on it, because in my haste, I forgot the whole top-bunk situation and cracked my skull against the ceiling. Holden blinked at me like I was a newly discovered species, and all I managed to say was something about how it was a good thinghedidn’t pick the top bunk. He chuckled. But by the time we were out with the group, talking to the guides, he was back to standard-issue emotionally-repressed Holden.
Still, he didn’t let it derail the day. He called the group together and laid out the situation like a problem to solve.
“We’re here to study unpredictability in the field,” he said. “You’ve got your first real variable—nonfunctional equipment. So, you tell me. Do we burn fuel and scout the dive site anyway? Or do we stay back, run diagnostics, finalize our site roles, and get the gear sorted so we don’t lose two days instead of one?”
He said it with his usual deadpan calm, like he wasn’t annoyed at all—which, of course, means he absolutely was. But it worked. The students started weighing trade-offs, revisiting their notes, adjusting plans. Somehow, Holden always manages to reroute disappointment into efficiency. Not with charm. Just clarity.
Now, though, we’ve been sitting by the pier for a little over four hours. Despite it still being early, the sun is relentless. The trees nearby offer only the illusion of shade, and no matter how many times we reshuffle ourselves, there’s no real escape from the heat. We’ve gone over the dive plans more times than I can count, and the handful of us familiar with tank systems and regulators have spent the better part of the morning assisting the guides with the faulty gear.
At this point, we’ve wrung every last drop of productivity out of a day when diving is off the table. That’s when Holden finally stands, brushing off the back of his shorts as he rises from where he’d been crouched beside Chloe.
“Alright,” he says, voice calm but carrying. “Good work this morning. I know this wasn’t how you pictured day one going, but welcome to field science. Sometimes you spend two years prepping for a research trip and lose the first three days to abroken compressor.”
He slings his bag over one shoulder and holds up a clipboard. “I spoke to the guides. This part of the island is secure, and there are a few marked trails if you want to stretch your legs or get a closer look at the local wildlife. Tortoises, marine iguanas, lava lizards, maybe even a finch or two if you don’t scare them off by breathing.”
Excited murmurs ripple through the group.
“For today only,” he continues, gaze flicking briefly in my direction before returning to the clipboard, “I’m okay with everyone heading out to explore. That said—” he pauses just long enough for the lot to quiet again—“if you’re leaving camp, I need a name, a destination, who you’re with, and your expected return time on this sheet.”
He taps the board with one finger, just once.
“You’re adults. I’m not here to babysit. But I really, really don’t want to be the TA who loses a student on a remote island.” A beat. “Let’s not make headlines, yeah?”
That earns a couple of chuckles, a few grins, and a surprising level of compliance.
Most students rush the clipboard like it’s concert tickets, the majority scrawling their names beside the trail that leads toward the center of the island—to Cerro Pajas, the mountain the guides mentioned upon our arrival. Apparently, there are ancient moss-covered statues up there, remnants of a time no one really talks about, which makes them all the more intriguing.
When it’s finally my turn, I lean in to look—and spot something that makes my heart skip. On the lower corner of the map, just a short walk from camp, there’s a little snorkel icon nestled near the coastline. Cormorant Bay.
My eyes flick up instinctively, looking for Holden, but he’s mid-conversation with Mateo, hands gesturing, voice low.
I turn to Emma instead.
“Did you see this?” I ask, pointing to the bay. “Looks like we can snorkel?”
She nods, though her voice doesn’t match the enthusiasm on my face. “Yeah. I saw it. But I don’t know, we’ll be in the water all week, won’t we? Kind of feels like the one chance to see what’s inland.”
She has a point. The trail up to Cerro Pajas does sound incredible, and I’d love to see the statues—especially considering most of the class seems to be heading there. But Dr. Kymbert mentioned she wanted to schedule tortoise time near the end of the trip, and if that’s the case… well, the water is calling. Always has been. Especially when I thought I wouldn’t get the chance today.
Technically, I know better than to snorkel alone. It’s frowned upon, safety-wise. But there’s no harm in just getting close to the tidepools again. Wading in. Floating at the surface for a bit, just to observe.
I sign my name beside “Cormorant Bay,” tuck the clipboard back onto the table, and head for the cabin.
Grabbing my pack, I load it with the essentials: my field notebook—because I never go near water without something to scribble in—an extra pen, a few hair ties, more sunscreen, and the mask and snorkel I brought in a last-minute fit of optimism. I’m already wearing a long-sleeved rash guard over my bikini, so I’m basically good to go.
Even if I only spend ten minutes in the water, it’s ten minutes more than I thought I’d get. And out here, ten minutes is always enough for the ocean to show you something new.
As I open the door, Holden walks in. We nearly collide, and while he stiffens—clearly surprised to find me standing there—he doesn’t stop until I step back, giving him space to close the cabin door behind him.
He looks down at me, shaking his head slowly. “Coralie,” he says, already sounding exhausted. “Why is your name next to the snorkel site?”
