I hit my mic. “Cole. Shoreline only.”
No response.
Blaze bends, reaching into the surf. “Whatever this is, it’s GNARLY. Nah, this can’t stay. It’s trashing the ocean. We’re YANKING this out.”
The chat starts freebasing adrenaline:
BLAZE! Don’t die!!!
He’s gonna eat shit
SCEPTER SACRIFICE TIME
Tetanus shot incoming
I lean around my monitor, and, of course, there’s Cole. Already wading in after him.
Ankle deep.
Calf deep.
Camera up, moving forward with the easy swagger of a man who thinks rules are more like suggestions.
“Cole!” I bark into my mic. “We agreed, waterline perimeter only.”
“Relax. I’ve got the shot,” he says.
Gah!There he goes again, ignoring safety protocols like it’s a game for clicks. This is why it would never work between us.
Not today.
Not tomorrow.
Not fucking ever.
Sienna reaches Blaze—cool, efficient, already assessing—as the waves lick at their calves, each roll in harder than the last.
The chat pivots:
science girl is back
BLAZE FOUND HIS MERMAID
Kiss her, you coward!
THEY’RE ENDGAME, FIGHT ME
Blaze turns toward the camera. “YO, DUUUUDES! We may have found a GHOST NET, and let me tell ya, we are being—uh—what’s the word, Sienna?”
“Cautious.”
“EXACTLY. Careful as shit.”
“For those watching, do not attempt this,” she says. “Ghost nets aren’t a social media challenge, they’re a death sentence. Get tangled, and the ocean decides your fate.” She pauses. “You spot a ghost net? Back away. Call the experts.”
“FACTS,” Blaze says, grinning. “Snag a HOTTIE PRO like Dr. Alvarez here.”
She doesn’t quite roll her eyes. “We move as one. Blaze, those edges will slice you open like butter. Gloves. Now. Or your bleeding stumps will need to be wrapped in duct tape.”
