“Charlotte.”
Nothing.
Her leg is stretched out at an awkward angle, one hand slack against the dirt, her head tipped to the side. Sweat dampens her hair at the temples. Her skin looks off—too pale beneath the heat, like the color’s been pulled somewhere deeper, out of reach.
My pulse spikes. Then I see it.
The swelling starts above her heel, climbing up her ankle, the skin tight and angry around two small punctures.
Sea snake. Venomous.
The realization hits hard and immediate.
“Dammit.”
I drop beside her and press my fingers to her neck.
There. A pulse—too fast and weak, but there.
Her breathing is shallow enough to make something sharp twist in my chest. I force myself to slow down, focus, then glance at the strip of cloth tied above the bite.
She tried.
Of course she did.
I loosen it slightly—just enough to keep the blood moving—then check the wound again. The swelling’s already bad.
Too bad.
How long has she been like this?
“Charlotte.” I tap her cheek. “Open your eyes.”
Nothing at first. Then her lashes flicker. Relief hits harder than I expect.
Her eyes open partway, unfocused. They move over my face without settling, like she can’t quite place what she’s seeing.
“Hey.” My voice comes out rough. “Look at me.”
It takes effort, but her gaze finally finds mine. She just stares.
Her lips part. No sound at first. She swallows, tries again.
“I…” The word barely forms. “I tried…”
I lean closer, one hand braced beside her shoulder. “Don’t talk.”
But she pushes through it anyway, the words breaking apart as they come.
“I tried… to stay…” Her eyes drift shut, then open again with effort. “Out of your way.”
Everything in me goes still.
The jungle, the heat, the noise in my head—gone.
I tried to stay out of your way.
That’s what she thought.
