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I watch the last rays of sun disappear over the horizon, the sky shifting from fuchsia to a deep purple right in front of me. It’s so beautiful I could cry. My eyes start to tear, as if I willed the emotions.

“Do you think sunsets get sad that they can never see themselves?” I ask.

Silence in my earpiece.

Right. Nathan’s busy with the takedown.

Nathan. I don’t want the sunset to be the last thing I see. I want it to be him.

I clumsily swing my legs back and forth, trying to keep myself above the surface just long enough to look for him on the boat. Is he on the deck? Still in the hull? The windows are too dark to see through from here.

As the sky turns maroon, the last bit of light gone, it’s clear what the world is signaling: time’s up.

For me, too, it seems.

I didn’t even get to tell Nathan that I loved him is the last sad thought I have before I fade. My kicking slows as my chin, mouth, and nose dip beneath the waves, the rest of me following.

And then everything goes dark.

I blink my eyes open. The room is cold and stale and dim. Am I trapped in a basement? An evil villain’s lair? Bijoux! Did she do this? But why would she give me a bed? This place does feel familiar, though—maybe it’s one of my repeat nightmares or maybe I’ve died, but I really hope it isn’t that one because those beeping noises would be too much to handle for eternity.

“Scarlett,” a deep voice says.

I groggily turn my head and blink a few more times, each one feeling unbearably heavy. Nathan. He’s sitting in the chair next to me. If he didn’t grab my hand, I’d be certain this was a dream.

“Are we in Bijoux’s basement lair?” I ask, the words coming out dry. Is that my voice? I’m an octave lower and raspy as hell. “I really thought it’d be a lot darker than this—”

“You’re in the hospital.” Nathan brings a straw to my lips, and it takes me a few seconds to process what to do before I take in a long sip of cold water with fresh ice cubes. Did he just get here?

My vision clears a bit, and I see that the room isn’t so dreadful. Tinsel’s been draped over the window, and a gingerbread man plush sits on the ledge. It’s surprisingly kind of cozy, if hospital rooms can even be defined as that.

Something must be seriously wrong with me.

“How long have I been here?”

“Thirty-five hours.” Nathan drags a hand through his hair, which looks wild, like he’s been pulling at it for every one of those hours. He’s in a too-tight gray shirt that reads Maui across the front in colorful letters and matching shorts, his button-down and suit pants and jacket draped over the armrest.

“Why are you here?” I ask.

“What do you remember?”

“Being sad I didn’t get to tell you that I loved you,” I mumble.

He straightens his shoulders. “What?”

Hearing back my words wakes me up a little.

“I said I was sad I didn’t get to tell you that I loved beating you in the physical fitness test,” I amend, leaning against the pillow. My head feels so heavy. “Don’t know why I was thinking about that before dying. Weird.”

Nathan scoffs. “You never beat me at the PFT.”

I smirk. “I was hoping you wouldn’t remember.” I try to sit up, wincing as I do. I get a little lightheaded. “Ow—”

“Easy. You nearly bled out,” Nathan says with a bite, but it’s not toward me. “And almost drowned.”

Details start coming back. The boat. The mission. The gunshot. The water. So much water.

“I’m alive,” I croak out. After doing this for so long, I’ve become desensitized. Being here, in this hospital bed, it’s a reminder how close to death we are on any given day.