Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59521 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 298(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59521 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 298(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
I yawn, my body fighting exhaustion.
“Sleep,” Ace murmurs from beside me. “You need to rest.”
“I know,” I whisper. “I just...I don’t know, I guess I’m afraid to close my eyes.”
Ace doesn’t say anything more, he just shifts closer to me and then before I know it, he is pulling me down until my head lands on the jumper stretched across his lap.
“You’ll be so uncomfortable,” I protest.
A warm hand settles on the side of my head. “Just close your fuckin’ eyes, woman.”
His hand moves, slow and careful, through my hair. He works his fingers against my scalp in lazy circles, almost like he’s daring me to fall asleep. Part of me wants to fight the comfort curling through my chest, but another part—maybe the truest, most animal part—wants to take everything he offers, even if it lasts only tonight.
I shut my eyes, listening to the hush of waves and the soft crackle of burning leaves. I can feel Ace’s body radiating heat under me, can feel the weight of his palm on my ribs, steady and grounding. For the first time in days, I let myself drift, give in to the warm gravity of exhaustion.
But as the world blurs, the uncertainty comes to life. What if nobody finds us? What if, in a month or so, we’ve run out of food, or water, and all the first aid kits in the world can’t stop the rot of panic and hunger from setting in? What happens when the storms come back, and we have nowhere to go?
My father’s face flickers, like a warning light at the edge of sleep. Has he even noticed? I think of the girls, my team, all the years we spent under his watch, and I can’t help but wonder if any of us ever really made a dent in his world. Would he bother to call for help at all? Or would he just write us off? Maybe this works better for his twisted little plan. Maybe it makes it easier if we just disappear.
I can’t think of that.
I let sleep take me.
When I wake again, it’s silent and still. The fire is down to its embers, painting everyone in the shelter with long, reaching shadows. The lifeboat shell above us glows dull and orange, and everything else is black, except for the sliver of moon burning out on the horizon. There’s a thicket of bodies, all of them curled up in sleep.
I am lying on my side, Ace curled behind me. His chest is pressed into my back, and his tattooed arm is snug against my waist, hand heavy and warm over my ribs. I freeze, not wanting to wake him, but also not sure how to feel about the fact that I like it this much. I let myself enjoy the comfort of this feeling for a moment, letting it sink and pretend we are anywhere else but here.
A soft, high sound cuts through the hush—almost like a child’s whimper. I turn over, careful not to jostle Ace, and catch sight of Iris, maybe a meter from me. She is trying to sit up, and every time she does, she whimpers in pain. Then, she launches forward with a whimper and a gag, vomiting all over the ground. I scramble up, ignoring the way Ace’s arm drops from my body, and reach her just in time to stop her from toppling back down.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, brushing her hair away from her mouth as she sobs. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”
She shakes in my hands, sweat beading across her forehead. Tatiana mumbles in her sleep, but doesn’t wake. Only Ace sits up, instantly alert. He moves closer to us, kneeling next to me and staring at Iris.
“She’s sick,” I say.
He doesn’t say anything at first, just nods and moves to help me shift Iris onto her side, so she doesn’t choke on the next wave. He presses a palm to her cheek, then adjusts the jacket under her head so she is more comfortable.
“It hurts,” she says, voice small and croaky.
I grab some of the cooled water, unscrew it, and tip it against her lips. She drinks, sputtering, but it seems to help.
“Should I get her more painkillers?” I whisper to Ace.
He shakes his head, mouth tight. “Not yet, only if she gets worse. We gotta make it last.”
I want to argue with him, but I know he’s right. We don’t know how long we will be here, or what is going to happen. I look down at Iris, who is breathing slow and shallow.
“We need to prop her leg up,” I say. “The swelling is bad, and it might take some of the pressure off, which could help with the pain.”
Ace nods, and together, we use a tangle of branches under her calf, easing her into a more comfortable position. She whimpers, but doesn’t fight us.