A D R I A N

Lanterns swing above the promenade, their paper skins glowing soft as fire, but all I see are teeth. Edges in the light and gaps in control. The drill is over, the beach cleared, yet my pulse hasn’t slowed. Rope cut clean, radios dead, tents misplaced and none of it is coincidence.

And Elara, standing in the sand with her jaw set, refusing to yield even when she looked at me like I was more than the Valcrosse mask. Like she almost believed I belonged in the dirt with her. Now she walks at my side through the lantern-lit crowd, the wind tugging her hair loose, her steps quick like she doesn’t want to admit this counts as walking together.

“After a day like that, you should be asleep,” I say, voice low, steady. She shoots me a sharp look, gray-green eyes catching the lantern glow. “After a day like that, you should be in a boardroom writing spin.”

My mouth curves despite the storm in my chest. She’ll never give me the easy line, maybe that’s why I don’t let her walk back alone. We round a bend where the promenade thins, the ocean wind biting harder. She stops at the railing, bracing both hands there, staring at the black tide. I step in after her, one palm going to the rail above her shoulder. Close enough that her breath brushes mine, the wind drops, lanterns sway, and for one heartbeat, we’re the only two people on the island.

Her hair whips my cheek, salt and heat and she doesn’t notice. She’s hunting the horizon like it owes her answers. I lean closer, chest brushing her shoulder, my arm caging her in against the rail. Her breath stutters, and so does mine.

It would be easy, too easy to close the space. Her lips hover inches from mine, eyes sharp, and unflinching. She doesn’t step back, instead she dares me to finish it. God help me, I want to, but I stopped. My hand hits the railing beside her head instead, metal ringing sharply in the wind. Every part of me demands I close the distance yet I force myself to stay still.

“Not like this,” I rasp, the words scraped raw. Her gaze slices up at me, not wounded but furious because I was the one who stopped. Lantern light flickers over her features, turning her into something caged and burning. My palm throbs against steel; my throat aches with everything I refuse to let out.

She exhales, quick and tight, and slips past me without hesitation. “Then figure out what ‘like this’ means, Valcrosse, because I’m not backing down.”

She doesn’t slow when we fall into step again, strides clipped, shoulders squared. I match her pace, still raw from the rail.

“You’ll have six sites to prove me wrong,” she says, voice like a blade. “Clinic, lagoon, marina, promenade, boardwalk, and the firebreak trail. We start at dawn.”

“Prove you wrong?” I let the words curl slowly, deliberately. “Dr. Quinn, I intend to prove the island right. We’ll fix every crack before you’ve finished your list.”

She flicks me a glance, eyes sparking. “You’re still thinking about optics. I’m thinking about bodies.”

“And I’m thinking about both,” I counter. “Because if you lose one, you lose the other.”

Her laugh is quick, bitter. “Always the brand.”

“Always survival,” I say, leaning in just enough to tip her chin higher. “You fight like you’re the only one who cares about lives but you’re not.” Silence hums hotter than the lanterns. For a breath, our barbs feel less like arguments and more like vows.

She breaks it, pulling in a sharp inhale. “Then let’s see if your survival instincts hold up at six a.m.” I can’t stop the smile tugging my mouth. Competitive, relentless and infuriating. She makes me feel like I’m not performing but fighting and I don’t know if that terrifies me or wakes me up.

Ethan materializes out of shadow, stride clipped, face like granite. He doesn’t waste time. “The skiff’s still missing,” he says low. “Procurement logs show no departure, and the marina cameras.. ” He shakes his head once. “Angles are clean. Too clean.”

My shoulders tense. “Tampered?”

“Either cut or swapped. Both are inside jobs.”

Elara slows, brows drawing tight. “So the rope wasn’t the only sabotage today.” Ethan’s eyes shift to her briefly before settling on me. No correction and no hesitation. He’s confirming it without speaking. Lantern light washes her face in gold and shadow, anger burning clear. “How many cracks do you need before you stop pretending this is just negligence?”

I want to tell her she’s wrong, that this can be managed but the rope burn still stings my palm. She’s right, someone is cutting into us, watching and waiting. The promenade feels less like a festival walkway and more like a stage we’re already standing on, blind.

Ethan drifts a step back, scanning but Elara doesn’t. She turns to me, relentless, every flicker of flame caught in her eyes.

“You can’t fix this by yourself,” she says. Not an accusation but the truth. It lands too deep and I try to armor myself with silence. For the first time tonight, I feel the weight of it, not the dynasty, not the investors. Her. Still beside me when she should have walked away hours ago.

“Then don’t make me do it alone,” I hear myself say, low as the tide. Her lips part, surprise cracking her steel. The wind whips a strand of hair across her face; I reach without thinking, brushing it back. My fingers graze her temple, too brief, too charged. She doesn’t move.

For one suspended beat, we’re not adversaries or allies but just two people under lanterns swinging like stars too close to earth. I pull back, fist tight at my side, already missing her heat and silence hums with everything we didn’t say.

It hums and then it snaps, she steps back not a retreat but a reset. “You’ll never control this island if you keep shutting me out.” The truth bites.

I straighten, closing the space she made until we’re nearly chest to chest. “And you’ll never survive this island if you don’t learn when to step back.” Her breath catches with fury, maybe the same fire that’s burning me alive. Wind lashes her hair across my cheek and all I can think about is how easy it would be to grab her, taste her, let every wall fall, but I don’t.

“You think survival means locking me out,” she says, steady as a blade. “I think survival means standing next to me whether you like it or not.” The line tethers around my ribs for one wild second, I want to admit it, that she’s the first person in years who makes me feel less alone, but that confession would undo me and I can’t afford it. Not with knives in the walls.

“Then we’ll see which one of us drowns first,” I say, flat, cold.

Ethan waits for my call but Elara doesn’t.

“You can’t keep pretending this can be polished over,” she snaps, her voice cutting clean. “Someone cut that rope and they’re still out there. You want to talk about survival? Then start acting like your life depends on it.”  The storm coiled in my chest demands to break free. For once, I don’t choke it down.

“I’m taking the Rigid Inflatable Boat out tonight,” I say. “The RIB.”

Ethan doesn’t even flinch. He’s already running tide charts, radar grids, fuel math in his head and this is why he’s the one I trust. Elara’s lips part, breath hitching like she didn’t expect me to escalate that fast, but then her spine straightens, fire catching in her eyes.

“Without a doctor on board? Without me?” That last word hits harder than it should. My gaze sweeps her face, wind-pink cheeks, lantern light skimming over her skin. I want her on that boat. God, I do, but wanting and risking are two different things.

“Sit this one out,” I tell her, voice low, iron-edged. “That’s an order.” Her eyes narrow, fury and something far hotter sparking to life beneath the lantern glow. Wind slices between us, salted and cold. Above, lanterns sway like they’re biting at the dark, and for the first time tonight, the truth hits me square: if she steps onto that skiff with me, I won’t just be fighting sabotage but I’ll be fighting the pull of her.