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. Gaps in control.

The drill is over, the beach cleared, yet my pulse hasn’t slowed. Rope cut clean. Radios dead. Tents misplaced. None of it 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. The lanterns sway. And for one heartbeat, we’re the only two people on the island.

Her hair whips my cheek, salt and heat. 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. So does mine.

It would be easy—too easy—to close the space. Her lips hover inches from mine, eyes sharp, unflinching. She doesn’t step back. She dares me to finish it.

God help me, I want to.

But I stopped. My hand slams the rail beside her head instead, the sound cracking against the wind. Everything in me screams closer; I hold the line.

“Not like this,” I grind out, voice rough.

Her eyes narrow, defiant instead of hurt. Angry that I pulled back first.

Lantern light flickers across her face, making her look like fire contained in glass. My palm aches on steel; my throat burns with what I won’t say.

She exhales, sharp, and slides past me without apology. “Then you’d better figure out what ‘like this’ means, Valcrosse. Because I won’t step back.”

The air she leaves tastes like flame.

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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. 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, infuriating. She makes me feel like I’m not performing but fighting. For real. 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 flick to her, then back to me. No denial. He agrees.

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.

No. She’s right. Someone is cutting into us. Watching. 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. 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 accusation—truth.

It lands too deep. I try to armor myself with silence. She doesn’t blink.

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. Just two people under lanterns swinging like stars too close to earth.

I pull back, fist tight at my side, already missing her heat.

Silence hums with everything we didn’t say.

It hums—and then it snaps.

She steps back. Not retreat—reset. “You’ll never control this island if you keep shutting me out.”

The truth bites. Too close.

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—not fear. 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.

So I smother it. Harden.

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

Her eyes flash, fire masking hurt I put there. We both step back—not in distance, in armor. The fragile moment collapses, scattered like lantern light on the tide.

Ethan waits for my call. Elara doesn’t.

“You can’t keep treating this like it’s salvageable with spin,” she pressed, voice sharp enough to draw blood. “Whoever cut that rope is still out there. You want to talk survival? Start acting like it.”

The storm in my chest begs for release. For once, I don’t temper it.

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

Ethan doesn’t blink. He’s already calculating tide windows, radar sweeps, and fuel. That’s why he’s mine.

Elara’s mouth parts, breath catching like she didn’t expect me to throw down that fast. Then her shoulders square, eyes blazing.

“Without a doctor onboard? Without me?”

The word me lands heavier than it should.

I drag my gaze over her face—wind-flushed, lit by swaying lanterns. I want her there. God, I do. But wanting and risking aren’t the same.

“Stay out of this one,” I say, low and steel. “That’s not a request.”

Her eyes narrow, fury and something hotter sparking under the glow.

Wind cuts between us, carrying salt and silence. Lanterns swing like teeth overhead, gnashing in the dark.

And for the first time tonight, I know: if she follows me onto the water, it won’t just be sabotage I have to survive.