A D R I AN

The storm in my chest hasn’t eased by the time I stalk into the security room. Screens line the walls, their glow stuttering in shades of blue and green, like the sea itself has broken into static. Ethan is already inside, arms crossed, jaw set, his entire posture carved from patience and readiness.

I should feel steadier with him here but I don’t, because all I can still see is Elara’s eyes under the lanterns, defiance, fury, and something hotter when I told her to stay out of this.

The door clicks open and perfume slides through the charged air before her heels even strike the floor. Marina Navarro glides inside like the room was waiting for her. Coral lipstick unflawed, copper hair sleek, linen dress whispering against her legs as though she’s incapable of moving without theater.

Her smile lands on me, polished and perfect. “Adrian. I heard there was… turbulence.” Turbulence, that’s her word for sabotage? I step closer, close enough that the screen glow reflects in her pupils. “A skiff is missing and its ropes were cut and my doctor’s credentials were smeared in a way that originated from your department.”

Her smile doesn’t falter. “Oh, that. The credential issue was an unfortunate clerical oversight, I regret the confusion it caused Dr. Quinn.”

“Confusion doesn’t cut rope,” I bite out. Ethan flicks a switch, one of the feeds looping. The docks shudder in pixel static and Marina barely glances at it.

“The skiff likely drifted,” she says smoothly. “Storm surge, wear on the lines. These things happen in a marine environment.” I step closer still, lowering my voice until it’s a blade. “Lines fray and they don’t snap clean unless someone wants them to.” For an instant, her smile slips, then snaps back, polished and bright.

“Guests don’t need to hear the word sabotage, Adrian. We call it a maintenance hiccup,  an oversight. Already resolved by our efficient team.” I almost smile, she’s flawless and Unshakable. Not a hint of sweat, not a single fracture in that perfect PR shell.

“You think I’m worried about guest messaging?” I say, voice dropping. “I’m worried about what’s real and every word out of your mouth sounds scripted.”

Her eyes flare. “My job is to protect Seraphine’s reputation. If that requires sanding down the truth, then yes, I do it. You’ve always known that.” I study her, the cold curve of her smile, the cloying perfume that hangs between us until it feels poisonous. Marina doesn’t soothe. She cuts, and if I push any harder, one of us is going to get sliced open.

Ethan doesn’t wait for permission, he never does when the stakes are this clear. He works the keys fast, freezing one of the dock feeds on a streak of movement. The frame stutters, warps, then settles into something darker. A figure, hood up, shoulders tight, moving down the marina with an off-kilter gait.

My pulse kicks. “Run it back.” The footage reverses in jagged clips, Ethan slows it, isolates the stride. Not random but intentional. One leg drags a fraction behind the other, barely noticeable, but unmistakable.

“That’s no storm glitch,” I say. “He knew exactly where to cut.” Marina drifts closer to the screen, her smile softening into something rehearsed, concern, but the kind that belongs on a brochure. “A guest with too much to drink or a worker off shift. This isn’t evidence of anything.”

My jaw flexes. “Drunk men don’t walk that steady while cutting rope.” The feed sputters again, dissolving into static. Deliberate interference, I taste the metallic tang of fury on my tongue. Someone’s playing with my island, my family’s legacy as if it’s a stage for their sabotage. My phone buzzes.

Lucien.

He’s supposed to be buried in sketchbooks on Noctiluna, brooding under starlight. Instead, a grainy still appears on my screen, sharper than anything our cameras managed. He’s taken the footage Ethan forwarded, enhanced it with an artist’s obsession.

“Watch the weight shift,” Lucien’s message reads. “The right hip compensates maybe an old injury? Repeat every three steps. Not random or intoxicated but deliberate.” Of course he caught it. I read tides and margins; Lucien reads shadows and symmetry. He turns storms into patterns and now he’s turning my saboteur into one too.

I fire back faster than I usually let myself: “Send comparisons if you find any. Staff, vendors, contractors.”  His reply drops instantly, blunt: “Already sorting.”

Ethan studies the frozen frame beside me. “He’s right. Whoever this is knows our blind angles. That cut wasn’t clumsy, it was precise.” My skin tightens, Lucien half an archipelago away already refining the silhouette. Ethan, immovable at my shoulder and Marina still smiling, still spinning narratives about guest comfort and optics.

Her voice barely hits and all I hear is Elara on the promenade, fierce and unforgiving: Start acting like it. The hooded figure limps out of frame. The feed dissolves into black, and for the first time tonight, I want blood more than truth.

The door slams open and Elara storms in like the tide itself, scrubs clinging damp to her curves, cheeks flushed from the night air, eyes lit gray-green like a storm signal. She doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t blink, just throws herself into the fire.

“You’re not going without me.” The air in the security room shifts, even Ethan’s head turns, the closest thing to surprise I’ll ever get out of him. Marina’s lips curve, delighted, like she’s watching a duel she placed bets on.

I pivot slowly, deliberately. “Excuse me?” Her chin lifts. “If you’re taking the RIB out, I’m on it and that’s not a request.” I close the distance between us in three strides, until her heat cuts through the chill radiating off the monitors. “You’re not a diver. You’ll only slow me down.”

She doesn’t flinch. “And you’re not a doctor. You think adrenaline and brute force will be enough when someone pulls a lungful of seawater? When cold shock throws their heart into chaos? You won’t even recognize the arrhythmia before it kills them.” Her words land like blows. My hands curl into fists at my sides. “You’ll drown.”

“I’ll save someone from drowning,” she fires back. “That’s the difference.” I take a half step closer. Her breath hitches, whether from fury or something else, I can’t tell. “This isn’t negotiable,” I say, voice low enough to vibrate between us. “You’re staying, I’m not risking you.”

Something snaps in her gaze, anger, yes, but a flash of heat that punches straight into my gut. She steps in until her breath ghosts against my mouth, chest rising hard.  “Don’t pretend this is about me. This is about your control and if you don’t get over it, someone’s going to die for it.”

Marina’s perfume slices through the charged air, her voice syrup-sweet. “Should I label this… internal disagreement for the press?” Neither of us acknowledge her.

Ethan clears his throat a quiet, warning. He can feel the blade between me and Elara. I’m the one who steps back because If I don’t, I’ll do something reckless like grab her jaw and kiss her until we forget why we’re furious. Instead, I turn, spine locked.
“Stay put. That’s final.”

Her voice whips after me, sharp enough to mark skin.  “Then pray your pride doesn’t get someone killed.” I don’t give her the satisfaction of a glance. My voice drops into command, stripped clean.  “Ethan. Prep the RIB. Full gear. Radar sweep before launch.” “On it,” he says, already moving, already radioing.

Marina lingers, scent thick as poison. “Spin first, Adrian. Set the narrative..” “Not now.” The words crack like stormbreak. Her smile falters but doesn’t fall, she’s too trained. I shove the door wide and the night slams into me, cold surf air, and lantern glow swallowed by black water. My pulse hammers with the tide, behind me, Elara’s sneakers scrape the tile as she reaches the threshold. Her voice drops low and  fierce.

 “You’re heading into dark water with no doctor. You’ll find a body, but you won’t save it.” I pause just long enough to let the words cut. Then I head down the steps, each stride a rejection.  “Stay here, Quinn.” Her name tastes like a barricade.

Ethan is already at the RIB, headlamp slicing over waves. Engines growl to life, I grip the rail, fury and duty fused. Elara stands on the pier, lanterns haloing her, arms crossed, jaw locked and I know that look. It’s not surrender.

The boat rips away from the dock, spray stinging. The island shrinks, but her eyes stay lodged under my ribs. If she follows and every part of me knows she will, my fight won’t just be with a saboteur.  It’ll be with her.