E L A R A

The plunge rips the breath from my lungs, salt claws down my throat, a burn sharper than knives. The tide shoves me sideways, black water filling every space, and my arms flail without aim. Adrian’s grip is the only reason I don’t vanish under, he drags me forward, his chest a wall of heat in a sea that wants me gone.

The cold bites deeper than skin, it gnaws at my bone, at my thought. My teeth slam together so hard my jaw aches, each clack a warning I can’t control. My lips are numb, my tongue thick. Words scatter like broken glass. Slurred. Coordination lost. Stage two…

“Elara.” His voice cuts sharp as a blade through the roar. “Stay with me.”

I try to answer, but only a stutter of sound slips out. My chest seizes, tight as stone. Panic wants to take me under, so I fight the only way I know which is naming it. Shivering. Slurred words. Poor coordination. If I keep the list, I keep myself.

“Eyes open.” His grip jolts me upright when the tide threatens to drag me sideways. His tone isn’t polished Valcrosse command, it’s raw, ragged, desperate.

My lids drag heavy, each blink longer than the last. His hand seizes my chin, forcing my gaze up. The world blurs in water, stone, his face too close, all of it too much.

“I won’t let you go,” he growls. And the way his chest locks against mine makes me believe him, even when the cold is louder than thought.

His palm slides higher, cupping my cheek. Rough, shaking, hot against my skin that barely feels anymore. He tilts my head, forces my gaze to meet his, and his voice is a rasp of command.

“Look at me. Eyes open.”

I try. My lids drag heavy, vision tunneling, he curses under his breath and leans in, so close I can taste the salt dripping from his hair. His forehead presses to mine, his breath crashing against my lips.

“Say something.” His thumb strokes my cheekbone, fierce and pleading all at once. “Elara! talk to me.”

I open my mouth, but the sound won’t come. My lips brush his instead, accidental, nothing but contact. It jolts me more than the cold does. My eyes fly wide at the heat of him, the impossible reminder that warmth still exists.

He stills, frozen, his breath ragged against my mouth. This isn’t a kiss, it’s a test, a line, his way of proving I’m still here. But my voice finally breaks free, trembling, shattering.

“It… it steadies me.”

His eyes blaze in the dark, fire without flame. For a beat, I swear he’ll pull away. Instead his lips skim mine again, deliberate this time but gentle, firm, command and comfort tangled into one. Heat sears through me, anchoring me harder than any protocol ever could.

I cling to it, to him, as the cold claws at the rest.

Adrian’s arm clamps tighter around me, iron against my ribs. Each step he takes sends a shockwave through my frozen body, water churning up to my chest. My legs stumble, clumsy and numb, more dead weight than help,  he doesn’t slow.

“Move,” he growls, low and vicious, like he can order my body back to life.

I try. God, I try. My foot hits a slick stone, nearly goes out from under me. His grip yanks me upright before I sink, hauling me tight against his chest. The curse he bites into my hair vibrates through my skull, more heat than sound.

The cavern squeezes in around us, black walls slick with seawater, the current clawing at our thighs as if it wants to tear me from him. My brain flickers dimly, words jumbling like cards dropped in the dark. Fingers… can’t feel… early confusion.

I swallow salt. My throat burns. “Protocol says..”

“Fuck your protocol,” he snaps, dragging me harder, his hand searing against my frozen skin. “You’re not leaving me here.”

It’s fury, but underneath it is something rougher, more jagged. Something that scares me more than the dark does.

Ahead, a shape rises out of the black that looks jagged, stacked, impossible. Driftwood, piled high against the wall where the current must have carried it. Relief punches through me so hard my knees buckle. Adrian doesn’t let me fall, his arm bands around me tighter, hauling me the last steps.

When we finally collapse against the mound, the reek of salt-soaked bark fills my nose. His chest heaves against mine, breath harsh, controlled only by willpower. He doesn’t let go of me, not even for a second, as if the tide might still come to steal me if he loosens his grip.

Adrian shoves me down against the driftwood heap, bracing my head above the waterline with one arm while the other scrabbles for dry kindling. There isn’t much, just splintered sticks hidden deep in the pile, but he claws them free like a man possessed. His hands shake, wet and raw, fumbling with the flint.

The scrape echoes sharp in the chamber. Once. Twice. Sparks hiss and die against damp bark. He growls, low and feral, and strikes again.

I drift in and out of the sound of the strike, curse, breath. My vision tunnels, the walls seem to breathe, black stone closing in and out with each ragged beat of my heart. I can’t feel my fingers anymore. Not even when I try to curl them into fists.

“Elara.” His voice cuts through, not polished, not commanding but desperate. He presses his forehead to mine for a second, just a second, before wrenching back to strike again. The spark catches this time, a fragile ember glowing in the dark.

He shields it with both hands, cursing under his breath, coaxing, feeding. Fury pours off him in waves, but it isn’t rage at me but it’s rage at the cold, at the storm, at the thought of losing. His breath fans the ember until it licks upward, fragile flame blooming into light.

The fire catches. Orange and gold spill over stone, over water, over him. For the first time since the plunge, warmth brushes my skin. The light carves his face into harsh planes: soaked hair plastered to his brow, jaw tight with strain, eyes burning like the flame itself.

It shouldn’t look beautiful. Not here, not now. But all I can see is how hard he fought to bring that fire alive. For me.

My teeth chatter so hard my whole body shakes, but the sound is drowned by the crackle of flame and the raw vow in his eyes: he will not let me go.

Adrian crouches in front of me, close enough that the firelight burns in his pupils. It makes his eyes look inhuman, something molten and dangerous, like the fire itself has taken root in him. His hand clamps around mine, rough and sure, holding me steady when the rest of me trembles out of control.

“Eyes open,” he says.

It’s not just an order. Not this time. The rasp of his voice cracks in the middle, and I hear it for what it is. It is a plea, a promise, a tether. He’s daring me not to vanish, daring me to give him something back.

I want to give him everything, my eyes, my voice, the certainty that I’m still here. I want to tell him I’ll fight, that he’s not dragging me through this storm alone. The words blaze inside me, sharp and urgent. But when I open my mouth, all that escapes is the clatter of teeth smashing together, jaw locked in a merciless rhythm.

His thumb strokes hard across my knuckles, rough and frantic, like he can force the answer out of me through touch alone. The fire crackles, but it isn’t enough to drown the sound of my own failure, the hollow percussion of bone against bone, the silence where my voice should be.

The dark presses in, edging out firelight, edging out him. My vision narrows to fragments: his face carved in orange flame, his mouth moving as he begs me to stay, the fierce line of his shoulders squared against the tide.

And then even that begins to slip.

The last thing I feel before the dark swallows me is the grip of his hand refusing to let go. The last thing I know is the cruel truth that I couldn’t even give him the one thing he asked for.