CH 107
The ocean stretches endlessly around us, the horizon blurred into a soft haze of twilight as the sun sinks lower. The rhythmic rise and fall of the water beneath my board is soothing, almost hypnotic.
I can feel my muscles relaxing after hours of effort, the salt air working its way into my lungs like a balm. Wake sits a few feet away, perfectly balanced on his board despite the gentle rocking of the waves. He’s silent, gazing out at the shimmering expanse as if searching for something just below the surface.
“You surf well,” he says suddenly, his voice cutting through the soft hum of the ocean. His tone is contemplative, like he’s been turning the observation over in his mind for a while.
I smile and trail my fingers through the water. It’s warm, pleasant against my skin. “My grandmother taught me.”
Wake shifts his gaze to me, and the sunlight catches the flecks of green in his ocean-blue eyes. “You speak of her often, with fondness. You must have been close.”
A laugh escapes me, light but tinged with nostalgia. “As close as two people who only saw each other once or twice a year could be. But when we did meet up, it was always an adventure. She made sure of that.”
“Adventures like this?” He gestures to the waves with a slight lift of his chin, his movement as fluid as the water around us.
I nod, my smile widening at the memory. “She taught me to surf in California when I was ten. Then it was swimming in Fiji. Canoeing through mangrove forests in Bali. Kayaking through ice drifts in Alaska. Every year, she’d find some new, incredible place to take us.”
Wake tilts his head, his expression equal parts intrigued and perplexed. “Are such trips typical for humans? Because I assure you, I will not tolerate spending that much time in an airplane.”
His seriousness cracks me up, and I laugh so hard I nearly topple off my board. “No, Wake, they’re not typical. I was incredibly lucky to have those experiences. But it wasn’t like my parents were avid travelers. Every year, like clockwork, we’d get a postcard from some far-off land with three plane tickets inside. Next thing we knew, we’d be off on our next adventure.”
Wake’s gaze sharpens, the wheels in his head visibly turning. “It was Anthozoa,” he says, his voice steady, more a statement than a question.
My smile fades, the weight of his observation settling over me. “Yeah,” I murmur. “She planned all of it.”
Wake leans forward slightly on his board, his focus entirely on me. The shift in his energy makes my chest tighten. “Why those places, Phoebe? California, Fiji, Bali, Alaska—do they have something in common?”
“I don’t know,” I admit, staring out at the horizon as the waves gently rock me. “I always thought she was just a globetrotter, someone who loved the thrill of exploring the world. But now…” My voice trails off as I bite my lip, considering. “Now I can’t help but wonder if there weren’t ulterior motives for those vacations.”
Wake’s expression grows more intense, his eyes narrowing as he processes my words. “What do you mean?”
“Think about it,” I say, my hands gesturing as I try to piece it together aloud. “All those places—they’re coastal. Every single one of them is connected to water. And every time we went somewhere, she pushed me to learn something new. Surfing, swimming, navigating currents—she made sure I knew how to handle myself in the ocean.”
Wake frowns, his gaze unyielding. “And she never joined in?”
“Not once,” I say, shaking my head. “Not even to wade into a tidepool. She always kept her distance, but she had this… this look.”
Wake raises an eyebrow. “What kind of look?”
“Like she was longing for something she couldn’t have. Like she was missing a piece of herself.” I swallow hard, the memory of her wistful expression flashing vividly in my mind. “I didn’t understand it as a kid, but now…”
Wake leans back slightly, his gaze growing distant as he processes what I’ve said. The silence between us is heavy but not uncomfortable, the rhythmic sound of the waves filling the space. Finally, he speaks, his voice soft but firm.
“We will not leave this island empty-handed,” he says, his tone resolute.
I glance at him, a lump forming in my throat as I absorb the certainty in his words.
“We will find Anthozoa,” he continues, his expression unyielding. “And she will give us the answers we seek. She has much to answer for, both to you and to her people.”
His conviction grounds me, a lifeline in the swirling chaos of my thoughts. I nod slowly, the lump in my throat loosening just enough for me to speak. “Thank you, Wake.”
He doesn’t respond with words. Instead, he holds my gaze, his steady, unwavering expression conveying more than words ever could. The tension in my chest eases slightly, replaced by a fragile sense of hope.
I tilt my face up to the sky, watching as the last traces of sunlight dip below the horizon, painting the sky in rich hues of orange and pink. The stars begin to flicker into view, tiny pinpricks of light against the deepening indigo. The waves lap gently against my board, as if the ocean itself is urging me to keep going, to keep searching.
You’re so… close.
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