Chapter 250
The corridors in this place echo more than they should. My boots strike the polished concrete, the sound swallowed quickly by the sterile air of the underground infirmary wing. It’s colder down here, more clinical, the kind of place where grief doesn’t linger long because it’s not allowed to.
I pass white doors with observation panels, most of them dim or closed. Every surface gleams under harsh lights, and the faint scent of antiseptic clings to the walls. My pulse is a slow drumbeat in my ears, the residual edge from my conversation with Wake still lingering. I’d left him to find Arista and Silo, but I couldn’t sit still. My mind won’t stop racing—not after what we learned from Shoal.
I need Cora.
I try her quarters first. Tap gently. Wait.
Nothing.
I open the door and peek inside. The room is empty, the bed still neatly made. No sign she’s been here at all. I step back into the corridor, chewing on the inside of my cheek.
Then it clicks.
Of course.
I head toward the infirmary.
The corridors hum with energy, lights casting long shadows from the overhead panels. Most people give me a wide berth now. They know who I am—or at least, they think they do. I try not to think about that too much. I try not to think about how many eyes follow me behind mirrored visors.
I’m nearly to the infirmary when I round the corner and stop dead.
Stan.
A pair of guards flank him, one on either side, limping slowly down the corridor, shoulder wrapped in gauze, eyes hard. He’s hunched, slow in his movements, but that doesn’t stop him from locking eyes with me the instant I appear.
The flicker of recognition is instant. And so is the hate.
“You,” he spits.
One of the guards jerks him forward with a shove. “Keep it moving. Orders say you stay away from the visitors—especially that one.”
But Stan digs in his heels just enough to get the words out. “She’s nothing but trouble. I told Lily last time and no one listened.”
The guards don’t seem surprised by his outburst, but they don’t stop him either.
Stan keeps going, loud and bitter. “She and her fishman took out half the island like they were nothing. You think she cares about what’s going on here? She doesn’t give a damn about human life. None of them do. You mark my words—they’ll be the death of us.”
I stiffen, heart beating a little faster now, but I don’t look away. I won’t give him that satisfaction.
The taller of the two guards steps in closer to Stan, clapping a firm hand on his shoulder. “Listen, Cap. You’re on thin ice. She’s not worth it. If she or any of these freaks try anything, they’re as good as chum for that tank of sea monsters. ’Til then, we’ve got our orders.”
They shove him forward again, and Stan finally relents, limping off down the corridor.
He sneers. “Mark my words—they’ll be the death of us.”
But not before turning back for one last look. His eyes pinned me in place. That same seething hatred. Like I’m something he wants to burn from memory—and the face of the planet.
Then he’s gone.
The tension spills out of me the second they turn the corner. I suck in a breath and lean against the cool metal of the wall, willing the shake in my hands to still. But it’s there, hiding just beneath the surface. Because that wasn’t just a hateful man lashing out. That was a reminder. A threat.
Shoal might be playing politics. Wake might be preparing for war. But the boots on the ground—the guards who patrol these halls and keep the facility running—they aren’t with us. They’re not even neutral.
We’re not allies.
We’re walking liabilities.
And if that guard was telling the truth—and I think he was—then we’re only safe because someone told them we were useful. Not important. Not protected.
Useful.
Which means the moment that changes, we’re all dead.
I filed that thought away like a knife in my boot. It's close to the surface, easy to draw if I need it, and I will need it sooner or later.
I suck in a slow breath, holding it in my lungs until the two of them pass and turn the next corner. Stan throws one last look over his shoulder—burning, accusing—and then he’s gone.
I let out the breath. My hands tremble slightly at my sides, and I press them to my thighs, grounding myself.
Orders.
But whose?
Because I’m starting to think those orders don’t come from Shoal. Maybe they never did.
And if that’s true… then none of us are safe. Not even him.
I force myself forward.
The infirmary is quiet, the sterile light softened only slightly by the clean, white curtains separating the beds. I walk slowly down the row until I see her.
Cora.
She’s sitting beside one of the beds, one hand resting gently over another’s.
Delphinium.
I stop on the threshold, suddenly afraid to break whatever moment I’ve walked in on. But Cora looks up and smiles.
“There you are,” she says warmly. “Come in.”
I do. Slowly.
Delphinium sees me and lights up. She sits up straighter and opens her arms. I hesitate only for a moment before I’m there, wrapped in her embrace.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “Thank you for coming back for me.”
My throat tightens, but I manage a quiet, “I promised I would.”
We sit for a while. No one rushes us.
Delphinium wants to know everything. The world has changed so much, and she’s starving to understand it. I watch as Cora tells her stories of the land, of her life, and of my mother.
“She was so small when I left,” Delphinium murmurs, brushing her fingers over a lock of Cora’s hair. “I never imagined…”
“You gave us that life,” Cora says, her voice trembling. “Because of your sacrifice, I got to live as a mother, a grandmother. I never would’ve known any of that joy without you.”
Delphinium smiles, tears shining in her eyes. “Then it was worth it. Every moment. I would do it a thousand times over.”
The dam breaks then. Cora reaches for her, and I follow, and the three of us pull into a tangle of arms and warmth and tears. A strange, fragile family that’s been shattered and stitched back together too many times.
But we’re here.
We’re still here.
And that’s something.
As we sit there, arms around each other, I find myself thinking of Stan’s face. Of the hatred in his voice. Of the guard's words.
Of how quickly things can break.
But for now, I hold onto this moment like it’s a lifeline.
Because I know what’s coming.
And I know it won’t last.
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