Page 13

13

Olivia

My eyes flutter open, and I let out a deep yawn, stretching against the cold rock floor, trying to work out the knots. My muscles ache in that way they do after sleeping in a cramped position, and I shift to try and loosen the tightness. It takes me a second to remember where I am, but once the memories come flooding back, the familiar chill of the cave air nips at my skin.

I scowl, shaking my head as I recall the strange dream I'd just had. Why now? Of all the things my brain could dredge up, it picks a nightmare about Bethany, of all people, from years ago. I can't help but wonder if it's because of how trapped I feel here. The similarities are eerie, and that thought alone sends a wave of discomfort crawling down my spine.

Is this karma for all of the times I wished to never have to see people again?

"Ugh," I groan, sitting up slowly, fully waking up to my present reality.

Kroaicho. And the hoard. All still here, me along with them.

That peace I somehow found before I slept last night seems completely inaccessible and instead I do what I do best… cringe about how I interacted with someone.

My inane chattering about shows, chaos, and food did nothing, except for make me hungrier. I mean, it never worked for me on humans, so why did I think that schtick would work on a LED alien? I’m weird no matter where I go, no matter which ways I pretend to be chirpy and fun.

I doubt anything I said or my stupid, pretend laugh made it… him… something… more inclined to let me leave.

I reach up to rub at my eyes, still groggy, and try to stifle a cough—but it doesn't come out right. The rough, raw sensation in my throat catches me off guard. It's like I'm trying to swallow broken glass. Panic flares as the cough turns into a series of violent hacks, each one ripping through my chest and throat like barbed wire. I double over, clutching my stomach as my body convulses, forcing something up from deep inside me.

With a sickening lurch, I spit out a wad of something thick and wet. It splatters on the cave floor, and for a split second, all I can do is stare at it, wide-eyed. Blood. A lot of it. And it's… glowing. Faintly, but unmistakably. A dull bioluminescence seeps from the thick mixture of blood and spit, casting a faint shimmer on the stone.

"What… the hell?" I whisper, my voice raspy and weak.

The sight of so much blood sends my mind spiraling. I feel the telltale signs of panic swelling in my chest, threatening to overwhelm me. My heart races and my breaths come out shallow and quick. I'm bleeding. From the inside. There's something wrong with me. The air feels too thick to breathe, and for a second, I think I'm going to pass out.

"Calm down. Calm down, Olivia," I mutter to myself, squeezing my eyes shut and taking slow, deliberate breaths. Just breathe. It takes a minute, maybe more, but slowly, the panic subsides enough for me to think clearly again.

When I finally open my eyes, I expect pain. If I've hacked up this much blood, there has to be something seriously wrong. A throat injury? Internal bleeding? My hand trembles as I touch my neck, but there's nothing—no sharp, searing pain. Just a dull ache, fading now as if it never really happened. My chest feels fine too. I roll my shoulders experimentally, but apart from the stiffness from sleeping on cold stone, I feel… okay.

"That's not normal," I whisper to myself, swallowing carefully to check for any lingering pain. Nothing. The blood on the ground remains, an unnerving reminder of what just happened, but my body seems fine.

With a start, I realize the stupid green hair is just as long as it was before I slept and let out a groan before taking the time to braid it, muttering curses about change the whole time.

I push myself to my feet, though my legs are shaky beneath me. A full-body stretch sends a few satisfying pops through my joints, but something feels off. I feel… loose, and more flexible than usual. My muscles seem to move with an ease I haven't felt in years as if I've shed years of tension.

I’m always wound tight, anxiety pumping through me. I can still feel it rattling around in my mind, but for some reason, it isn’t making its way into my body.

Just as I'm starting to appreciate the feeling, my arms brush against something rough near my ears. The sensation is jarring, and I freeze mid-stretch. What the hell was that?

My hands instinctively fly to my ears, fingers probing cautiously. I nearly jump out of my skin when I feel it—three hard spikes on each ear. They're not large, just small enough to blend into the curves of my ear, but the sharpness is unmistakable.

I panic. What the hell are these? My fingers tremble as they trace over the spines, confirming their existence. I rush to find a reflective surface, frantically searching the dimly lit cave. Of course, there's nothing. No mirrors. Nothing but stone and bioluminescent fungi casting their eerie glow.

In the absence of a mirror, I keep feeling the growths, trying to make sense of them. They're not tender or sore, and they don't hurt, which should be comforting but only makes it worse. Are these tumors? Am I growing spines? Is this some kind of mutation?

Then I remember the sound of water, and follow it. There’s some sort of glowing stream at the far end of the cave. I remember what Kroaicho said about water disappearing underground and carefully move to the edge, hoping to see my reflection, but there isn’t enough light to see any details.

I have three pointed… elf ears? No. The shape isn’t right. Or the texture.

My mind jumps to the worst possible conclusions. Cancer. Radiation. God knows what kind of substances are in the air down here. I'm on an alien planet, for crying out loud. Who knows if this place is even remotely safe for humans? Radioactive caves, toxic gases, unknown pathogens—it could be anything.

I try to steady my breathing, but my mind keeps racing. Every part of me feels more sensitive and more aware of my surroundings. I can feel every little draft, every tiny change in the air around me. It's unnerving.

A sudden shift in the air signals Kroaicho's presence before I even hear it. It stirs from its resting place with a low grunt, and I don't even have time to collect my thoughts before I snap.

"Get me out of here!" I shout, my voice hoarse from the earlier coughing fit. I whirl around to face the towering form of the alien. Its bioluminescent skin pulses with a deep, muted blue as it watches me with what I can only assume is confusion. It glows that color a lot.

Kroaicho doesn't respond immediately, which only fuels my frustration. I stomp toward it, jabbing a finger in its direction. "I said get me out of here! I don't know what's in this cave, but my body is reacting to something in the air. I'm coughing up blood, I have weird… growths on my ears, and I feel like I'm turning into something else," I hiss out.

Kroaicho tilts its head, its glowing eyes narrowing slightly. "There are no poisonous compounds in the air," it says in its deep, rumbling voice, calm and measured as if I hadn't just screamed in its face. "If there were, I would have sensed them long ago."

Its indifference only fuels my anger. "Yeah, well, maybe it's not poisonous to you," I snap, crossing my arms. "But I'm not exactly built like you, am I?"

Kroaicho's skin flashes a dark shade of purple, a sign of... frustration, I think? It’s that color a lot too.

It towers over me, eyes glowing slightly brighter. "You shine like a treasure just the same as always and there is no danger here. Your body may be adjusting, but it is not under threat."

I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to scream at its calm, detached tone. "Oh, so my body just coughing up blood is normal? Right. That makes perfect sense. And what about these?" I gesture wildly to my ears. "Are these supposed to be normal, too? Am I going to wake up tomorrow with spikes all over me?"

The alien huffs, its glowing skin flaring. "Your demands are redundant. Your biology is…"

"Your stupid face is redundant!" I snap back, not even thinking before the words leave my mouth.

Kroaicho stops mid-sentence, its glowing eyes widening in what I can only describe as shock. For a moment, the cave is silent as it processes what I just said.

"My… face?" Kroaicho repeats slowly as if trying to understand the insult. It draws itself up to its full height, skin flickering with a sharper light now. "My face," it continues, with rising indignation, "is a product of millions of years of zhasie evolution, perfectly suited to the environment of our home planet. Every feature, from the contours of my jaw to the ridges on my brow, is an adaptation for survival. To call it redundant is scientifically inaccurate!"

I stare at it, dumbfounded. The sheer passion with which it defends its face—its evolutionary masterpiece—is almost comical. I can't help it. The corners of my mouth twitch, and before I know it, I'm snorting. The sound echoes off the cave walls, loud and absurd in the silence.

The swings in my emotion in this place are even worse than when I was a kid. I thought I had outgrown that. I pinch my nose, then think of the indignation and snort out a laugh.

Kroaicho watches me, eyes narrowed and skin dimming to a confused, muted shade of blue. "You find this amusing?" it asks, its voice tinged with wariness.

“All of this is either the worst thing that ever happened to me and I am going to fall apart, or it’s comical. Only one of those seems wise right now,” I tell it.

Kroaicho remains silent for a moment, its head tilted as it observes me. I can tell it's trying to make sense of my reaction, but its alien mind clearly isn't equipped to understand why I'm laughing.

Eventually, I manage to calm down, wiping tears from my eyes as I straighten up. "Sorry," I say, still smiling. "You're just… you're the strangest alien I've ever met." I pause, then add, "Not that I've met a lot of aliens, to be fair. And the rest of them I killed before we got to know each other.”

I moan when I remember the elation that caused and Kroaicho’s skin lights up again with confusion.

“Killed which aliens?” it asks, clicks betraying deep interest.

“Well, the bugs, of course. They died with the most lovely cracking sound.” I mimic it as I chop the air with one hand. “And the genali explode in a rain of goo when you shoot them.”

I close my eyes for a moment to savor the memory, then open them. “And then there’s you. Stabbing didn’t work, and so now I’m stuck with the conversation trap.”

Kroaicho's eyes narrow further, and it huffs again, its skin flashing with faint amusement, though I doubt it fully understands the joke.

But as the last echoes of laughter die down, I realize something else—something that hits me like a punch to the gut. I feel… strange. My body, already more sensitive than usual, now feels like it's buzzing with something else. Something… more.

Damn. I shouldn’t have thought about killing. It makes the stupid arousal worse.

I swallow hard, forcing myself to ignore the warmth spreading through me and fight down the blush creeping up my cheeks.

I turn away from Kroaicho quickly, trying to regain control. Great. Just great. As if everything else wasn't bad enough, now I'm full-on horny? Fantastic.

Kroaicho flicks a funny look my way, its bioluminescent skin flashing between a light blue to orange, to white as if it can't decide which color to settle on. Finally, with a huff, it sticks to its normal shade, the steady blue glow fading into the cave's dim light.

"You're strange," it mutters, still watching me like it can't quite figure out what to make of me.

I let out a sigh. I’ve heard that before, but for some reason it hurts even more coming from someone as odd as Kroaicho. "That's nothing new,” I tell it.

Kroaicho disagrees vehemently, leaning in slightly as it chitters, "No. You are particularly strange. One moment you seem angry, the next you are calm, then playful. I cannot predict what you will do." It tilts its head, genuinely perplexed. "Are all humans like this?"

I chuckle, feeling a mix of amusement and exasperation at its confusion. "You don't even know the half of it."

At this, Kroaicho's skin flares dark purple, the rapid change of color disorienting me for a bit before it grumbles deep in its chest. "That sounds like a wholly inefficient way to live."

I can't help but snort at the bluntness of its remark. "Yeah, well, humans are amazing like that and I am a master of chaos."

Kroaicho snaps back immediately, its voice sharper, more clipped. "There is nothing amazing about a species that has the emotional control of newly lifed zhannel."

The alien word pulls me up short, and I raise a brow in curiosity. "Zhannel?" I ask, glancing up at Kroaicho. "What does that mean?"

It tilts its head, a look of mild confusion crossing its features. "Do humans not have offspring?"

I blink, surprised, then quickly realize what it's referring to. "Oh, yes. Of course, we have babies. How else would the species keep going?"

Kroaicho blinks at my choice of words, then lets out a low huff. "Babies? Zhannel. It would not be surprising if your kind fumbled something as simple as reproduction." It shakes its head, skin flashing faint purple as if to underscore its disdain.

Before I can stop myself, I grab a small rock from the ground and chuck it at its chest. The stone makes a satisfying thud as it bounces off its broad, muscled torso, eliciting a low hiss of pain from the alien. Its skin flickers between a light violet and dark purple, a swirl of discomfort and annoyance dancing on its surprisingly expressive face in a manner that makes me snicker.

"Thanks for the light show," I say dryly, folding my arms.

Kroaicho's skin shifts to a frustrated blue as it grumbles under its breath. "You are the most infuriating creature I have ever encountered."

I flash it my sweetest, most sarcastic smile. "If I'm such a pain, why not just let me go then? I'll be out of your… uh, tusks in no time."

Its eyes narrow sharply, the bioluminescence along its jaw dimming to an almost threatening shade of purple as it hisses, "No."

I roll my eyes, more out of habit than anything, and instantly see its reaction. Kroaicho stiffens, its posture going rigid. It takes a step back, eyes wide, skin flaring a distressed mix of colors.

"Stop doing that," it snaps, its voice edged with genuine alarm. "The thing with your eyes. It is unsettling."

My smile turns vicious. "This?" I roll my eyes again, slow and exaggerated, just to see its reaction.

Kroaicho lets out a distressed hissing sound, its skin flashing a panicked purple. "Yes! That! It is… unnatural."

I let out a short, sharp laugh, then do it again. "Well, I'll stop if you let me go."

Kroaicho huffs, visibly agitated, its skin flickering rapidly between different shades of purple, red, and blue. "I will not be coerced by your strange eye movements."

"Fine," I sigh dramatically, tossing my hands in the air. "But just know, I can do this all day." I roll my eyes again, a slow, exaggerated motion that draws another hiss from the alien.

I hope it doesn’t call my bluff because it’s starting to get uncomfortable. But still worth it.

Its frustration is almost palpable as it growls, "If you continue, I will have no choice but to cake your face in mud. You will learn what it means to be difficult."

I give it a flat look, then, without hesitation, flip it the middle finger. Kroaicho's eyes flick toward my hand, confusion flickering across its features as if trying to understand the gesture. I keep rolling my eyes as I retreat to my little corner of the cave, somehow managing to not fall and break my neck before settling myself down by the bioluminescent mushrooms.

The soft, glowing light from the fungi casts eerie shadows on the ground, and I lean back against the cold stone, letting the tension in my muscles ease. My body still feels strange—like there's something bubbling just beneath the surface—but I force myself to ignore it. Whatever's happening to me, there's nothing I can do about it right now. Not without help, anyway. And considering Kroaicho's attitude, I'm on my own.

Kroaicho watches me for a moment longer, probably trying to decide if it should continue the argument or just leave me be. Finally, it lets out a low clicking, a sound somewhere between resignation and annoyance, before turning away and settling back into its spot in the cave.

I sigh softly, staring at the strange glowing mushrooms around me, their soft blue light pulsing faintly like tiny stars scattered across the cave walls. It's almost peaceful, in a weird, alien way. But my mind is far from calm. The strange sensations in my body, the spiky growths on my ears, and the weird, almost giddy rush of adrenaline coursing through me—it's all too much. I need answers, but right now, I'm stuck.

I shoot a glance toward Kroaicho, who seems content to sit in brooding silence across the cave, slowly and carefully sorting through the rocks and bits it calls treasure. Does it ever stop obsessing with things?

And I’m apparently part of that hoard. How would it organize me if I let it? It’s disgusting.

Its skin has settled into a steady, muted hue, a sure sign that it's calming down, or at least no longer on edge. I wonder, not for the first time, what its deal is. Why keep me here? What does it want?

What does it gain by keeping me here? It’s made sure I had a bath, gave me space, hasn’t tried anything hinky or sexual, talked with me when I said I was bored. All it has asked is that I stay where it is safe.

I mean, that’s basically keeping me captive, but for what purpose? Why can’t it just let me go? I’m clearly more trouble than I’m worth.

I’ve tried being cheerful, angry, annoying as fuck… nothing is working.

Despite the ridiculousness of our exchange, I know it's not going to let me go anytime soon. And even if it did, where would I go? The thought makes my stomach clench. I have no idea what's out there in this alien world. The caves seem endless, and who knows what kind of creatures or dangers lurk in the darkness.

Still, a part of me—maybe the stubborn, rebellious part—wants to try. I want to escape, to get out of here and find a way back home, even if the odds are stacked against me. But right now, I'm stuck, with only this strange alien as my captor and the constant, unsettling feeling that my body is changing in ways I don't understand.

I lean my head back against the cave wall and close my eyes, taking a deep breath.

One step at a time, Olivia. One step at a time. One, two, five—

I stop myself with a vigorous shake of my head. I’m not going back to that mental spiral.

After a few moments, the cave falls into a tense silence, broken only by the occasional drip of water from the stalactites above. Kroaicho shifts slightly, its bioluminescent skin flickering faintly as it settles into a more comfortable position. For all its bluster and stubbornness, it almost seems… relaxed.

The calm doesn't last long. My mind keeps wandering back to the unsettling sensation running through my body, the odd warmth pooling deep in my gut that I can't quite place. It's distracting, and no matter how hard I try, I can't shake the feeling. Worse, every time I glance at Kroaicho, the sensation only intensifies.

I force my gaze away from the alien, staring hard at the glowing mushrooms on the cave floor.

Focus, Olivia. Focus.

But it's no use. The strange warmth in my body is impossible to ignore, and I can feel my skin heating up, my breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts.

It’s not someone… something that can help me with this. Clearly those fucking slimy aliens did something to me.

And even if they hadn’t, and Kroaicho was perfectly normal, it’s not as if the couple times I let a guy stick it in was pleasant.

They just called me stiff and a bad fuck.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to will the sensation away, but it lingers, buzzing just beneath the surface, relentless.

This is so unfair, I moan internally.

Kroaicho, oblivious to my struggle, remains across the cave, its attention elsewhere. It hums softly to itself, a low, rhythmic sound that echoes faintly through the cavern. The noise should be soothing, but right now, it's only making things worse.

I bury my face in my hands, willing the heat in my cheeks to fade. I've been through hell for weeks, fought for my life, and faced unimaginable dangers, and this—this ridiculous, embarrassing problem—is what's throwing me off balance.

I let out a shaky breath, trying to calm the rush of adrenaline coursing through me. "I can't deal with this right now."

Kroaicho glances in my direction, its glowing eyes narrowing slightly, but it doesn't say anything. Good. The last thing I need is another awkward conversation with the alien.

I shift in my spot, pulling my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms around them, trying to focus on anything other than the strange, unwelcome heat in my body. The cave remains silent, and for now, that's enough.

***

I glance over at Kroaicho, who is now silent in its corner of the cave, its skin dimming to a soft blue-gray. For now, it seems content to ignore me, and that's just fine… except I’m starting to feel lonely and desperate to talk.

I didn’t think I would ever feel like that and it’s setting my teeth on edge. I’ve never been particularly successful at getting along with people, but ever since Kroaicho trapped me here I keep thinking about people. I need someone to connect with who understands.

Someone to talk to about how I think I’m losing my mind. That I’m aroused by… that multi-color oaf. About how messed up my head is with the fact that it doesn’t seem to be having the same issue or even be the slightest bit interested, which is not what I would expect from a kidnapper.

This arousal is infuriating. The strange warmth pooling in my gut refuses to subside, and I need something—anything—to distract myself.

My eyes land on a thin rock near the edge of the cave floor, half-buried in the dirt. I lean forward and pick it up, the rough texture familiar under my fingers, and before I know it, I'm dragging the tip across the cave floor, sketching lines into the dust.

At first, it's just random squiggles, but soon, I find myself drawing something more intentional. A pattern I remember from my childhood, a tattoo my cousin had shown me once when I was younger. It was a traditional māori design, an intricate mix of spirals and curves representing fertility.

I wish I knew then just how important it would be to me… when it was already too late.

I pause for a second, staring at the lines I've etched into the dirt, my brow furrowing. Fertility. The irony isn't lost on me, given my current situation. A reproduction tattoo seems painfully relevant right now, considering the strange sensations roiling inside me.

Of all the things to come to mind, Olivia. Seriously?

I shake my head and continue the drawing, forcing myself to focus. The pattern is complex, a blend of koru shapes representing new life, and thick bold lines that twist and intertwine like vines. As I work, the irritation bubbling inside me, both from being stuck here and from the damned physical reaction I can't seem to shake, begins to dull.

I've never felt this before. I've lived my entire life thinking I was aromantic, never once feeling the pull of attraction or desire that everyone around me seemed to experience so easily. After my mother got sick just after my high school homecoming, I didn't even have time to think about it. Taking care of her became my world, and I had no interest in anyone else. I just assumed that was my life.

But now, on this alien planet, with Kroaicho hovering around me, I'm suddenly dealing with feelings I don't fully understand. Arousal. Curiosity about my kidnapper. Stockholm syndrome in space up next?

Great.

A part of me feels… intrigued, even thrilled by the sudden awakening, but most of me is just frustrated. I only really tried sex before because I was curious and it was the “normal” thing to want.

Of course, this would happen now, when I'm stuck in a cave with an alien captor. My life couldn't get more fucked up if it tried.

I let out a huff, dragging the stick harder against the cave floor, and mutter under my breath, "This is just bloody brilliant, isn't it? Trapped on an alien planet, my body doing god-knows-what, and the only other sentient being I have to talk to is a glow-in-the-dark creep. Fantastic."

The scratching of the stick against the dirt is soothing, though. The more I focus, the more the world around me fades away. It's like the drawings pull me into a trance, blocking out everything—Kroaicho, the cave, the weird sensations creeping through my body. I can forget for a moment that I'm trapped here, that my life has taken a sharp left turn into insanity.

I'm so deep in concentration that I don't notice Kroaicho moving until it's right beside me.

"Fuck!" I jolt, dropping the stick as I whip my head toward it. The alien has crept up on all six limbs, now crouching just a few feet away. It halts in place, its eyes wide, skin flickering between red and dark purple. The startled look on its face would almost be funny if my heart wasn't hammering in my chest.

"What the hell, Kroaicho?" I snap, giving it a scorching look.

Its skin pulses again, this time a deeper shade of purple, clearly picking up on my irritation. With a soft huff, it drops down into a sitting position a few feet away, its limbs folding neatly under its body.

"Apologies," it mutters, its voice unusually low. "I did not mean to startle you."

I let out a slow breath, trying to calm the rush of adrenaline. "Yeah, well, maybe don't sneak up on people like that."

Kroaicho remains silent for a moment, its glowing eyes fixed on me before they flick downward to the floor where my drawing lies half-finished. "What… is that?" it asks after a long pause, its tone laced with curiosity.

I blink at the question, thrown off by the sudden shift in topic. For a second, I consider snapping back, but something about the genuine confusion in its voice makes me hold my tongue. Instead, I follow its gaze to the drawing, realizing I've run out of inspiration to keep going. Once I lose focus, getting back into that mental space is nearly impossible.

I sigh and lean back on my hands. "It's… a drawing," I say simply, figuring there's no harm in explaining.

"A drawing?" Kroaicho repeats, sounding even more confused. "Why?"

I frown at the question, unsure how to explain something that feels so fundamental to me. "I don't know… because it's what I'm good at. I wanted to be an artist before all this." I wave vaguely around me, gesturing to the cave and the general mess that is my life right now.

Kroaicho tilts its head, the purple hue fading slightly from its skin. "An artist. What is that?"

Of course, the alien wouldn't understand. I purse my lips, thinking for a moment before rephrasing. "It's someone who makes… treasures." That seems like a simpler way to explain it.

Kroaicho's eyes narrow, as if it's trying to puzzle out the meaning of my words. "Why not just find them?" it asks, the concept of creating something seemingly foreign to it.

I let out a soft laugh, despite myself. "Because it's more fun to create than to find."

It shakes its head, clearly not convinced. "There is no greater joy than discovery. To find something long lost, something rare and precious. That is true fulfillment."

I raise an eyebrow, unable to argue too much. "I guess you're not wrong. But why make that your only purpose?”

“Because of the Sundering,” it chitters back. “We moved to caves to survive, but we still needed to salvage the remaining treasures of our civilization. I only know of that because of the treasure story passed on to me by my zhann. Treasure is a means of reclaiming something that might be otherwise unappreciated and respecting the value of that story.”

“Huh,” I say, caught off guard by how… interesting that sounds. It challenges everything I’ve thought of about possessions. “But what does that have to do with me? With me as part of your hoard?”

“You are the most beautiful of it and your story is unique,” it responds. “Your story is still being told, not like the rest of my hoard.”

I blink, then blink again, absorbing what it is communicating, trying to bridge the gap between what I thought it has been saying and this new explanation. I look at the rocks surrounding us, but I can’t imagine much of a story for them besides them sitting around.

Instead, I try to think of an item attached to my own memories, and it doesn’t take long. “I always liked looking for these swirling purple shells on the black beaches near my childhood home." The memory slips out before I can stop it, a bittersweet pang following close behind.

Kroaicho's head snaps up, its skin flickering to a curious blue. "Purple shells? Where did you find these?"

I snort, surprised by its sudden, very intense interest. "I don't really remember. It was a long time ago," I admit, shrugging.

The alien's bioluminescence brightens, a light teal spreading across its skin. "You do not remember where you placed something so precious?"

I stare at it, half amused by the intensity of the question. "I was a kid, Kroaicho. It's not like I cataloged every shell I picked up."

It huffs, a sound that almost resembles a scoff. "Humans," it mutters, shaking its head. "Such a disorganized species.”

I snort, giving it a sidelong glance. "And what about you, then?”

“Highly organized,” it says as it grinds its tusks. “You at least remember the story?”

“Oh, yes,” I say, closing my eyes. “It was a perfect day. The wind was crisp and smelled like salt and was just hard enough to help keep the sand flies from biting. I had built a sand castle, which was glittering in the sun as the tide came in to obliterate it. My mum was mostly ignoring me, talking on the phone to her financial advisor.”

I stop the story there, my stomach suddenly dropping. I hastily try to move the conversation back to more neutral ground. “I bet you've got every shiny rock and shell you've ever found tucked away somewhere, right?"

Kroaicho's eyes narrow, the color of its skin flickering between orange and purple. "Yes, every treasure has a story," it says, every chitter showing its longing for wherever it stashed those items.

I laugh, the tension between us easing for a brief moment. It's a strange feeling, this odd camaraderie forming between us, even if it's laced with snark and frustration.

It still has that longing, dopey look on its face. I think back to what it said about stories and their lost civilization. Nothing about being greedy about purple shells and wanting to know the stories associated with them fits in with what I think about materialism.

Does that mean it keeps me around because it wants to know my… story? My stomach drops again, but this time not from grief, but from a sudden shifting of my world. It wants to know about me? No one asks my story. They just assume.

That I’m weird. Violent. Broken.

There’s a lump in my throat and I try to clear it. Do I get the chance to tell my story? Will it listen?

The warmth bubbling in my gut resurfaces, and I shift uncomfortably, my skin prickling with heat.

Not now. Not again.

I steal a glance at Kroaicho, who's now sitting quietly across from me, its skin dimmed to a soft white-blue mix, a sign of amusement and confusion. The alien hums softly to itself, seemingly content for the moment. But as I watch it, the strange sensation inside me only intensifies. My arms itch, my skin feels too tight, and the warmth pooling low in my stomach refuses to go away.

I bite my lip, trying to ignore the rising heat in my body, the way my breath is coming in shallow bursts. Why is this happening? I've never felt this way before. Nothing to this depth—certainly not around anyone, let alone an alien—and it's starting to mess with my head.

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the sensation to disappear. I need to get a grip. Whatever this is, it's just some weird biological reaction. It has to be. It doesn't mean anything.

It might listen to your story , the most critical part of my mind warns me, but ninety-nine percent chance it will judge you .

That number hurts my stomach, but it doesn’t help dispel the arousal. No matter how hard I try, the heat lingers, buzzing beneath the surface like a constant hum, growing more persistent the longer I sit here.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Kroaicho stirs, its attention drifting away from me as it rises to its feet. Its skin flashes white with a hint of blue, a combination I haven't seen before, and I'm not entirely sure what it means.

Without a word, it moves toward the entrance of the cave, its long limbs carrying it out into the open air. I watch as it pauses by its pile of knick-knacks, leaving me alone with my thoughts, my racing heart, and the strange, unwelcome warmth spreading through my body.

I let out a shaky breath, dropping my head into my hands. I think I’d rather be throttling the life out of bugs right now. I let out a bark of a laugh.

“Of course I would,” I mutter.

My eyes return just in time to watch Kroaicho slink out of the cave, its long limbs moving with an eerie grace. Even with its size, it's nearly silent, the soft scrape of claws against stone the only sound marking its departure. As soon as it's gone, the cave seems to grow colder, and more oppressive. I wrap my arms tighter around my knees, willing myself to ignore the uncomfortable heat still buzzing beneath my skin.

What the hell is wrong with me? The question loops through my mind, but no answer comes.

I’ve asked that question every day of my life.

But there's nothing natural about this. I'm human, for crying out loud. This isn't supposed to happen. Certainly not with an alien like Kroaicho. The thought sends a fresh wave of frustration through me, and I push myself up, pacing in tight circles around the cave.

I glance at the half-finished drawing on the floor, the swirling māori design glaring up at me. Fertility. I almost laugh at the absurdity. But the laugh dies in my throat. The truth is, my body is reacting in ways I don't understand, and the more I try to ignore it, the worse it gets.

Kroaicho has been… nice enough. Well, as nice as a massive kidnapping alien can be, I suppose. But it's still keeping me here, watching me like a hawk, and I can't help but wonder what it wants. The thought leaves a bad taste in my mouth.