Page 14

RYDER

T he morning air’s too sharp.

Not cool. Not fresh.

Like it’s slicing through me on purpose.

I haul myself up from the shoreline just before dawn, boots wet, shirt stuck to my back from dew and regret. The camp’s quiet. Still sleeping. Still innocent.

But I’m not.

Not after last night.

Her skin’s still on mine. Her laugh’s still echoing in my head like a storm that hasn’t passed. And the weight of what we did , what I let happen , it claws at me with every step.

I shouldn’t have gone to her.

Shouldn’t have stayed.

I curse under my breath, trying to shake her out of my head like she’s just lakewater and not the damn fire eating through my chest.

But it’s too late for pretending.

And too dangerous to keep going.

I see her at breakfast.

She’s barefoot, wearing one of those oversized shirts she knots at the waist, hair a tangle of curls that looks even better messy.

She catches my eye like it’s nothing.

Like we didn’t…

No.

Nope.

She waves a spoon in my direction and grins. “Hey, Grumpzilla. Want some coffee or are you surviving on pure angst this morning?”

I blink.

Then walk the other direction without answering.

Her grin falters.

But she doesn’t follow.

That makes it worse somehow.

Julie corners me during equipment checks like she’s got a sixth sense for guilt.

“You avoiding your co-lead now?” she asks, clipboard in one hand, coffee in the other.

“She’s fine running the lake drills on her own.”

Julie squints at me. “Is that your official excuse, or are we pretending we don’t know what happened between you two last night?”

I don’t answer.

Julie doesn’t need me to.

“You know,” she says, “some people let themselves be happy for more than one night.”

“This isn’t about me being happy,” I snap.

“It never is with you,” she mutters, walking off before I can reply.

I stare at the equipment bin like it might explode just to end the conversation.

Callie finds me at the edge of the north dock just before the advanced swim block. Her voice is light, but her eyes aren’t.

“You mad at me or just allergic to human connection?”

I don’t turn. “You shouldn’t be here.”

She laughs once, bitter. “Wow. Straight to the classics.”

“This isn’t a game, Callie.”

Her arms cross, and the fire I usually love in her starts to flare. “You think I’m treating it like one?”

“You’re not listening.”

“Oh, I’m listening ,” she shoots back. “Loud and clear. You’re retreating, Ryder. Don’t try to spin it like it’s for my protection.”

“It is for your protection,” I say, turning now, voice sharp. “You don’t understand what’s coming. What this place is. If something happens to you because of me”

She steps in close. “Something already happened. And it wasn’t a mistake.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

“But you’re acting like it.”

I clench my fists. “This isn’t about what I want.”

“Bullshit,” she says, eyes blazing. “It’s only about what you want. You think pushing me away is noble? It’s cowardly. You don’t get to protect me from you. That’s not your call.”

My chest tightens.

Because she’s not wrong.

But it doesn’t change the facts.

“The rift’s growing,” I say, softer. “The magic is pulling harder every day. If it opens, if it drags this whole place under, I have to be ready. I can’t be distracted. ”

“You think I’m a distraction?”

“No,” I say, broken. “You’re the only damn thing that feels real.”

She blinks.

Then turns away.

And walks off.

No jokes.

No sass.

Just gone.

And I hate myself for letting her go.

But I hate what might happen to her more.

Later that afternoon, I’m standing at the far edge of the swim zone, scanning the water like I’ve done every day for years.

The sun is out. No wind. Not a cloud in the sky.

The lake should be calm.

But it isn’t.

Out near the buoy line, the water dips.

Just barely.

Like something exhales.

A whirl of ripples shudders outward, and then pull.

Fast. Jagged. Wrong.

I don’t hesitate. I dive.

By the time I reach the center, the pressure’s changed again. It drags sideways now, not down. A twisting motion, unnatural, like hands trying to spin the lake into a drain.

No one’s in the water.

Thank the gods.

But the fact that it showed up now when everything’s calm, when no trigger's present?

That’s new.

And bad.

I tread there for a moment, letting the current fight me, cataloging the shift. The taste of the water is sour now. Like old copper and something burned.

When I surface and swim back to shore, my chest is heavy. And not just from the effort.

It’s happening.

The rift’s not just waking up.

It’s growing bold.

And next time?

It won’t wait until the water’s empty.

After nightfall, I go back.

I wait until the camp’s quiet until even the fire pit’s gone cold and the wind's dropped off into silence. Then I slip down to the southern cove alone, no flashlight, no gear. Just instinct and dread.

I don’t know why I return.

Only that I have to.

And I feel it before I see it.

A pulse in the silt. A vibration beneath the skin of the lake. Like something ancient breathing through stone.

I wade in.

Shallow at first. Then deeper. Waist-high. Chest-high.

Then I reach down.

My fingers close around something smooth. Cold. Etched.

I pull.

And when it breaks the surface, my knees nearly buckle.

A shard of dark coral. Twisted, braided through with silver. My tribe’s binding pattern. A sigil I haven’t seen since the collapse. Since the loss.

It shouldn’t be here.

It was buried swallowed whole by the rift’s maw.

But now…

It’s surfaced.

Thrown up.

I grip it tightly in one fist, heart hammering.

This isn’t random.

It’s a message.

The lake remembers me.

And it’s calling me back.