Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
ETHAN
UNEXPECTED STORMS
I wake up before my alarm, sunlight streaming through the balcony curtains I forgot to close. The gentle rock of the ship and the lingering scent of Harper’s perfume on the pillow beside me create a moment of perfect contentment.
Last night was unexpected. After our wine on the balcony, conversation had flowed, the tension between us transforming from antagonistic to something more. When an evening rainstorm forced us inside, Harper accepted my invitation to continue our discussion in my suite.
One bottle of wine became two. Sustainable agriculture gave way to childhood memories. Professional debate softened into personal connection. And somehow, as the storm passed and stars reappeared, Harper Bennett ended up in my bed for the second time in twenty-four hours.
Only this time, there was no pretense of “just for tonight.” This time, when I kissed her, she kissed me back with a certainty that made my heart race faster than any business negotiation ever has.
I roll over, expecting to find her still asleep beside me, but her side of the bed is empty, sheets cool to the touch. My disappointment fades when I spot a note on the pillow, written in Harper’s precise handwriting:
Early meeting with the ship’s environmental officer. Last night was... worth repeating.
I smile at the clinical understatement. “Worth repeating” doesn’t begin to capture what happened between us—the way she’d whispered my name as I moved inside her, her hands mapping my body, the look in her eyes when she came apart beneath me.
The sound of water running in the bathroom interrupts my thoughts. I’d assumed Harper had returned to her own suite, but apparently, she’s still here. I stretch, enjoying the lingering muscle soreness that comes from a night well spent, then get up to join her.
The bathroom door isn’t closed. Through the gap, I can see Harper in the glass-walled shower, water cascading over her naked body as she rinses shampoo from her hair. For a moment, I appreciate the view—the elegant curve of her spine, the subtle muscle definition in her shoulders, the freckles scattered across her lower back that I discovered last night.
I push the door open, and her eyes find mine in the steamy mirror. Instead of surprise or embarrassment, her lips curve in a slow smile.
“Good morning,” she says, voice raised over the running water. “I hope you don’t mind. I have an 8 am meeting and needed to freshen up.”
“I don’t mind.” I approach the shower door. “Though I’m offended you didn’t wake me.”
“You looked peaceful.” She rinses the last of the shampoo from her hair. “Besides, this meeting is important for my work.”
“More important than morning sex?” I tease, opening the shower door and stepping in behind her.
She turns to face me. “That’s why I set my alarm early.”
Her hands slide up my chest as I back her against the tile wall, capturing her mouth in a kiss that becomes heated. The hot water flows over us as my hands explore her wet skin, relearning the curves I’d memorized in the darkness.
“So efficient, Dr. Bennett,” I murmur against her neck. “Multitasking shower and seduction.”
“Time management is—” She gasps as my fingers find the sensitive spot between her thighs. “—a valuable skill.”
“I agree.” I drop to my knees, hooking her leg over my shoulder. “Let me show you how I multitask.”
Her breath hitches as my mouth replaces my fingers. I look up to see her watching me, lips parted, pupils dilated. The vulnerability in her expression makes me want to bring her pleasure.
“Ethan,” she whispers, her hand tangling in my wet hair. “You don’t have to?—”
“I want to.” I punctuate the statement by doubling my efforts, using everything I learned about her body last night to push her toward the edge.
She comes with her hand pressed against her mouth to muffle her scream, her body trembling against me. I steady her with my hands on her hips, placing gentle kisses on her inner thighs as she recovers.
When I stand, she pulls me into a deep kiss, unconcerned that she can taste herself on my lips. Her hand slides between us to wrap around my cock.
“Your turn,” she says.
“We don’t have time,” I protest halfheartedly as her thumb circles the sensitive tip. “Your meeting...”
“I’m sure they’ll wait.” She drops to her knees in a graceful reversal of our positions. “Not like they can leave, we’re on a ship.”
Her mouth is warm and perfect around me, as she slides up and down my shaft. I brace myself against the shower wall, looking down at the surreal sight of Harper Bennett on her knees before me, her auburn hair darkened by water, her eyes watching my reaction with interest as she dismantles my self-control with nothing but her sinful mouth.
“Harper,” I warn as heat builds at the base of my spine. “I’m close.”
She doesn’t pull away, just increases her pace, her hand working with her mouth until I come with a groan that echoes off the walls. She doesn’t stop, swallowing, then rises to rinse her mouth under the shower-head.
“Efficient enough?” she asks with a satisfied smile.
I pull her against me, our wet bodies sliding together. “I think we could improve if we practiced often enough.”
She laughs. “I’ve created a monster.”
“You’ve awakened my curiosity.” I brush a strand of wet hair from her face. “I now have several ideas on how I can make Dr. Harper Bennett lose her composure.”
“Save your ideas for tonight.” She gives me a quick kiss, then steps out of the shower. “I have a meeting to get to.”
I watch as she towels off and dresses in yesterday’s clothes. There’s something intimate about observing her morning routine—the way she wrings excess water from her hair, her methodical application of the minimal contents of her makeup bag, the little adjustments she makes to her clothing.
“What’s your day look like?” I ask, wrapping a towel around my waist and leaning against the doorframe.
“Meeting with Environmental Officer Chen until around 10, then reviewing the waste management systems.” She glances at me as she fastens her watch. “You?”
“Conference call with the board at 9, then a meeting with the captain.” I step closer, drawn to her like a magnet. “Dinner tonight? The chef’s table does an incredible tasting menu.”
She hesitates. “We have that ridiculous ‘Love Under the Stars’ event at 8.”
“Ah yes, the mandatory couples’ stargazing.” I tuck a strand of damp hair behind her ear. “Dinner after that?”
“Maybe.” She smiles, but there’s a guardedness in her eyes that wasn’t there moments ago. “Let’s see how the day goes.”
“Of course. Good luck with your meeting.”
She gathers her belongings in a hurry. At the door, she pauses, turning back.
“Thank you for last night,” she says. “And this morning.”
“Harper,” I say before she can leave. “This doesn’t have to be complicated.”
“Doesn’t it? In two days, this cruise ends. I publish my expose. You go back to running Cole Tech. We return to opposing sides of an environmental war.” She runs a hand through her damp hair. “Seems pretty complicated to me.”
“Only if we make it complicated.”
“What exactly are you suggesting?”
“I’m not suggesting anything, yet. I’m just asking you not to overthink this because you’re worried about the future.”
“That’s rich coming from a CEO whose entire job is projecting future outcomes,” she says, but there’s a hint of a smile now.
“Fair point. Let me say it differently—I’m enjoying this. You’re enjoying this. Can we agree to keep enjoying it until we don’t?”
She considers this proposition. “I suppose that’s reasonable.”
“High praise indeed.”
This earns me a genuine smile. “You’re impossible.”
“So, you keep saying. And yet, here you are.”
“Yes, well.” She straightens her shoulders. “Even brilliant scientists make questionable decisions occasionally.”
“ Am I a questionable decision?”
Her expression softens. “The jury’s still out, Cole.”
With that cryptic response, she leaves, the door clicking shut behind her. I stand in my towel, water cooling on my skin, trying to understand what’s happening between us.
Whatever it is, it’s far more than just physical attraction. And not just the PR stunt we’d planned either.
I’m still confused when my phone rings. Alex’s face appears on the screen, and I answer with some trepidation.
“Please tell me you’re not still torturing the environmental scientist,” she says.
I glance at the rumpled sheets visible through the bedroom doorway. “Define ‘torturing.’”
“Ethan.” Her tone is warning. “The social media reactions to your Truth or Confession interview have been off the charts. You two are trending as #ColevsBennett. But I need to know if this is still a PR strategy or if you’re genuinely trying to seduce the woman who could sink our sustainability credentials the moment you break her precious heart.”
I consider how to answer. The truth—that what started as strategic has become something I can’t quite define—seems too much for a morning phone call.
“The situation is developing,” I say finally.
“That’s corporate speak for ‘I’m making this up as I go along,’” Alex sighs. “Have you forgotten why we arranged this in the first place? The board meeting is next week. We need Bennett’s piece on us to be positive.”
“Her piece will be whatever she honestly believes, Alex. That was always the deal.”
“And how do you think this is going to end? You charm her for a week, then go back to business as usual while she writes her expose? There’s a reason they call it a ‘cruise ship romance,’ Ethan. It’s not designed to survive in the real world.”
Her words are pretty close to the concerns Harper just expressed. “I appreciate the insight, Alex, but I have this under control.”
“Do you?” She sounds concerned now. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re setting yourself up for both professional and personal scandal.”
“I have to go. Board meeting is in thirty minutes.” I deflect, unwilling to listen to her warning too closely.
“Just be careful, E. Harper Bennett isn’t your usual type. She has principles. She is smarter than your charm.”
“Maybe that’s what I like about her,” I reply.
After ending the call, I dress for the day in lightweight slacks and a button-down, my mind still torn between the pleasure of waking up with Harper and the complications awaiting us outside this temporary bubble.
The board call is tedious—quarterly projections, market analysis, and pointed questions about the upcoming sustainability reports. We need funding, the guys with the money are ‘green’ this time. I answer, but my thoughts are elsewhere.
It’s mid-afternoon by the time I finish my meetings. The ship is approaching our last port—a small, private island owned by a wildlife trust. Tonight’s stargazing activity will take place on the pristine beaches, followed by an overnight stay for passengers who choose to stay ashore.
I’m reviewing logistics for the transfer when my phone dings with a message from Harper:
Found some issues with waste processing systems that need addressing. Can we discuss before tonight’s event?
I respond:
Of course. My cabin or the environmental office?
Her reply comes quickly:
Professional meeting. Office at 4.
I smile at her deliberate emphasis on “professional.” Despite our very casual morning, she’s trying to maintain boundaries—at least during working hours.
The environmental office is on Deck 3, a utilitarian space compared to the luxury throughout the rest of the ship. Harper and Environmental Officer Chen are huddled over blueprints when I arrive.
“Mr. Cole,” Chen greets me. “Dr. Bennett has identified some concerning inconsistencies in our waste processing reports.”
Harper looks up, she’s not happy. If I didn’t know better, I’d never guess this was the same woman who was on her knees in my shower this morning.
“There’s a discrepancy between reported waste processing volumes and actual capacity,” she says without preamble. “Either your systems are more efficient than documented, which seems unlikely given the age of the equipment, or some waste is being discharged illegally.”
I feel a flash of irritation, not at the issue itself, but at her automatic assumption of wrongdoing. “Have you checked the maintenance logs? The primary system was upgraded last quarter.”
“I have the logs right here,” Chen interjects, pulling up a file on his tablet. “The upgrade increased efficiency by 15%, but that only accounts for part of this discrepancy.”
“How significant is the difference?” I ask, moving closer to examine the numbers myself.
“About 20% of total waste volume,” Harper says. “Most concerning are the gray water systems.”
I frown, concerned. Gray water—from sinks, showers, and galleys—should be treated before discharge, especially in sensitive areas. Most if it should be recycled and reused on board.
“Could it be an equipment, or recording error?” I ask Chen.
“Possibly. The sensors were recalibrated during the upgrade. They might be misreporting volumes.”
“Or,” Harper interjects, “waste is being illegally discharged during night hours when passengers are asleep and less likely to notice.”
The accusation is clear, and I feel a familiar frustration rising. Just when I thought we’d moved past her assumption that I’m an environmental villain...
“That would violate both company policy and international maritime law,” I reply, keeping my voice even. “I’d like to check the system, and have an engineer test it.”
“I’ve already scheduled an inspection for tomorrow morning,” Chen says. “0600 hours, before most passengers are awake.”
“I’d like to be there,” Harper says.
“As would I,” I add. “In the meantime, please pull all discharge logs for the past month, both automatic records and manual entries. And get a qualified engineer on board, use the helicopter if needed.”
Chen nods and departs to get the data, leaving Harper and me alone in the office. The anger and tension between us feel at odds with our intimate morning.
“You assume deliberate wrongdoing,” I observe once we’re alone.
“I assume nothing. I identified a discrepancy and presented the most likely explanations.”
“Including illegal dumping.”
She looks up from the blueprints, her expression challenging. “Is that not a possibility? Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I say firmly. “Whatever is happening, it’s not intentional discharge. Not on my ship.”
“Your ship,” she repeats, a hint of her earlier skepticism returning. “But not your day-to-day operations. How certain are you about every procedure being followed when you’re not looking?”
It’s a fair question, if an uncomfortable one. “I trust my team. And I vouch for their work.”
“Hence your presence at tomorrow’s inspection?”
“Yes.” I move closer, lowering my voice. “Harper, I’m not your enemy here. If there’s a problem with our systems, I want it fixed as much as you do.”
“I believe you,” she says finally. “But good intentions aren’t outcomes. If your ship is polluting, regardless of whether it’s deliberate?—”
“Then we address it and implement safeguards to prevent recurrence.” I complete her thought. “We’re on the same side.”
“Are we?” The question seems to encompass more than just the waste processing issue.
“I think we are,” I say quietly. “In more ways than you want to admit.”
Her cheeks flush, but she maintains eye contact. “Let’s stick to the shit flowing into ocean for now.”
“Fine. Boundaries until we resolve this.” I gesture to the blueprints. “What else have you found?”
For the next hour, we review the ship’s environmental policies. Harper is thorough, her criticisms fair and her praise—when given—genuine. Despite the tension between us, I’m impressed by her knowledge and attention to detail. Nothing gets past her, every loophole we have exploited she points it out.
“Your water conservation plan is quite innovative,” she admits as we conclude the review. “Especially the gray water recycling for deck cleaning and laundry.”
“Thank you. It was an expensive retrofit, but worth it.”
“Why didn’t you publicize it? It’s the kind of initiative that would counter criticism.”
I shrug. “We implemented it because it was the right thing to do, not for publicity.”
She looks surprised by this answer. “That’s very unlike you, not using the positive PR to spin things your way.”
“I’m still full of surprises, Dr. Bennett.”
Her lips curve in a small smile. “Apparently so, Mr. Cole.”
Using our formal titles feels like a private joke now, given how intimately we know each other. The tension shifts subtly, warming with pleasure.
“About tonight,” I say, changing the subject before we get distracted. “The stargazing event includes dinner on the beach, followed by an astronomy talk. Will you join me, or are you still checking your schedule?”
She hesitates, then nods. “I’ll join you. For research, of course.”
“Of course. Purely professional interest in how couples’ activities affect the environment.”
“Exactly.”
The spark of humor in her eyes belies her serious tone. For a moment, I’m tempted to lock the office door and remind her just how unprofessional our relationship has become. But her earlier boundary-setting deserves my respect, so I nod and step back.
“I’ll pick you up at 7:30. Dress warmly—the beach gets cool after sunset.”
“I’ll be ready.”
As I leave the environmental office, I can’t help feeling that we’ve reached some kind of turning point. The passion of this morning has given way to complications. Tomorrow’s inspection might well determine not just the environmental status of the ship, but how things end between Harper and me.
I return to my suite to get ready for the evening, my mind cycling through possibilities. If there is a problem with the waste management, it needs to be addressed—not just for Harper’s expose, but because it’s the right thing to do. If there isn’t a problem, then maybe we can salvage this connection.
Either way, I find myself unwilling to dismiss what’s happening between us as a temporary cruise ship romance. It feels like so much more than that.
At 7:30, I knock on Harper’s door. She opens wearing jeans and a light sweater, her hair loose around her shoulders, a jacket draped over her arm. She looks beautiful in the simple outfit, more like herself than in any of the fancy clothing she’s been forced to wear.
“Ready for some stargazing?” I ask, offering my arm.
“As ready as I’ll ever be for another manufactured romantic moment,” she replies, but accepts my arm.
“Think of it as an astronomical education with benefits,” I suggest as we walk toward the elevators. “The wildlife trust that owns the island has strict light pollution policies. The star visibility is spectacular.”
“That sounds nice,” she admits. “I haven’t stargazed since a research trip to the Galapagos three years ago.”
“No romantic stargazing in your regular life, Dr. Bennett?” I tease.
“Shockingly few opportunities for romance when you’re publishing papers criticizing major corporations. It is such a turn on, I have to chase the men away.”
“Their loss.”
She glances at me, a hint of vulnerability in her eyes. “Smooth talker.”
“I’m only stating facts.”
We join other couples boarding small boats to the island. The sunset paints the sky in dramatic oranges and pinks as we approach the shore, where torches illuminate a path leading to the beach. Staff members escort couples to blankets arranged on the sand, each with a small picnic basket and a telescope.
“This is... quite lovely,” Harper admits as we settle onto our blanket.
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
“I expected something tackier. Heart-shaped everything and photographers lurking in the bushes.”
I laugh, opening the picnic basket to find wine, cheese, fruit, and chocolate. “The night is young. The heart-shaped chocolate- covered strawberries might still make an appearance. I doubt there is anything lurking the bushes though.”
“God help me.” She’s smiling as she accepts a glass of wine.
As darkness falls, the sky transforms into a blanket of stars more brilliant than any city dweller ever sees. Harper tilts her head back, I can see the wonder in her eyes.
“It’s incredible,” she breathes. “You can see the entire Milky Way.”
“Try the telescope,” I suggest, adjusting it for her. “Jupiter and its moons should be visible tonight.”
She leans forward, peering through the eyepiece with fascination. “There it is! I can see three—no, four of the moons.”
I watch her rather than the stars, captivated by the pleasure on her face.
An astronomer circulates among the couples, offering insights about visible constellations and our galaxy. When he reaches us, Harper engages him in a detailed discussion about light pollution.
“Your girlfriend knows her stuff,” the astronomer comments to me after their conversation.
Neither of us corrects him. Instead, Harper sips her wine, a small smile on her lips.
“She’s brilliant,” I agree, not looking away from her. “I’m learning from her.”
The astronomer moves on to the next couple. Harper turns to face me.
“You didn’t correct him,” she observes.
“Neither did you.”
She takes another sip of wine. “Maybe I’m getting used to the title.”
“Girlfriend?”
“Temporary cruise girlfriend,” she clarifies, but her tone is lighter than her words. “It expires in 48 hours.”
“Unless renewed by mutual agreement,” I suggest, keeping my voice casual despite the sudden tightness in my chest.
She laughs softly. “Is there a form for that? Terms and conditions?”
“I’m sure legal could draw something up.”
We’re joking, but there’s an undercurrent of seriousness that neither of us acknowledges. Instead, we turn our attention back to the stars, sharing the telescope.
“Tell me something about yourself that isn’t in your corporate bio,” Harper says after a comfortable silence.
I consider the question. “I wanted to be a marine biologist before I joined the family business.”
She looks surprised. “Really?”
“Really. I was fascinated by ocean ecosystems. Had all the Jacques Cousteau books, spent every summer diving with my grandfather. Even started a marine biology program in college before my father forced me to switch to business.”
“Do you regret it?” she asks.
“Sometimes,” I admit. “But I’ve tried to bring that perspective to Cole Tech. We might not always get it right, but we’re trying to balance progress with protection.”
“That explains a lot.” She adjusts her position on the blanket, sitting closer to me now. “Your understanding of marine issues is more nuanced than most ‘executives’.”
“What about you? Something not in your academic bio.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “I grew up on a farm in Iowa, about as far from the ocean as you can get. Didn’t see the coast until I was seventeen.”
“How did you end up in marine biology?”
“A documentary about coral bleaching.” She smiles at the memory. “I watched it in science class and was just... devastated. These incredible ecosystems dying because of human activity. I decided then that I wanted to protect them.”
“And now you do.”
“I try.” She looks up at the stars again. “Sometimes it feels like swimming against the tide, though. For every corporate initiative that helps, there are a dozen more causing damage.”
“Including mine?”
She turns to face me. “Some of yours,” she says. “But not all. That’s what makes you interesting, Ethan. You’re not the straightforward villain I expected.”
“A villain, huh,” I say.
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
We fall into another comfortable silence, the sound of waves providing a gentle backdrop. Around us, other couples are more romantic—kissing, feeding each other chocolate-covered strawberries, taking selfies against the starry sky.
“I should tell you something,” Harper says, her voice serious. “About my piece.”
I tense. “Go on.”
“I’ve been taking extensive notes, documenting both the positives and negatives. My publisher wants the negatives emphasized—the ‘exposé’ angle sells better.”
“That’s not surprising.”
“But I’ve decided I need to write what I observe, not what fits a predetermined narrative.” She says. “That includes acknowledging the genuine conservation efforts and sustainability initiatives you’ve implemented.”
Relief and gratitude wash over me. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me for doing my job,” she says. “But I wanted you to know that whatever happens between us, my professional write up will be honest. Both the good and the bad.”
Her integrity, even when it would be easier to give her publisher the scandal they want, reinforces what’s been drawing me to Harper beyond the physical attraction. She’s principled in a way few people in my world are.
“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you,” I say, meaning it.
She smiles, then shivers as a cool breeze sweeps across the beach. Without thinking, I wrap my arm around her shoulders. She stiffens, then relaxes into my side.
“Just because you are warm,” she murmurs.
“Of course.”
We watch the stars in silence, her body warm against mine. After a while, she rests her head on my shoulder, her hair tickling my neck. It feels right.
“Ethan,” she says softly. “About tomorrow morning’s inspection...”
“Let’s not worry about that now,” I interrupt. “Whatever we find, we’ll deal with it. Together.”
She nods against my shoulder. “Okay.”
The overnight portion of the event begins, with staff erecting small, luxurious tents for couples who’ve chosen to stay on the island. Harper and I have both opted to return to the ship, not quite ready to commit to a full night together in such a small tent or public setting.
As the last boat prepares to depart, we gather our things and make our way down to the shore. The ride back is quiet, both of us lost in thought.
“Would you like to come to my suite?” I ask as we step back aboard. “No expectations, just... I’m not ready for the night to end.”
She hesitates, then nods. “Neither am I.”
In my suite, Harper kicks off her shoes and curls up on the sofa while I pour us each a nightcap.
“What time is the inspection tomorrow?” she asks, accepting the glass of whiskey I offer.
“0600, Chen said. Early.”
“I should try to get some sleep, then.” She takes a sip of her drink, making no move to leave.
“Probably,” I agree, sitting beside her. “We both should.”
Instead, she sets her glass down and turns toward me. “Ethan.”
“Yes?”
“I don’t want to overthink this. Whatever happens when the cruise ends... I’m not denying what I want right now.”
“And what do you want right now?” I ask, my voice low.
In answer, she leans forward and kisses me, her lips taste like whiskey and desire. I respond, pulling her closer, one hand in her hair as the kiss deepens.
She climbs onto my lap, straddling me as she pulls at the buttons of my shirt. I slide my hands under her sweater, finding warm skin and the delicate lace of her bra.
“Wait,” I say breathlessly as she grinds against me. “Are you sure? Earlier today?—”
“I’m sure,” she interrupts, pulling her sweater over her head in one fluid motion. “Less talking, more action, Cole.”
I laugh at the commanding tone, so perfectly Harper. “Yes, Doctor.”
I stand, lifting her with me, her legs wrapping around my waist as I carry her to the bedroom. She loosens my belt as I walk.
“This is research,” she murmurs as I lay her on the bed. “I need all the information.”
“Happy to contribute to your research,” I reply, shrugging off my shirt and joining her on the bed.
When she comes apart beneath me, calling my name in a breathless chant, I feel like I have won.
Later, tangled in sheets and each other, Harper traces patterns on my chest with her fingertip.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask, brushing a strand of auburn hair from her face.
“Tomorrow’s inspection,” she admits. “And what happens if we find evidence of environmental violations.”
“We deal with them,” I say. “Transparency and immediate action.”
She props herself up on one elbow, studying me. “Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“And if it affects the company’s bottom line?”
“Some things are more important than profit margins.” I pull her closer. “I meant what I said earlier, Harper. We’re on the same side.”
She settles against me, her head resting on my chest. “I want to believe that.”
“Then believe it. I haven’t lied to you yet, have I?”
“No,” she concedes. “You haven’t.”
We fall asleep like that, wrapped around each other, the ship’s gentle motion rocking us to sleep. My last thought before drifting off is that Alex is wrong—this doesn’t feel like a temporary cruise romance. It feels like something that could survive in the real world, if we’re brave enough to try.
My dream of Harper is interrupted by a sharp, persistent buzzing. I reach for my phone, groggy and disoriented.
“Cole,” I answer without checking the screen.
“Mr. Cole, this is Captain Reyes.” The voice is tense, professional. “I’m afraid we have a situation that requires your immediate attention.”
I sit up, alert. Beside me, Harper stirs, blinking sleepily.
“What’s happened?”
“There’s been an incident with the waste management system. One of the gray water tanks has ruptured. We’ve contained it within the ship, but there’s damage.”
“Any injuries?”
“No, sir. But Environmental Officer Chen believes this may explain the discrepancies Dr. Bennett identified yesterday. The system has been leaking for some time.”
Harper is awake now, watching me with concern. “What is it?” she whispers.
I cover the phone. “Problems with the waste system. A tank ruptured.”
Her eyes widen in understanding. “That would explain the discrepancies. Or someone trying to cover them up.”
I nod, then return to the call. “I’ll be right there. Alert the environmental clean-up team and begin a damage report.”
After hanging up, I turn to Harper. “Looks like our 6 AM inspection just got moved up. A gray water tank has ruptured. Chen thinks it’s related to what you found yesterday.”
She’s already out of bed, gathering her clothes. “This could explain the volume discrepancies. If the system was leaking rather than discharging externally... Or they didn’t want us to find anything at six when we got there.”
“We’ve had a containment problem, not a pollution issue.” I pull on pants and a fresh shirt. “Either way, it needs to be fixed.”
We dress, all romance gone. As we head for the door, Harper pauses.
“Ethan, if this confirms internal leakage rather than external discharge...”
“Then your write up should reflect that,” I finish for her. “Whatever the facts show, Harper. That’s all I ask.”
She nods, determination settling over her features. “Let’s go see what we’re dealing with.”