Chapter 9 #4
She cleared her throat. “This is the episode of Naked and Afraid when viewers complain we should have built a sturdier shelter.”
Steven shifted on the rough blanket, testing his ankle. “Can they vote me off?”
Lucy stared at the dancing orange flames. “No,” she said. “That’s a different show.”
He ran a hand through damp hair, eyes half closed. “What does winning look like here?”
She thought about the endless dark water beyond the fire, the thoughtless expanse hearing only their muffled voices and the night’s small betrayals. “You don’t die,” she said. “And later, strangers online tell you everything you did wrong.”
He let out a breath, posture slackening. “Karina watches cooking competitions. She gets furious when bakers pick elaborate desserts.”
Lucy tried to picture Karina’s face in that moment: brows drawn together, mouth twisted with annoyance. “Does she actually cook?”
“She can nail six recipes,” he said, the corners of his mouth curving upward. “Anything beyond those six is a battle against the kitchen gods. She once tried lasagna for my father’s birthday and blamed the cheese for three years.”
“Why did she agree to help you that first time? At dinner with your family?”
His eyes tracked the glow of the fire, distant. “She was there when I came out—to myself.” He paused. “I said it as a joke, like it didn’t count. Karina looked at me and said, ‘Being in the closet explains your haircut,’ then marched me to a barber shop. She’s held every secret I ever whispered.”
“What about her secrets?”
Steven looked at her. “What do you mean?”
She tucked her feet beneath her. “Maybe she can protect other people’s secrets better than admit what she really wants.”
The firelight played across Steven’s expression—curiosity, worry. He turned his gaze toward the cove, where low clouds parted to reveal a keen silver slice of moon, slashing across the black water.
Lucy’s pulse stuttered. She had spent the last hour cataloguing every physical danger on this island—the dark, the bracket, the water she couldn’t drink—and none of it had touched the real thing.
She stared at the fire. “Why does she want Adam,” she murmured, so quietly she hoped the wind would tear the words apart before they reached Steven’s ears.
Asking it meant she already knew the answer. She had been dancing around the knowledge for a while now, refusing to believe it, but now, here, on this isolated island, the truth hit her with full force.
Helpful Karina. Efficient Karina. Kind Karina. The solution to every problem. Karina with her ready smile and her ready clarification and her ready reason for everything.
Steven absorbed that, lips pressed. His lack of surprise at her question was only further confirmation she was correct.
“I don’t know if it’s Adam himself,” he said. “I think she likes who she is when she’s with Adam. She likes feeling valuable and important.” His voice caught. “She’s brilliant at getting what she needs.”
Lucy’s mind reeled through every conversation she’d ever had with Karina—every gentle steer, every look that said, If you don’t want to do it, I’ll handle it. The way she’d made herself indespensible to Adam. The way Karina filled the space in a room, then acted as if she’d done nothing at all.
A long silence stretched as embers fell into ash. The island seemed to inhale around them. Then Steven’s head snapped up. “Light.”
Lucy turned. At first she saw only the moon weaving silver through the waves. Then a narrow white beam swept along the northern rocks, vanished behind the promontory, and winked back.
Her breath caught. “Is someone here?”
Steven reached for the small camera mounted on his chest strap, but Lucy gripped his arm. “Wait until we see the boat,” she hissed. “We barely have battery.”
They knelt at the fire pit, dragging damp leaves across the stones until smoke poured low over the beach. Lucy piled dry branches, coaxing flames high enough to make their signal blanket—now stripped from its post—flutter like a metal banner. She waved it, silver humming in the orange glow.
The beam reappeared, sharper now, slicing across the cove’s mouth. Lucy shouted—her voice raw, hopeful. Steven joined, louder, a call she felt ricochet in her chest. For a breathless moment the light froze, then moved again, sweeping away from them.
Time stalled. Lucy stood, blanket limp in her hands, chest heaving. She wanted to run into the waves, follow the beam, scream until someone answered. But the sea rumbled its own answer: distance and darkness.
Steven crouched beside her. “It may circle back,” he said. His voice had that fragile thread of belief she needed—needed to share.
“It might,” Lucy replied, swallowing the bitter knot in her throat.
They didn’t return immediately to the shelter. Instead, they remained on the edge of the firelight, faces lit by embers, gazing out at the water that mocked them with its empty promise. Behind, the flames crackled. Ahead, only black.
Somewhere, beyond their island, people were searching for them.
She had to believe that.