Chapter 4
Verity
Warmth.
That was the first thing I felt. Not the biting cold I’d expected, but heat seeping into my skin, wrapping around me like a heavy blanket. The smell of salt and seaweed filled my nose. My body rocked slightly, as if the world still moved with the rhythm of waves.
I forced my eyes open. Brightness stabbed at me, evening sunlight bouncing off pale sand and water that shimmered green and gold. The sky above was too blue, too calm, as if the sea hadn’t tried to kill me a few hours ago.
I was alive. Somehow.
I tried to sit up and instantly regretted it. My head spun. My throat burned with salt, my lips cracked when I licked them. Everything ached.
A sharp pain shot through my side, deep and sudden enough to steal my breath. I pressed my hand against my ribs, grimacing when even that small touch made me wince. Something had hit me hard out there—debris, maybe. Every inhale felt bruised.
And then I realised I was naked.
The realisation hit harder than the cold ever could. I was covered only by what looked like strands of seaweed — thick ribbons of golden-green kelp draped over me from shoulders to knees. The fronds smelled faintly of brine and sun-warmed rock.
Panic clawed its way up my throat. I snatched at the nearest handful, clutching it tight to my chest. Whoever had done this had stripped me, arranged me like some drowned offering on a beach.
I wasn’t alone. I could feel it before I saw him, a heaviness near my shoulder blades.
He sat a few paces away, half in shadow, half in sunlight.
For a moment my brain refused to make sense of him.
He looked human, almost. Broad shoulders, dark hair slicked back from a face that was too sharp, too still.
But his skin caught the light and shimmered faintly green, the colour of deep water.
Thin strips of kelp clung to his arms and shoulders, moving with the breeze as if they breathed.
I froze, my breath catching painfully in my chest.
He didn’t move, only watched me with eyes the colour of storm glass. Calm, unreadable, far too focused.
My voice cracked. “Who are you?”
He spoke slowly, gently, as if not wanting to spook me further.
"My name is Rainse."
His accent was strange, the vowels drawn out, soft at the edges.
"What..." It felt rude to ask, but it was clear this was the only question that I had to ask. "What... are you?"
"They call me a finman." He said it in the same gentle, soft voice. I had no idea what a finman was, what this was all supposed to mean, but I was going to return to that. For now, I had other, more urgent needs. I could ignore his green skin and kelp-growths and too-pretty-to-be-real face.
"Do you have water?"
He got to his feet in one fast, elegant movement. "I have seen humans drink the juice from this seed. I will bring you proper water later."
He handed me a green coconut. He'd made a hole in the top, giving me easy access to the water inside. I didn't hesitate, drank greedily, cool juice running down my chin.
"Slowly," he said softly. "Don't upset your stomach."
I ignored him and continued to drink until the very last drop. I licked my dry, cracked lips, wishing I had some lip balm handy. Now that my thirst was no longer overwhelming my thoughts, I was ready to ask more questions.
“Where… where am I? What happened?”
His gaze flicked briefly to the sea. “You fell. The water tried to take you. A beast was about to bite you when I intervened.”
The shark. I remembered. I gripped the kelp tighter, desperately hoping it was still covering all the important bits. “Did you take my clothes?”
A shadow crossed his face, something like guilt or confusion. “They were wet. Cold. You would not have lived.”
I wanted to argue, to demand an explanation, but my tongue felt thick and my body heavy. Logic told me he was right; wet clothing in open air could have killed me. Still, awareness prickled over my bare skin. He had seen me, touched me.
“I should be dead,” I whispered.
Rainse looked at me for a long moment. “You are not.”
He said it like a fact, not a comfort. Then, more softly, “You are safe.”
Safe? Naked? With him - whatever he was? Maybe safe from sharks, but I didn't feel safe at all.
"Where is Jammie?" I asked instead of voicing my thoughts. "He was with me when the shark appeared. He's my PhD student, he-"
"Is he important to you?" Rainse's voice was cool and steady, but I could swear I felt some tension in his words.
"I feel responsible for him. And he's a friend. Not that that's any business of yours. Did you save him as well?"
A small pause. Then, "Yes. He is safe."
"But not here."
He shook his head. "No. Not here."
I looked around me, really taking in my surroundings now that I felt a little steadier on my feet.
We were on an island so small that I could see the ocean on all sides.
To my right, black rocks reached into the sea, covered in the same kelp that I now had wrapped around me.
To my left was a small copse of coarse bushes, not high enough to offer shade from the sun.
Behind where Rainse stood, the island rose a little, and sand gave way to grassy soil.
Six trees stood haphazardly together, all different kinds - seeds blown here by the wind, lucky to find a spot to grow roots.
One of them was a coconut tree. A small spring bubbled among rocks at its feet.
I stared up at its lofty heights. Five, six coconuts.
That wouldn't keep me going for long - and I'd first have to reach them.
I turned back to Rainse. "Can you get me back to the ship I was on? The Minerva?"
My ribs throbbed just from sitting upright, but the question burst out anyway. The thought of staying here another night made the ache feel trivial.
He didn't hesitate. "No. You’re hurt. The waves would break you before we reached halfway."
"Why?" I shot back.
He looked out toward the open water.
“The ship is gone,” he said simply. “The current has taken it far from here. You are weak. You would not survive the swim.”
Something inside me balked at the calm finality in his tone. “Then signal them! You must have—” I stopped myself. What could he possibly have? A phone? A radio? The man didn’t even have a shirt.
He shook his head once. “No signal. No need. They found the other one.”
The certainty in his voice made the hairs on my arms rise. “How do you know that?”
“I saw them take him,” he said, still not meeting my eyes. “He will tell them you are lost. They will look, but not here. This island is not close to the current that would have carried you away, if I hadn't brought you here."
A chill that had nothing to do with temperature crawled up my spine.
“So that’s it?” I asked. “You’re just… keeping me here?”
“I keep you safe,” he corrected softly. “The sea is dangerous. The sun, too. You must rest. You will heal.”
“I don’t need—” I started, but the world tilted again. My legs gave way, and I dropped to my knees. He was beside me in an instant, steadying me with a touch so careful it made my throat tighten. His hands were warm, strong, the texture of his skin distinctly non-human.
“Slowly,” he murmured. “You breathe too fast.”
“I’m fine,” I lied, trying to pull away. His hand lingered a moment longer before he let go.
He crouched in front of me, so close I could see the faint veins running through the green growths along his shoulders. They weren’t kelp after all. They were part of him, moving gently with his breath, alive.
“You need food,” he said. “I will find some.”
“Wait,” I blurted. “You’re leaving?”
“Not far.” His eyes lifted to the horizon again. “You will see me.”
And before I could say another word, he rose and walked straight into the surf. The water welcomed him like a long-lost friend, curling around his legs before swallowing him whole. One blink, and he was gone.
You will see me. As if.
I sat there, clutching the seaweed to my chest, staring at the place where he’d disappeared. A gull cried somewhere above me. The tide sighed against the rocks. Apart from that, nothing. It was utterly quiet.
I looked down at my hands, still trembling. The sunlight glinted on the faint pattern of salt crystals drying on my skin. I should be making a plan—exploring the island, searching for fresh water, building a signal fire. I should be doing something.
Instead, I sat perfectly still, the weight of the kelp heavy on my shoulders, and listened for the sound of the waves breaking differently—proof that he was still there, somewhere under the surface.
He said I was safe.
But safe and trapped felt far too similar.
The moment he disappeared beneath the waves, I was moving.
I didn't have much time. He'd said he wouldn't go far, but "not far" for someone who could breathe underwater might mean half an hour. Maybe more.
I needed to make the most of it.
First: inventory. I still had my life jacket, torn but functional. My clothes were drying on the rocks. No phone—that had gone down with the RIB. No flares. No radio. Nothing useful except my own brain.
Second: options. I could try to signal passing ships, but I hadn't seen any vessels since we'd been stranded. I could attempt to swim to another island, but I had no idea which direction to go, and my ribs protested even the thought of it. I could build a signal fire, but—
I looked around. There were a few pieces of driftwood that looked dry, but if I arranged them into a heap, he’d know immediately what I'd tried to do.
But did I care?
I grabbed the largest pieces and hauled them to the highest point on the island—all of three meters above sea level. My ribs screamed. I ignored them.
Fire. I needed fire. But I had no matches, no lighter, no way to create a spark. The sun was high and bright—could I use my reading glasses? Except I'd left those in my cabin on the Minerva, useless as everything else.
"Think, Verity."
Glass. I needed glass. Or something reflective.
The coconut shell—could I use that? No, too curved. The shells scattered on the beach? Too small.
I stood there, breathing hard, staring at my pathetic pile of wood, and felt frustration well up in my throat.
I was a marine biologist with a PhD. I'd survived research expeditions in the Arctic. I'd published papers, secured grants, managed teams. And now I couldn't even start a fire on a deserted island.
A shadow passed over the sun. I looked up to see a frigate bird circling high above, riding the thermals.
Ships. They sometimes followed ships.
I ran back to the beach, searching the horizon. Nothing. Just endless blue in every direction.
But the bird was still circling. That meant something. Land? Fish? A ship?
I grabbed my life jacket and waded into the shallows, waving it above my head. Orange against the blue sky—surely someone would see it.
"Here!" I shouted, even though my voice wouldn't carry beyond the beach. "I'm here!"
I waved until my arms ached. The bird circled once more, then flew off toward the north.
I lowered the life jacket, panting. My ribs throbbed. The sun beat down on my head.
Nothing. No one.
I was utterly, completely alone.
The reality of it hit me like a wave. I sank down into the shallows, salt water lapping around my waist, and let myself feel the full weight of my situation.
I was stranded. Injured. Dependent on an alien who might be my saviour or my captor—I still wasn't sure which.
And the worst part? Some traitorous part of me didn't want to be rescued. Not yet.
I hated that part.