Chapter 23
Zora
The first thing I become aware of is warmth.
After a night spent shivering against unforgiving stone, the sensation feels almost luxurious.
I remain still for a few moments, reluctant to open my eyes, until the memories of the previous night slowly begin to return.
The cave. The cold. Moving closer to Nico because my pride had finally lost its battle with common sense.
When I finally open my eyes, I immediately realize we're no longer lying the way we were when we fell asleep. Sometime during the night, we'd shifted closer. Much closer.
My arm is draped across his chest, my fingers loosely curled against his side, while one of my legs is tangled with his beneath the makeshift cover we'd used against the cold.
His arm remains securely around my waist, holding me with the absentminded ease of someone who never let go after I fell asleep.
For a long second, I simply stare at him.
His face is calmer in sleep than I've ever seen it while he's awake. The permanent edge of irritation is gone, the sharpness in his expression softened by exhaustion. If I didn't know better, I might mistake him for someone entirely different.
Heat rushes to my face as I carefully lift his arm from my waist and untangle myself, taking care not to wake him. The cave offers nowhere to hide, but I still put as much distance between us as the cramped space allows before pretending to busy myself with our damp clothes.
It lasts exactly three seconds.
"You know," Nico says, his voice still rough with sleep, "most people start the morning with coffee. You chose a tactical retreat."
I look over to find him watching me with half-lidded eyes, one arm folded beneath his head while the corner of his mouth threatens to curve into a smile.
"I wasn't retreating." I reply, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flustered.
"No?" He pushes himself upright, stretching the stiffness from his shoulders before glancing pointedly at the empty space between us. "Could've fooled me."
"It was cold." I say simply. "You happened to be the closest source of heat. That's all."
A quiet chuckle escapes him as he reaches for his shirt, testing the fabric between his fingers before dropping it with obvious disappointment.
"So I was promoted from mortal enemy to survival equipment."
"For one night."
"That's reassuring."
His gaze meets mine, lingering just long enough to make me wonder whether he's about to say something infuriating.
He simply shrugs. "I've had worse jobs."
The answer catches me off guard. I had been expecting another smug remark, another opportunity for him to remind me exactly how we'd spent the night.
Instead, he stands and looks toward the mouth of the cave where pale morning light spills across the sand, his expression losing every trace of amusement.
"The jokes can wait." He says quietly. "Daylight won't."
I follow his gaze. Beyond the mouth of the cave, the jungle stretches endlessly in every direction, its dense canopy swallowing the morning light. The trees stand unnaturally still, concealing whatever, or whoever, might be hiding within.
The awkwardness of waking up in each other's arms dissolves almost instantly beneath the weight of reality. We survived the night, but that was all we did. We are still stranded, still without a way to contact anyone, and still sharing an island with the people who tried to kill us.
Whatever comfort the darkness forced between us ends with the sunrise.
Nico climbs to his feet, brushing the dirt from his hands before reaching for the clothes we'd left to dry overnight. They are still damp, though no longer dripping, and he pulls them on without complaint.
When he catches me watching him, the corner of his mouth lifts.
"You can keep insisting it was about survival." He says as he adjusts the sleeve of his shirt. "I'm still making a note that, given the choice, you unconsciously decided I was the safest place to sleep."
I let out an exasperated sigh as I tug my own shirt into place. "You are exhausting."
"So I've been told."
I shake my head and walk past him toward the mouth of the cave before he can see the smile threatening to betray me.
In daylight, the island looks very different.
Dense jungle stretches beyond the beach, its thick canopy hiding whatever lies deeper within, while the shoreline is scattered with driftwood and debris washed ashore during the night.
The endless ocean surrounding us is a harsh reminder of just how isolated we really are.
If the men in that jet are still searching, there's nowhere to run.
We're trapped on an island they know exists, with no way of knowing whether they're already closing in.
Nico stands silently beside me, studying the landscape with the same focused expression I've only ever seen during dangerous situations. Whatever amusement had been on his face moments ago is gone.
"We need water first." He says, his eyes scanning the tree line rather than looking at me. "Food can wait."
That is all he offers before starting towards the jungle.
I fall into step beside him, partly because I don't have a better idea and partly because wandering through an unfamiliar island alone sounds remarkably stupid. Every step becomes more difficult as tangled roots, thick undergrowth, and uneven ground slow our progress.
It doesn't seem to slow Nico at all.
He moves carefully rather than quickly, pausing every so often to study the ground or glance through the trees before choosing a direction.
More than once he steers us around unstable rocks or patches of vegetation I wouldn't have noticed twice, and each decision seems so instinctive that I eventually stop questioning them.
"You've done this before." I say.
He glances back briefly. "Done what?"
"This." I gesture vaguely at the jungle around us. "Survived on an island."
A faint smile crosses his face.
"I've spent enough time in places where getting lost wasn't an option."
It isn't really an answer. Then again, I don't expect one.
We walk for nearly an hour before the faint sound of running water reaches us. Nico hears it before I do. He stops so suddenly that I nearly walk into him, tilting his head as though listening for something only he can hear.
"This way."
Sure enough, a narrow freshwater stream appears between the trees a few minutes later, winding over smooth rocks before disappearing deeper into the forest.
I crouch beside it and scoop the cold water into my hands, drinking more greedily than I intend. Only after my thirst eases do I notice Nico standing a few feet away, watching the surrounding trees instead of the stream.
"You're surprisingly good at this." I admit as I stand. "I expected you to last about five minutes before trying to negotiate with the island."
He looks over at me, one brow lifting. "Is that your way of complimenting me?"
"It wasn't a compliment."
A faint smile tugs at his mouth. "I'll take it anyway."
I roll my eyes. "Of course you will."
By the time we make our way back toward the beach, the tide has left behind more than seaweed and driftwood.
Pieces of luggage, sections of the aircraft, scattered emergency supplies that includes blankets, and even a handful of knives and other equipment torn free during the crash have washed ashore during the night, spreading across the sand in a trail that stretches farther than I can see.
Neither of us wastes time.
We search everything that looks remotely useful, setting aside unopened bottles of water, a small first-aid kit, emergency blankets, a flare gun with two flares, and anything else that might help us survive another night.
While I sort through the supplies, Nico disappears into the jungle. He returns a short while later carrying several coconuts and a handful of tropical fruit.
I glance at what he's carrying. "You know those are edible?"
A faint smile crosses his face. "I do."
I narrow my eyes. "You're disturbingly competent."
"Hm."
He cracks open a coconut against a rock and hands it to me.
For the first time since the crash, it almost feels as though we've been given a chance to breathe.
The meal is simple, but after everything we've been through, it feels like a feast. We eat in silence on a stretch of rock overlooking the ocean, enjoying a few precious moments where neither of us thinks about the jet, the people hunting us, or the island that has become our prison. But the illusion doesn't last.
Nico's head snaps toward the tree line before I hear anything. His expression changes so abruptly that my stomach drops.
Before I can ask what's wrong, his hand closes around my wrist.
"Down." He says, his voice barely louder than a breath.
He pulls me behind a cluster of boulders just as several figures emerge from the jungle.
I hold my breath.
There are at least eight of them that I can see, all dressed in tactical gear and carrying assault rifles. They move with purpose rather than panic, sweeping the area in coordinated formations instead of wandering aimlessly. This isn't a rescue party searching for survivors.
It's a hunt.
One of the men kneels near the shoreline, studying footprints in the sand before gesturing toward the jungle. The others immediately change direction.
"They're tracking us." I whisper.
Nico doesn't answer. He doesn't need to. The hard set of his jaw tells me everything.
We wait until the last man disappears into the trees before either of us moves again.
"We can't stay here." He says quietly.
I nod.
For the next several hours, the island becomes a maze of constant movement.
Every decision has to be deliberate, every step carefully placed.
We avoid open ground whenever possible, weaving through dense vegetation and rocky terrain while Nico periodically stops to listen for voices or movement ahead.
Twice we double back after spotting patrols before they see us.