I struggle to my feet, my muscles protesting the movement. Immediately I regret standing. Not only does it hurt, but also, it’s cold. My suit flaps at the waist, and I realize Erik must have undone it to save me. I stare down at him. He isn’t moving and the shaking starts, rolling through me as powerfully as the waves that snatched me from the raft.
The cold makes the tremors of my body more violent, and I realize my clothing is soaked. I drop back onto the ground as quietly as I can and maneuver into Erik’s arms.
“You okay?” he murmurs, his eyes still shut.
“I think so.” But as I speak, my teeth chatter, the chill curling into my fingers and into my core.
Erik snaps to and stares at me, his eyes wide with concern. Then a moment later he starts unbuttoning my wet jacket.
“What are you doing?” I demand, trying to find the strength to pull away.
“Stop fighting me,” he says as he strips off my jacket and starts on my shirt.
“Erik,” I begin, but the shuddering stops my tongue from forming words.
He doesn’t speak, just tugs my shirt off. I’m too cold and too tired to feel self-conscious or awkward. And then he starts stripping himself.
“Erik!” It’s more of a shriek than a name.
Erik wraps his arms around me, drawing me closer until I’m cocooned in the heat of his body. My skin wakes and warms to his, and we stare at each other until I feel heat rising everywhere.
“I thought I lost you,” he murmurs.
“You didn’t,” I say.
“Adelice, I—”
“I know,” I stop him.
His lips are on mine, full but gentle, and I feel liberated by his kiss. The want of it. The need of it. We crush against each other. I explore every bit of his mouth—the subtle bow in his top lip, the softness of his bottom lip, where the two crease. When we pull apart, he’s breathless and wide-eyed, and I see myself, equally excited, reflected back in his irises.
After a few awkward pants, I laugh, and his mouth splits into a wide grin.
“We have horrible timing,” I say.
“No,” he says, showering me with dozens of tiny kisses. “Better late than never.”
He hovers over me, and I know we have to go. We have to find the others.
“We’ll have our time, Ad,” he promises me.
I reach up and brush his hair behind his ears, noticing that my fingers still tremble even though I’m no longer cold. I want to believe him.
The terrain onshore is difficult to navigate. The wild grass can’t be counted on for help. One handful might give me enough leverage to hike up higher, but the next betrays me. Erik pauses for a moment, farther up the hill than me.
“You know, Ad,” he calls over the bursts of wind off the water, “I could carry you up.”
“Like a sack of flour?” I ask in mock interest.
“Nah, like a newlywed,” he yells. “Over the threshold into a prison of lies.”
“What every girl dreams of,” I shout back. I don’t stop climbing, although a good part of me would like to see Erik trying to carry me up, and the wicked part of me has other reasons for wanting to be in his arms.
Erik loses his grip and slides back several feet, but I keep going. My effort is rewarded when my hand finds flat, solid ground, and hoisting myself up, I discover a road. Scrambling over the side, I sit and wait for Erik, feet dangling over the precipice I’ve surmounted.
He takes one look at me and groans. “You’re looking smug, Miss Lewys.”
“I’m feeling it,” I admit, kicking my feet back and forth.
“Mind taking a moment from your superiority and giving me a hand?”
I pull myself to my feet and lean over, arm out wide. “Benevolence is one of my many superior attributes.”
Erik uses me to balance, but I sense he’s trying not to put too much force on me.
“For Arras’s sake,” I swear, latching on to his hand more tightly and pulling against his weight, but then he pulls back and I stumble forward under his weight. A small cry escapes my lips before I realize he’s already on the road. He’s merely pulled me into his arms.
He radiates heat against me, his hair clustered in thick waves from the moisture in the air. In the night, his eyes are silver-gray and wild as the ocean below us.
“I know,” he says before I can protest, leaning closer to me, “we don’t have time.”
I’m caught in the moment. The waves thundering against the rocks, the piercing cries of seagulls, the thick darkness that wraps us in a haze of fog.
“I could make the time. It’s another perk of my superiority,” I remind him. But before I close the gap between his mouth and mine, light blinds us.
“Ad, this is your father,” I hear Dante yell from a distance. “Let go of that boy before you make me vomit.”
“I need to speak with him about invoking his parental claims,” I mutter, but Erik chuckles.
The rest of the group is on the next bend of the road winding up the side of the island, so Erik and I race toward them. When we reach them, Dante gives me a hug, catching me by surprise. I’m transported back to the night of my retrieval—the last time I felt a parent’s arms around me. When he drops his arms, he backs away, not meeting my eyes.
“We thought you both drowned,” Valery whispers, looping her arm through mine. “But Jost and Dante wouldn’t stop looking.”
Wistfulness flashes across her face, but can’t settle onto her drawn, tired countenance. I hook an arm around her waist and her head sinks onto my shoulder.
My eyes fall to Jost, but he turns away, not even offering a hello. If he’d had doubts about where my relationship with Erik was heading, he doesn’t anymore. I don’t blame him for not looking at me. I can’t change any of it though, so I trudge forward. Dante nods awkwardly at me. He might be able to pull out his parental feelings in jest, but he can’t express them now.
“Have you found the entrance to the prison yet?” Erik asks.
“We’ve been looking for you,” Jost says. His voice, though weary, lacks recrimination.
“You’ve found us. Let’s go,” I say, finding myself energized by proximity to our destination.
“Ad.” Jost catches my arm and draws me to the side. “I’m glad you’re safe. Both of you.”
We shift awkwardly and I think he might hug me, but he doesn’t. Instead he gives me a small smile before he turns back to our mission.
The island is dark, no light shining from the wind-beaten watchtower. Without the sun, the only light comes from the stars and a crescent moon perched in the dusky sky. The silhouette of the fortress grows larger as we draw nearer. It should intimidate, but all I feel is the tug of familiarity. Stone walls that reach to the sky, a well-placed turret. It’s not so different from the Coventry, except this prison has windows—something the Guild didn’t permit us. But even with windows, it looks impossible to escape this place.
A variety of buildings dot the perimeter, but they are as silent as death. Save for the occasional dancing light that disappears as soon as I turn to follow it, there’s no sign of life.
“What if no one’s here?” I ask Dante.
“Then we keep looking,” he assures me, but there’s doubt seeping into his words. Perhaps he’s starting to understand the role of a father after all. He’s trying to offer me comfort and assurance even if it’s a lie.
If Alcatraz is abandoned, where we will start? I know it will come to a decision: keep looking or reenter Arras through the loophole to save our families. For the first time, standing on the brink of discovery, I face the possibility of returning. I know I can’t—won’t—go back. I can’t choose Amie over an entire world, and I buoy myself against the ache of that realization, because if I let myself feel it, I’ll shatter on the spot.