Cold wind pelted her with stinging rain, soaking the bottom of her skirt before she’d managed ten steps. She paused in the middle of the square, shielded her eyes with a hand, and glanced toward the promontory, where the lighthouse’s signal blazed in the gloom — danger, danger, seek out shelter.
Lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating the pale cylinder of the lighthouse. A deafening crack of thunder followed.
“It’s really not safe to be out here in this storm,” someone said behind her, their raised voice muted by the howling wind and torrential rain.
Aymee started and spun to see Randall Laster standing a few feet away, water streaming from his dark green poncho. “You should come into the town hall until the lightning lets up, at least.”
Her gaze shifted to the warm glow spilling from the windows and open doorway behind him.
“The lightning could last all night,” she said.
“Wouldn’t hurt to give it a little more time, would it? Warm up and have a few drinks.” Randall glanced over his shoulder. He and his rangers were sleeping on cots in the town hall’s back room while they were in town — not necessarily the sort of company she was eager to keep. She had no wish to find herself in another heated discussion with him.
“My home isn’t far.” Aymee glanced up as another bolt of lightning divided the sky, followed immediately by an earth-shaking boom.
“If it’s not far, why not have a drink with me? Then I can escort you home and make sure you get in safely.”
Aymee frowned. “I don’t—”
“Please,” he said, stepping closer. “Just as two people looking to unwind, not as a ranger and a doctor.”
Blinking against the rain, she searched his face. It wouldn’t kill her to be kind to him, to mend whatever discord existed between them. It could even curb her impatience. Sitting at home and staring at the walls wouldn’t make tomorrow come any faster, so why not seek a brief distraction?
“Okay.”
He smiled and stepped aside, gesturing her onward. “After you.”
She hurried across the square and entered the building. Heat settled over her as she removed her coat and hung it on a peg near the door. When she walked into the common room, the townsfolk within greeted her with smiles and waves. She’d expected a few familiar faces, but at least a dozen locals were seated at the bar and tables, chatting and drinking.
“Hello Aiden,” she said to one of the men at a table near the bar. The gray streaks at his temples seemed a little more pronounced every few days.
He twisted around in his chair and grinned when his eyes met hers. “Aymee! What a pleasant surprise. What are you doing out in this storm?”
“I was just leaving the clinic.”
“Closing early?”
“No one wants to brave this weather.”
“Except Miss Rhodes, apparently,” Randall said from beside her.
“Is that so?” Aiden chuckled. His gaze dipped to her skirt, which was dripping enough to have formed a small puddle on the floor beneath her.
“Sorry. Randall caught me while I was walking home.” She seated herself on a stool at the bar.
Randall sat next to her, leaning forward with his forearms atop the bar. “How about a couple mugs of that mulled cider?”
“Sure, just a few minutes,” Aiden said, giving them his back.
“It rains like this back in Fort Culver during the wet season, too. The river that runs nearby always floods and washes out the bridge,” Randall said.
“Every time?”
“They’ve had to rebuild it almost every dry season for as long as I can remember. They make it a little higher each time. I think it’ll get to a point where they build it so high, it’ll just tips over on its own, without any flooding necessary.”
Aymee laughed, and Randall smiled; the expression touched his eyes and lit up his face.
Why hadn’t she reacted to him the same way she did Arkon? He was a physically attractive man and seemed to be a decent person, once she looked past his wanting to hunt her friends, but she felt only a flicker of interest that dissipated as quickly as the smoke from a freshly extinguished candle.
“Why don’t they build a floating bridge?” she asked.
“There was a pre-fab bridge placed there during the colonization. Was supposed to be sturdy enough to last until production facilities were up and going and something permanent could be constructed.” He shook his head. “That’s most of the stuff on this world, right? It wasn’t meant to last this long. So, when that original bridge collapsed into the river, the people built the best replacement they could. Didn’t have the parts to make anything like the dock you have here.”
“Here you go!” Aiden set two steaming mugs in front of them and moved off to speak with someone else.
Aymee wrapped her chilled hands around the cup and slid it closer. “Do you think it was always the plan to drop us off with this stuff and abandon us here?”
Randall lifted his mug and sipped at it, wincing. “Always burn my mouth on the first drink, but this stuff is so damned good.”
Aymee chuckled.
He lowered his drink and stared into the steam. “I don’t think that was the plan at all. Something happened here on Halora, and something happened out there — a war, I think — and it all just kind of fell apart. They forgot about us after that.”
“I’ve always found it strange that we know so little about that history. Like this place. Why is it called The Watch? What were they watching for? I always assumed it was because of the lookouts at the lighthouse watching for storms, but that doesn’t feel like the right answer.”
“Your guess is as good as mine on that. All I really know is that Fort Culver was a military base, originally, and when everything went bad, my ancestors received a final order: defend the remaining humans against anything that comes, to the last man.”
Aymee raised her mug and blew away the steam before taking a careful sip. The pairing of heat and sweetness was almost overwhelming. “So, you’ve been trained from birth to be a ranger?”
“Yeah. My father’s in charge back home, and the tradition of it is considered a big deal.” He shifted his voice to a deeper timbre. “For three hundred and sixty-one years, every member of our family has served the people of Halora in this capacity, and you will, too.”
She arched a brow. “Must have been pretty intimidating to hear that growing up.”
Randall chuckled and took another sip of cider. “It was. I resented him for it, you know? But I understand. Sometimes it seems like everything on this planet is designed to kill us, even the damned plants. So we’re the ones who go out and kill it first. It’s not glamourous work, but it’s important.”
So we’re the ones who go out and kill it first.
Aymee dropped her gaze to her drink; it was cooling but retained a comforting warmth that she focused on to ground her thoughts. Their conversation didn’t need to continue down that path.
“Do you have any other family, Randall?”
“Yeah, I have a sister. Larkin. Everyone calls her Elle.”
“Is she a ranger, too?”
“She is. It was pretty hard on her, growing up. She had a soft spot for animals since she was little.” The fondness in his voice was unmistakable.
Aymee smiled. “You two are close?”
“We are. Our father tends to keep her nearby when he sends me out, though. He thinks we soften each other up too much to be effective, or some krullshit like that.” He frowned and glanced at Aymee. “Sorry. Rangers don’t usually mind their language.”
“It’s all right. I’ve heard a lot worse treating injuries in town.”
“How about you, Aymee? You have a brother, right?”
The leather strap of her satchel bit into her neck, rubbing uncomfortably against her skin. After adjusting it and finding little relief, she finally lifted the bag over her head and laid it on the bar. “Yes, Andrew. We’re not close. My parents had difficulty aft
er he was born, some complications, miscarriages. He was already nine by the time they had me.”
“I’m surprised I haven’t met him yet. I’ve been talking to as many people as I can since I got here.”
“He hasn’t been in The Watch for a few years.” She smirked. “My family has its own trade that’s been passed down through generations. My father started bringing us to the clinic with him when we were young and taught us the family trade while we grew up. When Andrew was old enough to strike out on his own, he started traveling to other towns to provide his services where needed. He ended up meeting a woman in one of those towns, and he’s lived there with her ever since.”
“I’ve been to a lot of places,” Randall said, absently rotating his mug, “and met a lot of people. Everyone always talks about going somewhere else, about how much better it’ll be, how much more exciting…but it all gets to be the same after a point. At least he found happiness. That’s all anyone can hope for, right?”
Aymee’s thoughts shifted to Macy. Macy, who’d been unhappy for years after losing her sister, who felt like she always had to do more, to be more, to atone for the pain she’d caused. It had taken her own near drowning and a rescue from Jax to push Macy to take control of her life and choose happiness.
As Aymee opened her mouth to answer, a heavy arm fell over her shoulder. Cider — fortunately cooled enough not to burn — sloshed over her hand. The stench of alcohol and sweat hit her nose.
“Look at you, Randy, talking up the locals.” The man peered at her. “Isn’t this that fish-lover?” he asked, grinning broadly between Randall and Aymee.
Aymee recognized the cruelty in his smile. He was the man who’d laughed when she said the rangers had come to The Watch for themselves. She pushed her mug aside and frowned. “Please remove your arm.”
“She’s a pretty thing,” the man said, turning his head toward her, his breath hot against her ear.
“Cyrus, get the hell off her,” Randall warned.
“I’m just trying to be friendly, Randy. Isn’t that what you told us to do?”
“Sir, if you do not get off me, I will make you,” Aymee said patiently.
Randall pushed his stool away from the bar and stood up. Cyrus removed his arm from Aymee and stepped back, holding his hands up in surrender; he held a glass of beer in one. He looked to be in his late forties, his tanned skin weather-worn and his short beard flecked with gray, but he was tall and well-built.
“Relax, kid. We’re on the same team, me and you, right?” Though his speech was slurred and his stance unsteady, there was a hardness in his eyes that belied a deeper meaning to his words.
“We are. Which is why you’re going to apologize to Miss Rhodes and hit your bunk.”
Randall and Cyrus stared at one another for several tense seconds.
“Pulling rank doesn’t work the way you think, kid. Not out here,” Cyrus said in a low voice before turning to Aymee. “Name’s Cyrus Taylor, miss, and I’m awful sorry. Your town has some of the best booze I’ve ever had, and I seem to have partaken a bit heavily.”
“That’s all right. Just make sure you drink plenty of water before you hit that bunk.” She slid off her stool and smoothed down her skirt.
Cyrus chuckled. “You’re the doc’s daughter, right?”
“Yes. Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s getting late.” She smiled at Randall and picked up her satchel. “Thank you for the company.”
“I’m sorry, Aymee. You don’t have to go,” Randall said.
“It’s okay, ma—”
“Whatcha got here?” Cyrus snatched her bag and flipped it open before she could stop him.
Her eyes rounded as he pulled out several of her sketches. She lunged forward, grabbing for the papers. “Stop!”
Cyrus twisted away, holding the sketches out of her reach. “Well, what do we have here?”
Randall stepped forward and caught Cyrus’s wrist. Their limbs trembled as Randall forced Cyrus’s arm down. “Give them back to her, Cyrus.”
“Just wanted to take a—”
“You have no right!” Aymee growled, wrenching her satchel from his grip and holding out a hand for her drawings.
Scowling at Randall, Cyrus opened his hand and let the papers fall to the floor. Randall thrust the man back as he released his arm, and Cyrus stumbled into a nearby table, barely catching himself on the top.
“To your bunk, ranger,” Randall commanded. “Now.”
There were heavy steps approaching, but Aymee ignored them. She knelt on the floor and swept the papers into a pile. Her hands shook with fury and concern.
“Known the kid since he was shitting his pants, and now he’s putting me to bed,” Cyrus muttered as he walked away.
“Come on, Cyrus. You’ve had enough,” another man said.
Randall crouched near Aymee and reached to gather some of the scattered papers, but his hand froze in midair. He tilted his head and slid one of the pages aside, revealing the sketch beneath.
One of the drawings of Arkon’s hand.
He met Aymee’s gaze. Her heart stopped.
Without a word, she collected the remaining sketches and stuffed them into her satchel, tying the lacings to secure the flap.
“Are those what I think they are?” Randall asked, voice flat.
“So what if they are?” she retorted, casting a brief glare at Cyrus.
“How many of those drawings do you have, Aymee?”
“It’s none of your business.” She rose and stalked toward the door, pausing to retrieve her coat and shove her arms into the sleeves.
Randall pushed himself up and followed. “Aymee! Don’t just leave.”
She rounded on him. “I will not stay here to be judged and treated this way!”
“If those drawings are accurate, they’re important information. I need to—”
“They are mine, and I will not aid your hunt!” She flung the door open, wishing for some of Arkon’s strength to tear it off the hinges and throw the whole damned thing at Cyrus. She plunged into the wind and rain without a backward glance.
“Aymee!” Randall called. His boots splashed in the water behind her as he hurried to catch up. “Stop, please!”
She marched into the wind without slowing, barely aware of the stinging raindrops hitting her face. Randall caught up and moved alongside her, but she didn’t look at him.
“I’ve already made myself clear,” she said over the storm. “That man had no right, and I will not give up my sketches for you to study.”
“He didn’t have any right, and I’m sorry that happened. But…any information I have on those creatures can save lives. Ours, and theirs.”
“They are not a threat!” she shouted, stopping and spinning toward Randall. “No lives were at risk before you came, and I refuse to reveal secrets that aren’t mine to give!”
Randall’s clothes were soaked — he hadn’t put on his parka — and rivulets of water streamed down his face. “I’m just trying to do right by everyone, Aymee. Some people say these creatures aren’t a threat, but a lot more people think they are.”
“Either way, I don’t have to aid you, not when I know what is at stake.”
“Do you know what’s at stake? Do you really know what they are, who they are? We’ve survived this planet by taking nothing for granted and fighting every day for our survival, and if the kraken are anything like us, they’ve done the same, and they’ll view us as just as much of a threat!”
“They are people! People who want to be left alone. It’s you,” she pointed at him, “who would disturb that peace and bring war to them.”
“Aymee,” he said, stepping toward her, “I’m not trying to bring—”
She took a step back. “I want to be left alone now, too.”
Randall halted, clenching his jaw. His hands curled into fists at his sides. “I’m not your enemy, Aymee. I’ve never lied about that.”
“Then don’t make yourself one.”
She l
eft him, her heart pounding, body trembling, and hoped he wouldn’t follow. There was too much on the line, far too much. Macy, Jax, Sarina.
Arkon.
As angry as she was, Aymee believed Randall. She believed he was doing what he thought right, that he only wanted to protect people from the unknown.
But at what cost? If the rangers found the kraken’s home, what would they do?
The hard glint in Cyrus’s eyes offered no comforting answer to that question.
So we are the ones who go out and kill it first.
Despite those words, she trusted Randall — at least his openness and honesty. But she didn’t trust him with the kraken’s lives. She couldn’t.
Please let Arkon be right. Don’t let the hunters find them.
Chapter 6
The surface of the pool rippled to the gentle hum of unseen filtration systems, like the surface of the ocean in miniature. Arkon studied the stones laid on the bottom. Their shapes were distorted by the reflection of the overhead lights on the water, but their patterns were clear — flowing, swirling lines and curves, like eddies in the water. There were thousands of stones, each placed with thought and purpose to contribute to the whole.
The display represented weeks of work. Weeks of locating suitable stones and transporting them to The Facility, laying them out and arranging them by color, shape, and size, and then placing them, one by one, on the floor of the pool; weeks before his vision had taken shape. Arkon hadn’t been without his doubts throughout. Would it come out as he’d imagined? Would anyone care?
And now, after all that time and effort, after persevering through his doubts, he had to force himself to come and see it. Not because he didn’t feel a sense of accomplishment — he was proud despite his self-criticisms — but because his mind had moved on.
The acrid chemical fumes — how he’d ever grown used to them, he couldn’t understand — assaulted his nostrils. He moved around the edge of the pool and stopped near a metal ladder built directly into its wall, examining his work from a new angle. It felt like he’d made it a lifetime ago. So much had changed over the past few months.
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