As soon as they’d gotten to the bay where the Slayers’ ships were lined up, the pilot and his brother were ushered away. The boy pushed his hair from his eyes, watching Wynona as he climbed aboard one of the steely ships. He looked like he had something to say, but there was no time for it. Before Wyn could call to him from the beach, he was gone, an ant vanishing inside the ship's grey-black hull.

Alone again, Wynona ran home. The adrenaline faded into something else—something that made her want to yell, nursing a very loud and unknown emotion in her throat. The rain felt colder, hit harder. The wind blew her so hard as she climbed the clay hills that, on occasion, she had to crouch down and wait for it to pass for fear of being blown backwards.

When they left the beach, it had been a storm; by the time she collapsed through her front door, it had become a cataclysm.

She fought to close the door against the wind. When the job was done, everything latched safely, she threw down her wet things and stumbled through the house, feet damp and slapping on the stone. She shivered, unable to stop herself as the cold crept in.

The place was dark again, her father’s door closed. For a long moment, she stood in the hall and stared at it, considering knocking and telling him of what she had done.

I saved people today. I saw a sea monster. I nearly died. The words were all there, lodged in her chest. And how they wanted to spill out, how she wanted them to ignite some pride or feeling in her father. Maybe he would smile. Maybe he would light a lamp or two, and throw a blanket around her shoulders to warm her up. Maybe they would talk like they used to, and it would be the start of something better.

Wynona turned away, slipping quietly into her room instead. When her door closed, the sound echoed, signaling to her father that she was home. Not once did he stir. Not once did he come for her.

The aftermath wasn’t pretty.

Pelican had passed on, that much was certain—the skies were clear, pale blue and cloudless, the sun eagerly burning away over Claybay as if nothing had interrupted it—but whether it was because of the Slayers or not, Wynona wasn’t yet certain. Curious, and wanting to get out of her house to avoid repairing some of the damage done to the storm shutters, she slipped on her still-damp shoes and walked back to the bay.

Town was teeming with people, moving about their homes and businesses, repairing windows, smoothing new layers of clay over divots and cracks. One home had the tiles of its roof blown clean off, a collection of sweating men laying new ones down. Two children walked with a wheelbarrow filled with junk and debris down the street, calling out to people and asking if they were missing a pair of shoes or a mailbox or some tools.

The closer to shore, the worse the damage got. Wynona had to slip through a wall of rickety scaffolding to get to the beach as townspeople reformed what had been the island’s shoreline shops.

Sure enough, the Slayers’ boats were there, too. She hadn’t realized how hard she was hoping they’d still be around until she saw them, out of place and imposing and taking up space in the bay. And now that she was there…

Wynona tensed, a silly, embarrassed regret needling in her chest. She’d come to see if the boys she’d saved were around, but looking at the Slayers, there were at least a hundred of them scattered on ships, on the beach, on the docks. It’d be hard to find them, especially since they hadn’t given their names or ranks.

Pieces of the night before replayed in her mind. The sting of the saltwater. The rage of the ocean. Her body was still aching, her hand stiff beneath a strip of bandage as it worked to heal itself. The boy had said his brother’s name on multiple occasions, but it was lost in the mess of her memory.

“Out of the way, kid.”

Wynona perked up, taking a step back as a Slayer with a dark bowlcut and miserable scowl stalked by, a crate of metal gear and debris in his hands. It looked heavy.

“Hey,” she called, trailing after, putting some pep in her step. “Hey, wait I wanna ask you something—”

The man grunted, hefting his crate higher. “I’m a little busy.”

“It’ll only take a second—”

“Find someone else.”

Wynona frowned, falling behind as he trudged on. Her eyes flicked down to the clay beneath his feet. Tempting. Clasping her hand behind her back, she focused her attention, her energy. The vibrations began to tingle in the cut palm of her hand and—

“Ah!” The man’s foot caught an inexplicable jut of clay, bringing him to his knees. Metal bits tumbled from the crate. With an angry, frustrated groan, he dusted himself off and began to gather them.

“Let me help with that,” Wynona called, jogging over.

The man shot her a suspicious look, but she just grinned back, playing the part of a kind citizen. He could have accused her of manipulating the clay, but what evidence did he have? After all, such powers were a rare thing.

“Leave me alone, kid, alright?” he mumbled. “We ship out today and I’ve got a lot of mech pieces to collect before then.”

“I’ll leave you alone,” Wynona agreed, plucking up bits of metal—bolts and scraps, by the looks of them, crudely lacerated. “I just have a question. I’m looking for someone. Maybe you know where I can find them.”

The man sighed, making it clear in his disdainful stare that he didn’t appreciate her wasting his time like this. Wynona kept hold of the metal in her hands as ransom.

“One of your Slayers. Brown hair, pale skin, tired-looking—”

“That’s, like, a quarter of the people in this outfit,” the man scoffed. “If you don’t have a name, I can’t help you.”

The man reached to take the metal from her hands, but she held it out, not yet ready to give up.

“Wait,” she said, frowning. “There was another person—”

“You asked your one question. Just give it back or—”

“Hey, it’s you!”

Wynona turned, the words close and loud enough to feel as though they were directed her way. Hope lit in her chest as she watched the redheaded boy walk towards her with purpose, his brother trailing behind.

Wyn smirked at the cranky man. “Never mind.”

He snatched the metal from her and deposited it in his crate, muttering to himself as he stomped away. Wynona watched him go, sticking her tongue out at his back before turning to the brothers, unsure of what to say now that they were actually there in front of her.

“Hey,” she said. “You two look a lot more alive than the last time I saw you.”

The boy laughed a little. The brother nodded, eyes softening a bit.

“We were wondering if we were ever gonna run into you again,” the boy said, cheery now that he wasn’t in mortal danger. “It felt weird to leave without talking to the girl who saved our lives. I mean, we don’t even know your name, you know?”

“Wynona,” she said, strangely embarrassed. The way he put it, it sounded far more heroic than she had let it become in her mind.

“Trent,” the redhead introduced. “And my brother, Loch.”

“Thank you,” Loch said, running a hand at the back of his neck. “I didn’t get much of a chance to say it yesterday. I was sort of—”

“Full of water?” Trent supplied.

“Half-dead,” Wynona added, simultaneously.

Loch’s shoulders dropped a bit. “Yeah.”

She gave a half-shrug. “It was nothing.”

“No, it wasn’t nothing,” Loch said. He looked as eased as he was troubled, wrestling with something in his mind. “You jumped in without any mech or armor or weapons to help me and my brother. Nobody asked you to. You just did it. Not everyone would help a pair of strangers like that.” He glanced at the Slayers and their many ships. “There are people in this outfit who wouldn’t have done what you did, even with a mech to protect them.”

Praise was a funny thing, it made Wynona feel big and uneasy and happy all at once. Perhaps she should have thanked them back, but it felt like a funny thing to do. Saying you’re welcome felt strange, too, when talking about life and death. So she took a breath and said, “I was bored. You guys were in trouble. Pelican’s dead. Everything’s good.” She nodded towards the bay. “On to the next big adventure, right?”

“Pelican isn’t dead,” said Loch, conflict shadowing his face. “We put up a good fight, but it was able to get away. I think we took more damage… Next time, we’ll be more prepared.”

“Oh.”

The world moved around them as their words fell away, two factions of people making repairs and shuffling their lives into a state suitable for moving on from their harrowing brushes with Pelican.

“Well.” She took a small step backwards, something pitting in her stomach. Regret, or something that felt just as empty. “You guys probably have a lot to do—”

“Wait.” Trent stepped forward, hand lightly outstretched to stop her. He smiled and looked back at his brother, prompting. “There was something else we wanted to say to you.”

Wyn paused, curious. Trent nudged Loch with his elbow.

“What you did out there was brave.” Loch paused. “Stupid, maybe. But definitely brave.” He smiled a little as well. “We think you’d make a great Slayer with skills like that.”

The words took a moment to register. Belatedly, Wynona’s mouth fell open, disbelief in her voice. “You… want me to join the Sea Monster Slayers?”

“You acted quick and you totally knew what you were doing,” said Trent. “You could be a real help in fighting these monsters.”

“And it pays well,” said Loch, encouraging. “You’d get to travel. See the world. We’ve been almost everywhere between here and home.”

Wynona raised a brow. “How far’s home?”

“Nacirema,” Trent said. 

The sarcasm was wiped from her face. “Oh. That’s pretty far…”

“Plus,” Loch added, “you get to play a part in saving humanity.”

It was a funny idea; Wynona did laugh, a little surprised, before realizing they were serious. The redhead looked to be on the edge of his metaphorical seat, and it became clear they were waiting in earnest for an answer.

No, she thought, the word loaded. But she stopped. Considered it. Nacirema was a far journey, all the way past the Spires and across the Searing Sea, almost impossible to fathom. It might as well have been the other side of the world. And these boys had sailed the waters between, living to tell about it. Certainly sailing there on her own would be dangerous, if not lethal—but if she had the help of the Sea Monster Slayers on her side…

Wynona thought of the photo in her home. The one of her mother. She hadn’t looked this morning, but she expected it would be there still, face-out. She thought of turning it to the wall again and again, every day for the rest of her life; of having the same stilted conversation with her father; of watching him shuffle into the dark of his room day after day, shutting her and the rest of the world out with ease. The thought of returning home to it all suddenly pained her to imagine.

Back home, there was nothing. But out there, on the open ocean, maybe, just maybe, she could find the one thing home was missing.

“Yeah,” she said, surprising even herself.

Trent’s brows raised significantly. “Yeah? As in—”

“Yeah.” Wynona nodded, drawing in a steadying breath. Equal parts anxious and enthused, she smiled. All at once, her insular world seemed as open and wide as the sea itself. “Who do I see about signing up?”