I should have pulled away. Every reason not to do this flashed through my mind: Ford, asleep in the DC apartment I still called home; Karma, inside the bunkhouse, probably taking notes for my trial. But Braden’s hand was warm around mine, and for the first time all day, I didn’t want to think. I wanted to feel.

The bunkhouse steps were wooden, weathered to a silvery gray, and cold against the backs of my thighs when I sat down. Braden settled beside me, close enough for our knees to touch. He was still wearing that absurdly casual T-shirt like the temperature didn’t bother him at all.

“You’re shaking.” His voice dropped, concern threading through the flirtation.

“I’m fine. Just the cold.”

“Come here.” He turned toward me and placed both hands on my upper arms, rubbing them in brisk, firm strokes. His palms were enormous and warm—almost unnaturally warm, like he’d been holding them near a fire. The friction sent tingles racing down my arms and across my shoulders, spreading through my chest like something carbonated.

I told myself it was just body heat. Don’t read too much into it. Basic thermodynamics.

“You know,” he said, his hands slowing but not stopping, “my place is about twenty minutes from here. If you wanted to warm up properly.”

My brain short-circuited for a full three seconds. “Your place?”

“Quiet. Better heating. Actual furniture instead of—” He nodded toward the bunkhouse window, where I could see the silhouette of someone—probably Kash—doing something unidentifiable. “Whatever’s happening in there.”

“Is this your version of a pickup line?” I asked, my voice coming out steadier than I felt. “Because I’ve heard better.”

“From whom?”

“The pizza boxes. They were very persuasive.”

He laughed—a real laugh, not the polished social kind—and it did something to my chest that I'd blame on the beer. His hands stilled on my arms, thumbs resting against the inside of my elbows, and for a moment we just sat there, the night pressing in around us.

“Nah. I was mostly kidding. I won’t push… yet. But I’d like to see you again,” he said.

“I’ve got a trip next weekend—some cave diving down in Florida. You should come. Meet me at the rest stop on the way, and we can drive down together.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“That’s good enough for me.”

The moment broke as he took a deep breath, pulled his hands away, and left my arms cold in a way that had nothing to do with temperature.

I watched him descend the steps, his movement fluid in the darkness, and only then did I understand what I actually wanted.

“Wait.” I stood, wobbling slightly. “You’ve been drinking all night. You shouldn’t drive.”

He turned, and something flickered across his face—amusement that ended in a smile. “I’m fine.”

I wanted to smack my forehead. I sounded like a nagging wife.

“You had at least four beers.”

“Five, actually. And two shots.” He held up his hand, fingers spread. “But alcohol doesn’t affect me.”

“That’s not—I mean, that’s not how biology works. Everyone’s affected by—”

“Eva.” He said my name the way you’d calm a spooked horse, and I hated how well it worked. “I promise you, I’m completely sober. More sober than you, definitely. Probably more sober than anyone in that building.”

I wanted to argue. I wanted to cite blood alcohol content, metabolism rates, and the basic physiological effects of ethanol on the human body. But then he walked me to the stairs and steered me up them.

“Sleep well.” He stayed at the bottom, watching me climb the steps. From the top, I gave a small, uncertain wave.

Moments later, a black Land Rover Defender pulled out. Expensive and understated. The kind of vehicle that screamed quiet money and discretion, something you’d see in a diplomatic motor pool, not a dive camp parking lot. Definitely not the car of a weekend dive master working for tips. I stood watching the taillights long after they disappeared.

The bunkhouse was relatively quiet when I slipped back in. Mario was snoring, and a few looked to be on their phones.

The bathroom was empty; with this many people, that was a godsend. And I talked myself into a much-needed shower, deciding it would warm me and sober me up.

My bunk was the top rack, of course—tucked directly over Karma’s. I gripped the ladder, the cold wood jarring against my skin, and hauled myself up, collapsing onto the thin mattress.

The popcorn ceiling hid most of the stains, but a large water spot directly over my head, a murky shape I couldn’t stop staring at as my own thoughts grew just as messy. I should have called Ford back, but knew calling him this trashed was a terrible idea. I covered my face with my hands, then stared at my own fingers, thinking of Braden’s.

I remembered his hands engulfing the pizza boxes, their warmth on my arms—an easy, casual strength that didn’t need to perform. Then his eyes, that impossible blue, burned in my memory. He was a complete enigma.

Alcohol doesn’t affect me.

People said things like that. College guys at parties, middle-aged women at wine tastings. It was always a lie, or at best a misreading of their own tolerance. But Braden hadn’t said it with bravado. He’d said it the way you’d state your shoe size. Factual. Certain.

Then he drove away in a car that was out of place in this crappy beach town.

I closed my eyes, but the darkness behind my lids wasn’t black. It was a luminous, swimming blue, like looking up through water toward sunlight. Shapes moved in the depths—hands reaching, boxes arcing, eyes glowing—and the current pulled me under.

Not the surface ocean, the one with waves and sunscreen and cruise ships, but the deep one. The one that existed below recreational limits, below sunlight, below the point where colors stopped being colors and became something else. I was sinking through it, pressure building in my ears, and somewhere ahead of me, two points of blue light glowed like bioluminescence.

Braden’s eyes.

He was ahead of me, always ahead of me, moving through the water without effort, without tanks, without bubbles. His body cut the current as if it wasn’t there, and when I tried to follow, my legs pumped uselessly against water that had thickened to syrup.

He turned. Smiled. Reached back for me.

And I woke up.