Chapter 12: Madeline

After another ten or maybe fifteen minutes of walking, we pass over a narrow little wooden bridge that creaks under our boots and lands us right at the edge of the harbour.

And just like that—we’re here.

The air smells sharper now, like diesel and salt and something vaguely metallic, like rust and brine and cold nets that haven’t fully dried. The boats are everywhere—lined up like teeth, some bobbing gently, others still and silent like sleeping animals.

There are sailboats with faded canvas sails, fishing boats with bright yellow sides, wooden ones with peeling names and stories I’ll never know. Some have buoys hanging from the rails like ornaments. Some look too fragile to even be floating. Some are clearly well-used—worn and scratched but clearly beloved. Others are newer, more technical, almost intimidating.

Finn points toward a row of working boats.

“See those? Most of these are locals. Fish, haul, sell. It’s a hustle. You can make good money if you don’t mind being up at 3am and smelling like mackerel for life.”

“Some sell to markets around here,” Liam adds. “Others drive their catch to bigger towns. There’s this one guy—Pete—sells straight from the back of his truck like a legend.”

I try to take it all in—the water, the noise, the quiet lull of boats rocking side to side. Seagulls wheel above, screeching like they’re arguing over breakfast. A woman in orange overalls tosses a rope across a dock with one hand and a cigarette in the other like it’s nothing.

And then, at the end of the dock, I see it.

A research vessel, larger than the rest. Not massive, not a ship, but it has a bulk to it. A purpose.

The Vigil, stenciled in white paint across the side, bold and simple.

There’s another boat docked beside it—similar size and build—but I can’t make out its name from this angle. The wind shifts, tugging my jacket open as we step closer.

A small metal step spans the gap between the dock and the boat. Finn hops on easily, like he’s done it a thousand times, and turns to offer his hand.

“Welcome aboard, new girl.”

I hesitate, only for a second, but take his hand and step across.

The deck shifts under me—just a little—and it feels unreal. Like standing on a living thing. There’s a low hum in my bones from the water, from the engines or the wind or the nerves crawling up my spine.

It’s incredible.

And terrifying.

And perfect.

My hand is still in Finn’s when a voice cuts through the air behind me.

“Oh. You’re here.”

I turn.

Sloane is standing a few feet away, her arms crossed, wearing a thick navy blue jacket with a small stitched patch on the chest that reads CAPTAIN in yellow. Her hair’s tucked under a black beanie and she’s already got a smudge of grease or something on her cheek.

I blink at her. “Uh… good morning.”

She doesn’t return the greeting. Just looks at me like I might already be a problem. I don’t understand how she even beat us here—she was in the house when I left. Was there a second tunnel out I missed?

She shifts her eyes to Finn. “Show her the layout. Liam, with me—someone didn’t tie the aft rig properly and it’s already drifted.”

Liam groans but follows her without question, and just like that, it’s me and Finn on the deck.

He turns to me with a half-smile. “Don’t worry about Sloane. That’s her version of a hug.”

I smirk. “She’s very… warm.”

“Once, she actually told me I was doing an ‘adequate job.’ I cried for three hours.”

I laugh, feeling a little of the tightness in my chest let go.

He gestures ahead. “C’mon, I’ll show you around.”

He leads me along the starboard side, pointing things out casually.

“This here’s the net winch. Not for fishing—obviously—but for hauling up the survey gear and dragging sonar lines. We also sometimes do sea-floor sediment collection, so it gets a workout.”

I nod, trying to remember everything.

“Inside that hatch—gear storage. Pretty chaotic in there, I’ll warn you. Someone’s always losing a sensor or misplacing a buoy tracker.”

“And this?” I ask, gesturing toward what looks like a tiny control tower at the back.

He grins. “That’s the wheelhouse. Sloane’s kingdom. You don’t go in unless invited. It’s like the forbidden forest.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

We keep moving. He shows me the water sampling stations, the bench they use for tagging equipment, the secondary radio unit, the emergency kits.

“And this is the best part,” he says, pointing to a small bench built into the side railing. “Prime sun spot when the weather’s good. We take lunch here, sometimes naps. But don’t let Charlie catch you napping—she’ll assign you manual logging just to spite you.”

I let out a soft laugh, staring at the way the sun hits the water out past the wharf, the way it turns the waves silver.

It’s only the first real day.

But I think I’m already falling in love—with the boats, the people, the smell of salt, the endless hum of water under everything.

And maybe even… with the feeling of not knowing what’s coming next.

Liam is arguing with Sloane about something to do with the rope tension on the stern, and from the sound of it, he's losing.

“I did check the damn cleat,” Liam snaps.

Sloane doesn’t even look up from what she’s doing. “Then you should’ve checked with your eyes open.”

Finn chuckles under his breath and leans toward me. “This is every Tuesday morning. Honestly, I feel left out if she doesn’t insult me at least once before 6AM.”

I stifle a smile, but it slips out anyway.

He stretches and throws an arm casually over my shoulders, like it’s something he’s always done. “The boss and Charlie should be here soon,” he says, his voice lighter now. “You’re lucky, actually. Today’s kind of a weird one—we’re not going out for a full shift. There was a mechanical issue yesterday, so we’re running some test trips. You’ll hang back and get the rundown from the crew. But tomorrow—”

He grins. “Tomorrow’s your big day.”

“I still don’t get what you actually do on the boat,” I say, turning toward him. “You and Liam. You said deckhand but—”

But I stop.

Because over Finn’s shoulder, Charlie is walking down the wharf toward us, jacket zipped up to her chin and face bright with that easy, open smile of hers.

And beside her—

It’s him.

My whole body goes still.

The man from the red light. From the silent street and the soft hum of his car engine. From the quiet smile that hasn’t left my head for two days straight. He’s just as devastating in the morning light—maybe more. His hair is damp at the edges, tousled like he’s been working already, and his plain white shirt clings slightly to his chest like it was thrown on without much thought.

He moves like he owns the wind and isn’t bothered by it.

I realize, with sudden horror, that my mouth is open.

I shut it.

Finn’s still talking, but I don’t hear a word. My whole body prickles with something I can’t name—anxiety, recognition, curiosity, adrenaline? I don’t know. He was already larger than life when I saw him through a car window in the dark.

Now he’s here.

Breathing the same air. Standing next to Charlie. Looking around like this place belongs to him.

Because maybe it does.

I try to swallow my nerves, school my expression into something neutral, calm, not obvious, not “hey I spent way too long thinking about your smirk while lying in bed the other night.”

Finn’s hand drops from my shoulder and he says something about going to meet them, already hopping off the side step and onto the wharf.

I follow, legs heavier than they were a second ago, brain fuzzier, heart louder.

I walk toward Charlie.

And him.

And whatever happens next.