Page 10 of Rising from the Depths

“I know. Sorry, I just…” He exhaled loudly, glanced at her, and sat in one of the chairs against the wall, lowering his gaze to the floor. “How, uh… How are you doing?”

Eva stared at him silently. She couldn’t comprehend what was going on. Why wasn’t he next to her? Why was there so muchdistancebetween them?

“I lost my leg, Blake,” she said blandly.

Blake swallowed. “I know. I know.Fuck!” He bent forward, dropped his elbows to his knees, and shoved his fingers into his hair.

“What happened, Blake? I can’t… I don’t rememberanything. Please, just tell me what happened.”

“How the hell could you forget any ofthat?” he snapped, looking back up at her.

Eva flinched, eyes wide. In all her time with him, he’d never raised his voice, had never spoken to her so harshly.

He leapt to his feet and paced anxiously, keeping his gaze averted. “How could you forget that thing tearing Addison apart, or ripping off Sam’s arm? Your ownfucking leg?” His face had taken on a sickly pallor.

An image flashed through her mind, a chaotic mess she could barely decipher — churning crimson water with tangled blonde hair floating on its surface.Addison’shair.

Eva swallowed the bile rising in her throat.

“Where are they?” she croaked. “Are they okay?”

Blake spun toward her. His eyes were rounded, pupils tiny, and his lower lip quivered. “Wherearethey, Eva?Dead! They’re fucking dead! Sam, Addy, and Hailey aregone.”

He turned and stormed away from her, hanging his head.

Fresh tears streamed down Eva’s cheeks. Something cold and heavy closed around her heart. She hadn’t known, hadn’t remembered.Stillcouldn’t remember. How terrible a person did that make her? What sort of monsterforgotthe deaths of her friends?

Blake shook his head. “If you hadn’t…”

Eva sniffled and wiped the moisture from her eyes. “Hadn’t what?”

His shoulders rose with a deep breath. He swung his head toward her, but still didn’t look at her. “If you hadn’t said we should go swimming, they’d still be here. We could’ve doneanythingelse, but you wanted to go swimming, and now…”

“You’re blamingme?” Disbelief mixed with her hurt, overwhelming her.

Blake closed his eyes and turned his face away. “I…I can’t do this, Eva.”

Eva’s heart pounded, and her breath came quick and shallow. Her entire body trembled. “Can’t d-dowhat? Blake, what is going on? Why are youbeinglike this?”

“You need to rest,” he replied, walking toward the door.

“Blake! Where are you going?”

“I have to…clear my head. I have an early day tomorrow.” He pulled the door open and hesitated as he was moving through. For an instant, it seemed as though he’d look at her, as though he’d come back inside, and this ongoing nightmare would finally end.

But he continued through and closed the door quietly behind him. Despite his gentleness, the sound of the latch clicking into place possessed a weighty finality that sent a chill through Eva.

Chapter 4

Kronus looked up from the table only briefly to glance at the orange-and-purple sky. A salt-kissed breeze flowed through the open windows, refreshingly cool after another hot day. Even when it was stiflingly warm outside, he usually left the windows open just to hear the waves sighing against the nearby shore, to smell the ocean mist in the air, to remind himself that even if he wasn’thome, the place he belonged was never far away.

He dropped his gaze to the piece of wood in his hand. A pile of curled shavings had gathered on the table beneath it, and the shape he’d subconsciously sought had finally emerged. He eased the blade of his knife against the wood and coaxed away another shaving, smoothing the curve of the little figurine’s shoulder.

It was a human female, slightly less crude than his prior carvings but nothing like the detailed trinkets he’d seen one of the fishermen, Wade, produce. Kronus had carved dozens of creatures — most of them sea dwellers — to pass the time here. The other kraken socialized with one another frequently, and children’s playful shouts and laughter often sounded from the nearby homes, but Kronus was content with his solitude.

No, notcontent. Perhapscomfortablewas the more accurate word.

Holding his palm flat, he studied the little figure atop it, forcing himself to note all its flaws, all the spots requiring refinement.

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