Page 41 of Stranded

“Only one other.”

“I know you aren’t ready to talk about what happened yet or how long you’ve been here.” Her body tenses up, so I continue quickly. “But will you tell me, were you in a plane crash, too?”

She’s quiet for a minute and just when I give up hope of an answer, she speaks. “Yes.”

Driven by the need to comfort her, I gently wrap an arm around her shoulders and ease her against my side. When her head rests lightly against my chest, I finally let out the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Across from us, Bower catches my eye and flashes an approving smile, forming an ‘okay’ with his fingers.

My lips twitch in amusement as I gently rub her arm.

“We’re in this together now, Zee. Everything’s going to be okay.”

Chapternineteen

Darla

Icrouch down on the sand, clearing a small patch with my hand before placing the bundle of dried moss I collected in the center.

“You want something dry and soft like this moss, to catch the spark.” I tell them as I pull out my knife and a small rock.

Weston kneels beside me. I get a whiff of his scent as he leans forward, resting his arm across his knee. He smells like the ocean and mangoes, and I lick my lips, my mouth watering in approval.

What the hell, Zee?

I shake my head of that thought and notice he’s watching my hands like he’s trying to memorize every twitch of my fingers. “And the knife?” he asks, his voice lower now.

I hand it to him, my fingers brushing his. My pulse jumps, betraying me. “Strike it hard and fast against the rock. The angle matters,” I say quickly, pulling back like I’ve touched something hot. He nods, eyes flicking up to meet mine for half a second before dropping to the blade again.

I think about how he wrapped his around me on our walk here. I almost flung it off, but then the strangest thing happened, I started tofeel… safe. It was a strange and welcome feeling, although not completely foreign to me. There was a time I felt like that, back before I arrived here.

I’m not sure what to think about the fact that I’m starting to feel safe around these men, starting to trust them. What’s the end goal here? It’s clear they plan on doing everything they can to be rescued, but leaving this island is not something I’m interested in, not anymore.

This is my home now, I know how to survive here and who my enemies are. The same can’t be said if I were to leave this island.

Weston strikes the rock again. Sparks dance, but the moss doesn’t catch. I reach over, placing my hand on his to adjust the angle. My fingers tremble against his knuckles. “Like this,” I murmur. His eyes lift again, slower this time, and the look he gives me makes my stomach flip.

I snatch my hand back. “Try again,” I say, trying to act like the way he’s looking at me doesn’t make my body react in a way that I don’t completely understand.

Kingsley and Bower hover nearby, quiet for once, and I can feel their curiosity pressing in around me. I don’t think they even realize how loud their presence is. After fifteen years of silence, three men just existing nearby feels like a thunderstorm under my skin.

He tries again, this time exactly the way I showed him. Sparks jump, the moss quickly catches, and a thin thread of smoke rises up. I lean back, heart thudding louder than the tiny crackle of the budding flame.

Bower grins, crouching on the other side. “That was hot.” My eyes dart to his, unsure of his meaning, but he just smirks like he enjoys making me squirm.

Kingsley claps Weston on the back. “Look at you, Mr. Survivalist.”

Weston glances at me instead of responding, like he's gauging my reaction.

I quickly look away, telling him, “Good job,” then focus on coaxing the flame bigger, feeding it with twigs and dry leaves until it’s steady. The warmth brushes my skin, but it does nothing to ease the chill running down my spine. My body’s confused. Too many new sensations. Too much attention. I’m not used to it.

Kingsley crouches nearby, eyeing the small flame with a nod of approval. He nudges a stick toward the edge of the fire, then pulls it back with a faint scowl as a spark flies towards his foot. “That almost got my shoe,” he mutters under his breath.

Bower laughs, shaking his head. “They were doomed the minute you got off the plane.”

“They’re Amiri,” Kingsley replies quietly, like that should explain everything.

Bower snorts. “Don’t worry, man. Give it a few more days and we’ll all be barefoot and wearing shorts made from boar hide.”

“As long as Zee makes them,” Kingsley replies. “If it’s up to us, we’d probably end up wearing coconut shells and leaf fronds. Or worse—Weston gets creative and we end up in loincloths that fall off when we sneeze.”

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