Page 9 of Secretly Abducted
How does he see that? We've known each other for less than an hour, and he reads me like we've shared years.
"I've tended this section for a decade," I say carefully.
"Since you saved me."
The words hang between us. I want to correct him, to explain it was an accident, that I didn't save him so much as fail to kill him, but his expression stops me. There's no doubt there, no uncertainty.
"Why did you approach me?" I ask, needing to change the subject. "On the platform, I mean."
Alex laughs—a short, sharp sound. "Because I knew someone was listening. The Council was being too careful with their words. Someone was there."
"How could you know that?"
"I didn't know. I hoped." He's treading water facing me now, those intense eyes focused completely on my face. "Ten years of hoping, and then you showed up looking guilty and beautiful, and I knew."
Beautiful? The word short-circuits something in my brain. No one has called me beautiful. Efficient, yes. Competent, certainly. But beautiful?
"You don't know me," I manage.
"I know you stayed with me for three days when you didn't understand what was happening. I know you played music to try to comfort me. I know you sang to me." His voice is so certain, so warm. "That's enough to start with."
My skin flares with uncontrolled bioluminescence. I dive under to hide it, swimming down to the deeper zhik'ra, letting the cool water at depth calm my skin. When I surface farther away, Alex has followed, though he's breathing harder from the effort.
"There's a resting platform near here," I say, noting his fatigue. "Old harvest equipment. You could stand."
"Thank god," he gasps, following me to a submerged platform about chest-deep for him. He stands, catching his breath, while I continue treading water nearby.
"Better?"
"Much." He's still breathing hard, but smiling. "I'm not exactly an Olympic swimmer."
I don't know what Olympic means, but I understand he's not a strong swimmer. "We should go back."
"No." The word comes out sharp, immediate. "Please. I just need a minute."
We stay there, him standing on the platform, me swimming lazy circles nearby. The silence should be awkward, but somehow it's not.
"You really thought you hurt me," he says suddenly. "All these years."
I stop swimming, treading water to face him. "You were in distress. Severe distress."
"I was detoxing. Getting the drugs out of my system." He runs a hand through his wet hair, a gesture that seems to indicate frustration. "But you didn't know that. You just saw a kid in pain."
"Yes."
"And you stayed with me anyway."
"Of course."
He looks at me with an expression I can't interpret. "Of course. Like it was obvious. Like anyone would have done the same."
"Anyone would have—"
"No," he interrupts. "They wouldn't have. You could have just... left me in containment and ignored me. But you didn't. You stayed. You tried to help."
I don't know how to respond to that. It hadn't occurred to me to abandon him, even when I didn't understand what was happening.
"I don't understand you," I say finally. "Your directness. The way you look at me. Nothing about you makes sense."
