Page 31 of Secretly Abducted
"It was practical. Logical."
"And how do you feel about it now?"
I release the debris, watching it drift away on the current. Look out at my damaged zhik'ra sections, at the work that stretches ahead of me. Work I'll do alone, the way I always have. The way I thought I wanted.
The emptiness in me feels vast as the ocean itself.
"Empty," I whisper.
Kav'eth stands, brushing water droplets from his robes. "From what the humans have shared about their relationship customs, persistence is characteristic—they've describedpursuing partners for weeks, even after rejection. They bring gifts, offer help with projects, find excuses to maintain contact."
"Alex said he came across space to find me."
"That level of determination doesn't disappear overnight." He moves toward the walkway, then pauses. "They're remarkably persistent, by the way. And surprisingly patient when they realize you need time to process things differently than they do."
He leaves me sitting among the storm debris, legs dangling in the warm water, surrounded by the detritus of my carefully ordered life. Persistent. Patient. The words echo in the gentle splash of waves.
But it doesn't matter. I made the right choice. He was moving too fast, wanting too much. I've been alone for ten years—I can't just suddenly adapt to that level of intensity.
I slide back into the water, letting its embrace wash away the conversation. The zhik'ra doesn't judge. Doesn't want things I don't know how to give. Doesn't make my skin light up with colors I can't control.
The morning passes in a steady rhythm. Dive, assess, cut, surface. The damaged sections tell a story of violence—not just from the storm, but from years of careful cultivation undone in hours. I work methodically through Section C, my movements automatic, meditative. Each salvaged piece feels like a small victory against chaos.
The water grows warmer as the day progresses, and I'm considering a break when I notice movement at the edge of my vision. Someone swimming toward my work area—stroke patterns clumsy, inefficient, definitely not Nereidan.
My heart stops for a moment, then restarts at double speed.
Alex surfaces twenty meters away, treading water awkwardly, his face flushed from exertion and bright withdetermination. He's wearing borrowed swimming gear—shorts that look too big and a shirt that clings to his torso, outlining muscles I shouldn't be noticing.
"Can I help?" he calls across the distance, voice slightly breathless.
I'm so shocked I nearly sink. Water closes over my head for a moment before I remember to keep moving. "Alex."
His name escapes like a prayer, like a curse, like something I've been holding back all morning.
He swims closer, each stroke labored but persistent. When he's near enough to speak normally, I can see the effort the journey cost him—rapid breathing, tired eyes, but that stubborn set to his jaw that suggests he wants to be here, despite being sent away.
"I know you don't want me here," he says, still working to stay afloat. "I just... there's so much damage, and you're working alone, and I thought maybe..." He trails off, then tries again. "Can I help? With the repairs? I promise I'll stay on the other side of the section. We don't even have to talk."
The morning sun catches the water droplets on his skin, each one gleaming like scattered jewels. His hair is darker when wet, and there are freckles across his shoulders I hadn't noticed before. He looks so different from this morning—uncertain, almost defeated. Nothing like the confident man who touched me with such casual intimacy.
"You don't know anything about zhik'ra cultivation," I manage to say.
"I can learn. You can show me what needs cutting, what needs saving. I can carry things." He shifts in the water, clearly struggling to maintain position. "Please? I need... I need to do something useful."
The smart answer is no. Send him away again. Maintain the distance that keeps me safe.
But the desperate edge in his voice, the way he's fighting just to stay afloat while asking to help—it makes me want to keep him close.
"How did you find me?" I ask instead.
"I remembered the direction we swam yesterday. Asked a farmer at the main platform which sections were storm-damaged." He pauses, water lapping at his chin as a small wave passes. "Why did you think I came?"
The question catches me off guard. I float there, studying his face—the honest confusion, the careful hope. "I... didn't expect you to come at all."
"After this morning?"
"After this morning."
