Zoey offered a thin smile. "I dreamed of standing in water up to my waist, staring at my own reflection. It smiled before I did."
Jude nodded slowly. "We're close. Every memory counts."
They worked, their hands efficient. He watched them, heart clenched, knowing that each of them was scarred. Not outwardly, though some had bruises in memory, but in the core where trust lived. And right now, that core was fragile.
At noon they shared salty fish and boiled reeds, salads of young leaves. Conversation was sparse. A breeze stirred leaves overhead. The island hummed.
"Afternoon," Stella said suddenly, stepping into the clearing and brushing off her pants. In her hand was a dry parchment scroll. "I found this in the storage root cellar."
Jude took it, scanning the rough handwriting, the same spirals they'd used for markers. When he frowned, she added, "Looked like you left it."
