"What are you making?" Vicky's voice cut through the sound of scraping wood.
I didn't have to turn around to know he was standing right behind me, hands on his hips like some nosy neighbor who didn't know how to mind his own business.
"None of your business," I muttered, teeth clenched as I kept working the plank of wood across the edge of the porch. Sweat dripped down my temple, blurring my vision. My shirt was already plastered to my back, and my hair clung to my face in messy strands.
I could practically hear the ocean calling me to dunk my head and get it over with. Anything to cool down. Anything to breathe without him breathing down my neck.
"Oh, you really are a son of a bitch, aren't you?" His voice held a joking lilt, but I didn't miss the edge underneath it.
I didn't bother responding. I'd been called worse by better people.
But Vicky didn't move. If anything, he stepped closer, eyes narrowing.
"What's the plan? You building yourself a way back to the city?" He rocked on his heels, grinning like he'd caught me doing something embarrassing. "I could email someone to come get you, you know. Save you the effort."
I bit the inside of my cheek, forcing down a growl of frustration. "Do you have to stand on my head?" I turned just enough to glare at him over my shoulder. "Seriously. Leave me alone."
Vicky sighed loudly, like I was the exhausting one.
"Look, I'm just trying to help," he shot back, folding his arms. "Why are you such an ass all the time? Your dad—he wasn't like this. He was... kind. Always said you were sharp, smart... said you were a good kid."
He let the words hang, cutting deeper than I wanted them to.
"But honestly?" He leaned forward just a little. "You don't seem that nice to me."
I stood up slowly, wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of my arm.
"Yeah? Well, maybe I'm not." My voice came out flat. Empty.
Nice wasn't something I ever claimed to be. And as far as I was concerned, this guy talked too much to be trustworthy anyway.
I turned back to the raft and tightened the ropes securing the planks, checking the edges again before muttering without looking at him: "I'm going out tonight."
He froze. I felt the change in the air behind me—like his breath hitched in his throat.
I glanced over my shoulder.
"What?" I asked, catching the stunned look on his face.
"Tell me you're joking," he whispered, his voice suddenly small. Like I'd just told him I planned to set myself on fire.
"Why?" I frowned, standing up straighter.
"You're seriously going to throw yourself into the lion's den? After everything I told you last night? About how dangerous they are?"
I let out a breath, shaking my head.
"I'm not going to capture anything," I said, grabbing the side of the raft and giving it a firm push toward the water to test its weight. "I just want to see one. Maybe get a picture or two—before my phone dies for good."
"I might not like you that much," Vicky muttered under his breath as he helped me push the raft toward the water, "but I sure as hell don't want to see you die."
I didn't bother looking at him. "I won't," I replied simply.
The raft floated like it belonged there—steady, buoyant, better than I had dared to hope. I gripped the edge and climbed on carefully, holding my breath until I realized it was holding my weight just fine.
I tilted my head back, letting the salty breeze hit my face, and stared up at the deepening sky.
For the first time in... I don't know how long, I felt proud. Proud of something I had built.
I had done this.
I imagined Dad standing here, watching me. I bet he'd be proud, too. Maybe even smiling that rare, crooked smile of his.
As the sun began its slow descent, I went back to the house to prepare for the night.
I made two egg rolls—simple but filling—and packed them into a small box. I grabbed a candle, my flashlight, and my phone, feeling a little more prepared than I had any right to be.
I could almost picture it—me holding up proof, showing Mom the photo. Making her see. Making her live with the guilt of never believing in Dad. Of treating him like a madman when he'd only been right.
I wasn't just doing this for Dad anymore. I was doing this for me. For both of us.
Vicky followed me down to the shoreline like a shadow I couldn't shake.
"You're insane, you know that?" he scoffed, trailing behind me. "You really think you can float out there on your little banana raft and they'll come crawling up to say hello? You're overestimating yourself."
I tightened my grip on the box and flashlight, not slowing down.
"Didn't ask for your opinion," I shot back, stepping onto the raft and pushing off with the oar.
The wind was with me tonight, carrying the raft faster than I expected. Vicky's voice trailed after me like an afterthought.
"Your dad would never have approved of this!" he yelled.
I turned slightly, shouting back over my shoulder,
"Then you didn't know my dad."
The wind carried me to the far side of the island—the rocky side—where jagged cliffs stretched over the water like blackened bones.
I drifted under a massive stone arch, almost like a cave with walls of rough, wet rock. Faint vines and plants clung to the overhead crevices, swaying in the salty air.
The water beneath me was dead still. Dark, glassy, silent.
I knew this place. I'd seen it in Dad's sketches, read about it in his notes.
The Hotspot.
The place where he had seen them the most.
I let the oar rest at my side and sat back on the raft, sitting in the dark, my heart ticking in my ears.
Waiting.
Minutes stretched into hours—or at least it felt that way.
I checked my phone.
Two hours.
That's all it had been.
The air felt heavier now, pressing down on me like a weight.
Nothing had happened.
Nothing at all.
I sighed and opened the food box, pulling out the egg rolls and taking small bites, though my stomach was already starting to churn.
The longer I floated, the more nauseous I felt, like the motion of the raft was crawling under my skin.
Halfway through the second roll, I knew I'd made a mistake. My stomach twisted violently, and before I could stop it, I leaned over the side of the raft and threw up, emptying everything into the black water below.
I wiped my mouth on my sleeve, cursing under my breath.
That's when I heard it.
A splash.
Loud. Sharp.
Far off—but not too far.
I froze, my heart punching against my ribs. I strained to see through the dark but couldn't make out anything beyond the soft ripple of water.
I forced myself to move, rinse my mouth with the water I had bought, trying to shake the crawling sensation building up my spine.
I grabbed my flashlight and aimed it toward the sound—but there was nothing.
Just still water.
Dead quiet.
My shoulders sagged as I sat back down, convincing myself it was probably a fish, or something small that lived in the rocks.
I lay down on the raft, staring up at the ceiling of the stone arch.
And that's when I heard another splash.
Closer.
Much closer.
I bolted upright, my blood turning cold.
My hand tightened around the flashlight.
This wasn't funny anymore.
I flashed the beam of my flashlight in every direction—slowly, carefully—slicing through the still water, the stone walls, the floating debris.
Nothing.
Just shifting shadows and silence.
I waited.
Straining my ears for another splash, another sign.
But the ocean had gone quiet again. Too quiet.
Minutes passed. Maybe hours.
I kept waiting, but the exhaustion eventually got the better of me.
At some point, I drifted off—curled up awkwardly on the raft, rocking gently with the tide.
I woke to the warm sting of sunlight brushing against my face.
Blinking blearily, I sat up and looked around. The rock formation overhead was glowing faintly with morning light, the water beneath me calm and deceptively peaceful.
I sighed, heavy and hollow, knowing I'd come back with nothing.
Not even a glimpse.
The raft bumped softly against the shore as I pulled it up onto the sand.
I was cold. Stiff. And more than a little defeated.
Vicky sat on the porch steps, rubbing his eyes like he'd just woken up from the most restful sleep of his life.
"The great adventurer returns," he teased with a yawn, stretching his arms overhead.
I didn't have the energy to snap back.
I'll try again tonight," I muttered, dragging myself toward the house.
"Stubborn," he called after me, chuckling. "I like it."
I didn't turn around. I just headed straight for the bathroom, stripping off my damp clothes and standing under the freezing trickle of water, wishing I could justify wasting coal on a hot shower. But I couldn't. Not yet.
I scrubbed off the salt and sweat as best I could, goosebumps breaking across my skin from the cold. By the time I emerged, all I could think about was food.
"Should I make breakfast for you?" Vicky's voice echoed from the living room.
"Yes, please," I groaned, dropping onto the bamboo bench like every muscle in my body had given up on me.
When I came back out, the smell hit me like a freight train.
Coffee. And pancakes.
Real pancakes.
"Oh my God," I whispered, eyes going wide as I slid onto the bench, my mouth watering like I hadn't eaten in years.
Vicky grinned like he'd just pulled off a magic trick.
The food sat between us—steaming, golden, real.
I didn't even wait. I dug in, stuffing my face like a starved animal.
"How did you even make all this?" I mumbled around a mouthful of pancake, barely looking up.
"When you live on a stranded island long enough, you learn to make food your priority," Vicky said, sitting back with his own plate. "Anyway, I'm emailing my people in the city for supplies later. You need anything?"
I stopped mid-bite, blinking at him.
"You can do that?"
Vicky snorted. "Of course I can."
I leaned back, suddenly realizing all the things I could have asked for days ago.
"I'll make you a list," I said quickly, finishing my coffee like it was liquid gold.
Later, I scribbled down everything I could think of—Food, obviously.
But also night vision binoculars, a fully charged power bank, a fresh notebook, and a handful of other things I knew would make this crazy mission a little less impossible.
When I handed him the list, Vicky raised an eyebrow.
"This is gonna cost you," he warned, like I hadn't already done the math in my head.
"I've got a credit card," I replied, though a flicker of doubt twisted in my stomach. Would they even accept that out here?
Vicky shrugged, pulling up his email draft.
"Okay then," he muttered, typing away.
For the first time, I actually felt like maybe I wasn't completely on my own out here.
I drifted off sometime after breakfast, the exhaustion from the night before pulling me under like a tide I couldn't fight.
And just like every other time I'd closed my eyes on this island, I dreamt of the ocean.
Deep. Endless. Swallowing me whole.
When I finally woke, the sunlight was softer, slanting in through the window. The air smelled faintly of something warm—food.
I sat up groggily, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Vicky stood by the tiny stove, moving around like he owned the place, stirring something in a pan. For the first time since he showed up, I didn't immediately feel the urge to throw him out.
He was...
bearable.
Maybe it was the food.
Maybe it was the silence—for once.
Either way, if he kept cooking and learned to talk less, we might actually survive the same airspace.
But knowing Vicky...
The second one wasn't happening.
"I'm going out for a walk," I announced flatly, standing and stretching until my spine popped.
A normal person would've thanked him for the meal. Maybe smiled. Maybe even said something like "smells good."
But I wasn't wired that way. Never had been.
"Thank yous" made my skin itch. "Sorries" felt even worse—like they took something from me I didn't know how to give.
I never knew what to do with people's kindness. Never knew where to put it in my head without feeling like it came with some invisible price tag.
So, I left. Without saying anything more.
The second my feet hit the sand, I felt my chest loosen, my breathing slow.
The ocean stretched endlessly ahead of me, waves rolling soft and steady. The sunlight shimmered on the water like liquid glass, warm on my skin but not heavy. The breeze carried the faintest tang of salt and seaweed, clean and sharp in my lungs.
For the first time since I'd arrived...I noticed.
I really noticed how beautiful it all was.
The sand beneath my bare feet, warm and powder-soft. The rhythmic pull and retreat of the tide, as if the ocean itself was breathing. The sky—wide open, endless.
I didn't need noise. I didn't need people.
The silence here was alive. It filled the spaces in me I hadn't even realized were empty.
Funny how you don't always know what you're missing until you finally get it.
If this was what crazy looked like... Spending my days in the middle of nowhere, miles from civilization, breathing in peace I didn't have to explain or justify—
Then yeah.
I'd go crazy for this, any day.