Silence settled over the cave like a living thing—thick, cold, and heavy with the residue of his absence. The water's rhythm slowed to a sluggish pulse, as if the ocean itself were waiting to see what she would become without the creature who ruled its depths. Isla pressed her back to the cavern wall and hugged her knees tight, trying to keep her body from shaking. The fish lay sprawled on the stone before her, its iridescent scales catching faint glimmers of algae-light. Its milky eye stared at her, unblinking, accusatory.
Hunger curled through her belly like a tightening fist.
She tried ignoring it. Tried swallowing it down. Tried pressing her hands so hard into her ribs she felt bruises blooming beneath the pressure. But the ache sharpened, deepening into something raw and primal. She was cold. Exhausted. Drenched in fear. And now her body demanded fuel with the merciless insistence of an animal.
She closed her eyes and breathed water—steady, borrowed breaths that didn't belong to her. It felt wrong. Unnatural. Every inhale was a reminder that her life no longer followed human rules.
She didn't want to live like this.
She didn't want to need him.
She didn't want to need anything from these depths.
But her body disagreed.
She stared at the fish. The way its skin glistened. The faint bead of blood that drifted into the water in thin scarlet curls. The memory of Caleb's betrayal rose like bile—sharp, humiliating, suffocating. She had been thrown from her world. Thrown like trash. And now she was expected to eat raw meat off a rock like some helpless creature.
Her throat tightened.
"I won't," she whispered to herself. "I can't."
But her stomach snarled.
Her mouth filled with the taste of salt that wasn't hunger and wasn't disgust—something in between. Something she couldn't name. Her hands trembled as she reached out, not toward the fish but toward her hair, pushing wet strands back from her face. Her fingers brushed her temple. She winced.
The wound from the hull throbbed—dull, constant, wet.
She leaned forward slowly, bracing her hands against the slab. The fish remained still. The cavern seemed to hold its breath. Even the algae dimmed, making the chamber feel smaller, darker.
She reached toward it—then recoiled violently, pressing her knuckles to her mouth as her stomach flipped again.
"No," she whispered through her fingers, shaking. "I can't. I can't."
During the next span of silence, something shifted in the water. A faint murmur—a whisper of current—brushed her calves, stirring the surface. She lifted her head sharply.
He wasn't there.
But his presence… lingered.
She dragged her gaze to the tunnel and saw nothing but the slight sway of kelp fronds and the faint green glow of distant algae. Yet something in the dark felt watchful. Waiting. Measuring the distance between her breaking point and her pride.
She clenched her jaw and turned away again.
Her stomach twisted so hard she doubled over.
Her hands slapped the stone, bracing her weight. Sweat—or something like it—beaded along her brow, mixing with the salt water. A wave of dizziness washed over her, leaving her ears ringing. The water in her lungs felt thick, heavy, like she was swallowing the sea with each desperate breath.
Stop being weak, she told herself. You survived the fall. You survived drowning. You survived him. You can do this.
But her hands still shook when they reached again.
She touched the fish.
Cold. Slick. Firm.
Her fingers slipped on the scales and she nearly gagged.
"Just sushi," she whispered under her breath. The lie tasted like desperation. "Just sushi."
She dug her nails into the skin and peeled.
The sound was wet, sticky, visceral—nothing like the clean, quiet cut of a knife on a cutting board. Flesh separated from bone. She jerked back instinctively, bile rising, but forced her hand to stay, forced her grip to hold.
The first strip came free—pale, glistening, trembling.
"So much like sushi," she told herself again. "Just—just don't think."
She closed her eyes.
Lifted her hand.
Brought the flesh to her lips.
Her stomach heaved at the first touch. The cold texture was a shock. Her gag reflex reacted instantly—but she forced her throat to open. Forced herself to swallow.
Salt exploded across her tongue—heavy, metallic, raw.
Tears burned down her cheeks as she coughed through the motion her body still half rejected. The taste spread deeper, a richness she wasn't prepared for, thick and wild and too alive. But warmth flooded her veins a moment later—heat, energy, a strange clarity that broke through the fog of dizziness clouding her senses.
Her body wanted more.
Her mind rebelled.
Her stomach twisted again—this time with need. Hunger sharpened into something almost painful, urging her forward. She reached blindly, grabbing at the fish, ripping another piece free. It came easier this time—her fingers knew where to pull, how to find the spine, how to angle her grip to snap flesh from bone.
Just like sushi, she repeated desperately.
Just sushi.
Not raw death.
Not survival.
Just sushi.
She devoured another strip. Then another.
By the time she stopped, half the fish had vanished, her hands slick with oil and blood, her breath trembling but steadier than before. She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, swallowing down the last surge of nausea.
Her pearls pressed coldly against her throat with every swallowed breath.
She sat very still as the cavern pulsed around her—water lapping her calves, light flickering across the stone. Her body slowly unfurled from its trembling knot. Warmth spread through her limbs, dulling the ache in her bones.
She wiped her hand across her mouth. Blood streaked her palm.
She stared at it.
Stared at how human it looked and how inhuman the act that had put it there felt.
"I'm still me," she whispered softly. "I'm still Isla."
A distant shift of water echoed down the tunnel, a soft thrum that vibrated through the slab.
Her breath caught.
She glanced over her shoulder.
Nothing.
No Kaelen.
No towering silhouette.
No glowing eyes in the dark.
But the feeling—
the unmistakable sensation of being watched—
pressed into her back like a shadow leaning close.
She swallowed hard, chest aching.
He had known she would eat.
He had known the hunger would win.
He had known she would bend.
And somewhere in that unseen darkness, she felt his approval slide over her like a slow, sinking tide.
Not kind.
Not cruel.
Simply claimed.
She curled into herself and closed her eyes, but even the darkness behind her lids carried the echo of his presence, the memory of his mouth stained red with fish blood, and the sharp, merciless truth he had already carved into her:
Survival obeyed him.
And so did she—
whether she wanted to or not.