“C’mon, Captain Reyes, don’t make me drag you,” Brigid snickered, tugging at Isla’s jacket sleeve with a grunt. Her blue eyes were sharp, and her brows raised in that ‘I’m not doing this alone’ look made Isla sigh as they got to the female quarters. Maeva had a similar look, saying she had to get it over with at some point.

“I’m not arguing,” Isla muttered, already unzipping her jacket, the saltwater-stiff fabric peeling off with a soft scrape. “But if you’re looking for volunteers to go first, it’s not gonna be me since you need to get me those recordings.” She tossed the jacket over the hook near the doorway, shaking the wetness from her fingers.

I guess they’re trying to pull their minds away from the madness we just experienced… Not a bad idea.

“Too bad,” Maeva chimed in, stepping up behind them with her medkit slung over one shoulder. She pulled a penlight from the front pocket, clicking it on with a small grin. “Captain goes first, and you’re next, Brigid. Can’t risk the brain of the ship going fog-mad.”

“You’re hilarious,” Isla snorted, sitting on the edge of a clothing storage crate, resting her elbows on her knees. She flexed her fingers a few times, gaze shifting to their medic as she waited with her hands on her hips. “Check Brigid first. She might as well be captain with how she’s been barking orders.”

“Barking in general, more like it,” Maeva snickered, turning the light to her. “Open up! Don’t want those sea slugs getting attached to your throat.”

“Watch it, you two,” Brigid grumbled, rolling her arm in its socket, wincing slightly and shivering. “Don’t even talk about gross and slimy things. Hollow’s comments are bad enough. I’ll toss you both overboard just to see if The Fog wants you back so I can go home.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s tried to throw me overboard,” Isla mused, eyes half-lidded, her tone so dry it could’ve started a wildfire. “There was this one guy on this Pacific expedition that didn’t like my accent. What an excuse, am I right? And you’d miss me.”

“Debatable. And I don’t know if it was the accent. Maybe he just liked you. Men tease who they like… I’d know,” she huffed, cheeks shining a little as she sat on the crate next to her, kicking at Isla’s boot with her own. “Hey. You married or not? I went on my first date in years before this mission… Worst one of my life!”

Maeva crouched in front of Brigid, pulling on a fresh pair of latex gloves with a quick snap. “Let me guess, he drugged you? You didn’t report that when we left. Alright, Fake Captain, let’s see if you broke anything pretending to be a wrecking ball against the mass. No teeth missing?”

Brigid opened her mouth with a sound, mumbling, “I wish he drugged me. At least it would have been exciting. No, he was Mr. Boring. Couldn’t even hold my hand or kiss me… I’m not missing any teeth, am I?”

“Eh… No, seems nice and yellow.”

“Oh, shut up! I go in for whitening… It’s just hard when you live in a secret jungle base for years. Although, maybe I did skip a few dental visits… They scare me, okay?! Sue me.”

Isla chuckled, kicking her foot back. “I bet you’ll have more courage now after that. You’re practically a hero, having survived that.”

“I am, aren’t I…”

“Okay, let’s move to your hands. And, guess what?” Maeva asked with a grin.”

Brigid creased an eye. “What?”

“No slugs!” she chimed, tapping her nose with a gloved hand and making the red-haired woman snort. “ Hands!”

“I hate you…” Brigid held out her hands, palms up, fingers spread wide. Maeva’s eyes flicked over them, thumbs pressing into joints, testing each knuckle with smooth, precise movements.

“Everyone does until they’re in pain… No swelling. No bruising. Good grip,” Maeva muttered, tilting Brigid’s hands back and forth. “Do you work out?”

“Hmm? Uh, not really? Do I have a strong grip?” Brigid asked with a grin.

“No.”

“Oh… You suck.”

Isla felt her stomach starting to hurt as she shook with silent laughter.

“Shoulders next.”

“Shoulders are fine,” Brigid grumbled but didn’t resist as Maeva pressed into the meat of her deltoid, testing for tenderness. Brigid winced. “Okay, maybe not fine, but I’m not dying.”

“Sure thing, Ms. Heroine. We’ll have to get you a sword to swing around.”

Isla leaned back, eyes narrowed with mock seriousness. “And you say that now, Brigid, but next thing you know, you’re coughing up seaweed and quoting ghost stories with this deadpan look in your eyes.”

“Will you two lay off?” Brigid snapped, smirking despite herself. “Yeah, I’m a screamer. I would have totally fainted on the spot if I saw…whatever went after that plane, too.”

I bet you would have, Isla thought to herself, rethinking the crew she’d been given. Everyone here has decent specialties…but for a mission like this? Only James and I really seem prepared for what we might find on that island. These two are barely holding it together with their shaking hands, despite the humor… Something tells me you chose all of us because we’re dispensable, Eve. That sounds a lot more plausible now.

Maeva snorted, moving to check Brigid’s neck, fingers pressing just under her jaw. “Any dizziness? Blurred vision?”

“Only when Hollow opens his mouth.”

“Sounds like a chronic condition,” Isla deadpanned, shifting her gaze toward Maeva. “She’s a lost cause. Better write her up as ‘compromised’ and throw her overboard.”

Maeva clicked her tongue, shaking her head. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, Reyes. You’re next. Strip down for me, Brigid. Mind turning away, Captain?”

“I’m not broken so save the attention,” Isla muttered, pulling her sleeves down as if that might make her invisible, dreading her turn now, considering what she’d gone through during The Fog incident. Hopefully, nothing was different with her body after meeting…whatever her other self was, but she knew it was necessary. “Considering your introduction, Brigid, I thought you’d have more steady nerves. Make sure you’re thorough. Very thorough.”

“No!” Brigid balked from behind her. “Not too thorough. I’m not used to medical checks, guys, okay? Work with me here… I’m shy about my body.”

“You both know how this works,” Maeva said, tapping Isla’s knee twice as she turned away. “Brain first, boat second. If you’re fogged or showing any…unusual physical signs after what, ahem, we saw, I’m dragging you to the quarantine room myself—bra and undies too, Ms. Red Face. I need to be sure you aren’t hiding anything weird.”

“Like what, my confidence? Yeah, go ahead and laugh, I don’t work out like our captain here.”

Isla’s smile softened, happy to see them coping; they had to let it out somehow. “You’ve got plenty to work with, Brigid. And for your information, I haven’t been on a date since college. I’m married to my work and adventure.”

“Why? You’ve got the muscle-mommy thing going on,” Brigid whispered, no doubt bright as a tomato as Maeva had her stand and twist around to check every inch of her for any signs of future trouble. “My little brother was obsessed with tough girls… Sorry if I’m talking too much. Wha—you want me to do jumping jacks,” she hissed with a low groan. “My shoulder…”

“You’re too self-conscious,” Maeva soothed. “You’ve got great proportions, skin, and an above-average face.”

“Above average is a win,” Isla stated with a thumbs up. “I think you’ve got a prettier face than my sea-weathered look. Be proud!”

“Mhm…” Brigid squeaked, going quiet for a minute. “…Can I put some clean clothes on now?”

“You’re fine,” Maeva said. “And seriously, if we do make it back, then why don’t we all go on a triple date. What do you say? If you three don’t have someone lined up, I’ve got plenty of men you could select from back in Samoa. If you like the muscle guys, tats, piercings—you name it, I can hook you up, ladies.”

“Well, okay, Ms. Popular,” their technician chuckled. “You can turn around, Captain. I’ve got my underwear on.”

Turning around, she mirrored Maeva’s studious, approving look that made the redhead blush. It didn’t last long before their medic turned her sharp eyes on her. “You’re up, Cap!”

It was her turn to grumble, partly for Brigid’s sake to make her smile, allowing herself to go through the same check. “Fine. Quick check. Don’t get handsy.”

“I’m not Hollow,” Maeva replied smoothly, and Brigid’s laugh came too loud and too sudden.

Maeva moved with efficiency, clicking the penlight on again and making her gut tighten, nerves shooting up now that she was under the spotlight.

“Look up.” Isla tilted her head back, eyes darting toward the light. “Pupils reactive… Wait? What’s…”

“What?!” Isla gulped, hands tightening against her abs. “What, Maeva?!”

“Umm, Brigid, do you see… Nope! Joking. No delays. Eyes good,” Maeva snickered, making Isla lightly sock her in the shoulder and making both women giggle as the medic flicked the light off, leaning in closer. “Alright, enough joking around. Follow my finger.”

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Isla tracked the movement of Maeva’s finger left, right, up, down, slow and smooth. “Tracking’s clean.”

“You done yet?” Isla asked, rolling her eyes but knowing there was a lot more to go. “I’ve got a shower to claim.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Maeva muttered, pulling her cleaned thermometer out. “Our resident shy girl made it through.”

“Yeah!” Brigid barked, arms crossed and wearing a smile. “So be a good patient and open up!”

Isla tilted her head forward, opening her mouth just enough for the probe. She waited as it beeped, Maeva reading the result. “Normal. And click on the light—no slugs. No fever. No changes. Now strip! Let’s see those abs.”

Following orders, she did as told. Isla wasn’t shy about her body—not at all—but the thought of her discovering something…weird did tighten her muscles. Standing up, she could see Brigid barely restraining herself from peeking, likely wondering how muscular she really was.

Maeva finally clicked her gloves off and tossed them into the trash slot. “You’re boring, Doctor Reyes. Nothing out of the ordinary, excluding excellent muscle definition that your outfit hides well. Weird. I thought we’d find something off with one of us.”

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” Isla replied, hands on her hips.

“Well, I guess it’s my turn,” the medic said with a bright grin. “Who wants to do the honors of stripping me down?”

“Oh, let me do it!” Brigid stated with an evil smirk that didn’t fit her gentle, bronze face. “Revenge!”

Isla chuckled and opened her chest, collecting her next outfit as Brigid gave her a light push. “I’ll take the first shower then since I’m pretty quick. You’re next, though, Brigid! Plus, that gives you five minutes to complain before I’m out. I want you working and steering us around that—”

She paused for half a second as she was thrown off balance, thinking she saw a shadow for a moment beside the bed. Grounding herself, her gaze lingered on the spot before Brigid stole her attention again.

“No need to smack me twice,” the redhead mumbled with a playful glare. “But if it’s cold, I’m gonna complain while I’m in it, too. Now, strip, doctor lady! I need to see if you’ve been probed by the aliens.”

“Oh, my,” Maeva snickered, taking off her jacket. “Don’t be too rough on me. The aliens were harsh enough the first time. And the water is cold, by the way. Can’t wait for the opera, Brigid!”

“Wha—are you saying I’m an alien? Double jumping jacks!”

Isla left in a humorous mood, the relief of not having any outward issues somewhat comforting her. The shower stall was barely large enough to turn around in. The walls were plain steel, dented from years of use, and the water pump made an angry clunk-clunk-clunk noise every few seconds—power issues, probably.

No luxury. No heat. Just water, barely above freezing. My type of shower.

Pulling the towel off the rack, she ran it through her shoulder-length hair, patting it dry while glancing around. Her brow furrowed as a hot sensation ran down her spine like lightning, as if a finger were caressing her skin. Tensing up, her hand paused as she caught a smile in the shiny reflection of the steel plating inside the shower. On closer inspection, she only saw her own face, making her chuckle.

I’m way too high-strung. Chill out.

Once out and cleaned up, she watched a very reluctant Brigid take her place in the small bathroom. When the door shut and the spray started, the entity that had ripped through the sky could probably hear the redhead.

“I hate this! I hate this so much! I’m dying!”

“You’ll live,” Isla called from the other side of the door. She leaned back against the wall, arms folded. “Consider it character development.”

“If I get hypothermia, you’re carrying me,” Brigid shot back, her voice muffled by the sound of water hitting steel. “Better hope I don’t pass out. Ahh! It’s so cold!”

“We’ll prop you up with a mop handle,” Maeva chimed in, sitting cross-legged nearby, running a diagnostic on the medkit’s onboard scanner. “That or just roll you into the freezer. It’ll be warmer.”

“Y’all are the worst,” Brigid grumbled as she got out, likely taking the shortest shower of her life. When she exited, water still dripped from her hair and down her sleeves, a sour pout on her lips. “I hope The Fog takes you all!”

“That’s the spirit, Fake Cap,” Maeva replied, clapping her on the back as Brigid passed by. “Go freeze in dry clothes.”

“Shut up.”

Maeva went next, groaning loudly the second the water hit her back. “Nope. Nope. Hate it. I hate it.”

“Don’t be weak,” Brigid sarcastically teased from her spot in the corner, drying her hair with a tattered old towel. “This builds character.”

“I’m full of character, thanks,” Maeva hissed as she twisted under the spray by the sound of her hair slapping the sides, jaw clenched tight as she endured the cold. “Build me some warm water instead, Technician.”

“Wrong department, but I’ll get Kael on it.”

Leaving the medic to finish her shower before checking the men, Isla entered the navigation room again. The hum of the ship’s internal systems felt louder than normal, or maybe it was just the quiet tension of the moment.

Isla sat at the navigation console, her fingers tapping lightly on the screen, her tablet resting on her lap.

“Here,” Brigid said, tossing a small plastic container onto the desk—she wore a sweater now. It skidded to a stop near Isla’s elbow. “Chips from the other cams. Do your spooky analysis thing. I’m gonna pretend I’m still human.”

“Thanks, Screamer.” The redhead stuck her tongue out at her while moving to the console to manually take over the ship; they’d been making a slow circle of the island, Brigid swapping the memory sticks with a new set to capture it. “Try not to miss the next apocalyptic event.”

“Trying my best to skip it, Ma’am. I started praying again.”

Isla shook her head as her screen lit with playback feeds from the deck, the first stick she inserted. “You sure you don’t wanna see whatever Hollow’s been crying about?” Isla asked, side-eyeing her. “I’ve got it on my tablet… I think. Never know with these types of things.”

Brigid didn’t answer, setting a new course. She just gave her a flat look before walking out, towel draped over her head.

Alone, Isla uploaded each chip before pulling all of them up and putting them at the same time stamp. The screen flickered to life. The deck. The hallway. The engine room. The crew cabins. All quiet.

Don’t look for it. Just check for damage. If it shows up, then it’s not my mind playing tricks on me… It’s there.

Her eyes scanned the screen, but her fingers moved slower than usual while playing it back. Her gaze lingered on the frame of her shadow—just for a second. Her heart thudded a little harder. Wait… We aren’t supposed to have shadows.

Hand beginning to shake, her focus gradually moved to her side—nothing. Her other side—no shadow. Breathing a sigh of relief. She returned to the video; only, there was movement there—her shadow shifted, just barely, out of sync with her.

Her breath came slower, colder. The me that’s not…me.

She shut the feed off.

Her reflection lingered on the black screen, but…it wasn’t her—it smiled back, bright and cheery.

Isla’s chest tightened as she immediately tapped the screen, face blank, thoughts churning. Leaning forward, she slowly looked at her feet, throat constricting—small, circular shadows lingered just below her soles. You’re still here. Shit.

Her eyes scanned the recording feeds, fast-forwarding through footage while the ship’s internal systems buzzed softly. Every angle of the deck. The bridge. The corridors. Her gaze flicked from feed to feed, noting anything off. Until she saw it.

Her pulse fluctuated.

It wasn’t obvious at first. A shadow. A flicker of movement from the far end of the corridor feeds. She squinted, rewinding it by a few seconds. This time, she slowed the playback speed.

There.

Her breath caught as she watched herself in The Fog, her own face illuminated by the faint glow of the ship’s internal lights. Her shadow stretched long behind her, pulling a blanket from the bed to wrap around her—but it wasn’t her shadow.

The outline of it shifted. The shape was wrong. Her shadow didn’t move like that. It shifted, twitched—its head turned toward her, even though her back was to it.

Her heart climbed into her throat.

Frame by frame, she watched it. The shadow moved closer, its limbs loose, crooked. Then, as if sensing her gaze, it stopped. Slowly, its head twisted toward the camera.

Two eyes.

Isla’s finger hovered over the screen. Not eyes. Points of light. Burning pinpricks of crimson. They didn’t blink. They didn’t flicker. They just…stared, two wing-like appendages hung frozen with its outline.

“No,” she whispered, her breath fogging the screen. “No, that’s not—”

Her hand moved to pause the feed, but something stopped her. Her heart was hammering now. Her fingers curled into fists. Slowly, slowly, she replayed it. “Don’t look at me. Don’t look at me.”

It did. It turned its head slowly, gaze locking with the camera. It knows. It’s always known me. She’s always known me…watching, waiting to be remembered. Her heart stopped. It waved.

Not fast. Not frantic. Just a slow, deliberate lift of a hand. Her hand. Her fingers. But it wasn’t her. Her lips parted, breath shallow as she stared at the screen, scared to turn it off now.

She’s here. Did…something in the ocean scare off that creature…or did she?

Her stomach turned cold. She tapped the screen, shutting the feed off as she swiftly turned the screen to the side so as not to see her reflection. Her fingers trembled against the side, muscles tight.

She’s always been with me… Since I was a child. Did I…make it possible for her to return because of The Fog? Is she here to…protect me? Or for something else…

The thought sank deeper than her mind was ready for. When I was little. She was there for me. She is me. She’s always been me…but she’s not me. Her breath came slower now, her pulse finally catching up to her thoughts. Then…what is she? Those wings…

Shoving the tablet to the side, she stood up and moved into the hallway downstairs, away from any reflections. Body cold and mind distant, she barely mumbled a response to the other expedition members as she leaned against the wall, not daring to look down at where she walked.

This isn’t like space. It’s not like other planets. This isn’t like…anything I know. It’s…personal, though. The Fog, it brought back…something. Something from my childhood. Something I’m sure I was aware of but…forgot. Something dangerous. Very, very dangerous. This place reveals things—old things. Primal things.

Her gaze drifted to the sea through a room window.

These things aren’t aliens or cool ancient civilizations to be discovered… This place isn’t even paranormal. It’s…possibility. Something…greater than imagination. Beyond thought. Beyond impossible.

Her eyes narrowed as she moved past Hollow, giving her a suspicious stare on her way up to the deck to stare at the island and Endless Sea.

“You…okay, Cap?”

“Sure…” was all she could manage, her thoughts drifting between her dream and reality.

The Fog is part of this place. Part of the Endless Sea. It moves with it. It breathes with it. It exists in it. The tentacle thing that attacked the plane wasn’t from here. It didn’t belong. But it still knew to run… Does…that mean that the Endless Sea is a part of me? Is…me? Or…am I a part of it, and I just needed to remember? I don’t know.

Her eyes darted to the smooth, glass-like sea below.

Whatever’s beneath the water… It’s worse than what’s above it. It’s worse than whatever peeks inside from time to time to catch prey. And…I’m sure that She—the other me—is…connected to this place.

The breeze caught her hair as she moved to the railing to stare at the island, spotting strange, violet-hued structures beyond the jungle—a city of some sorts; it looked modern—and in the shadow of the crescent, black mountains that surrounded it.

Or…what if this place is a gateway. A gateway to all places, and it opened the way for Her to find me? No… For me to find Her—

“Isla,” Maeva’s voice cut in. “You good?”

Isla exhaled slowly, blinking away The Fog in her mind. “Yeah.” Her gaze lingered on the edge of the ship, just for a moment longer, unsure how to feel. Mentally, she was screaming at herself. Emotionally…it was different. Like an old friend had come home to wrap her in protective wings. “Yeah… I’m good. Why?” she asked with a real smile. “Feeling antsy to check out this island?”