Chapter 14: Reid
The wind picks up again—harder this time, sweeping across the deck of the Vigil, rattling the starboard lines and whistling sharp through the frame. Finn is still talking. Something about rigging. Something about the swap they made last week that didn’t hold.
I glance over, barely.
He talks too much.
“Tell Sloane to fix it,” I say, voice flat, turning away. “I’m going to the diner.”
Finn snorts, but doesn’t argue. He knows I won’t say it twice.
I step off the boat, boots hitting the wood of the dock with that dull, waterlogged thud. The cold bites at my jaw. I don’t bother zipping up the jacket in my hand. No point. I’ve only got half an hour before we run the test anyway.
The diner’s up the path, half-buried in morning sun, half-lost in salt spray and glass. It's not busy—never is. Fishermen are out by now, and tourists aren’t stupid enough to come this early. But I spot them before I reach the door: Charlie’s red hair bobbing as she talks with her hands, and across from her—her.
The girl we hired.
Madeline.
It’s the first time I see her in person. And I hate that I hesitate, even for a second.
I already know the basics—top of her class, coastal marine bio, strong field data accuracy, a handful of student-led surveys that matched ours so precisely it was almost concerning. I read the reports. I checked her references. And I looked her up.
That’s part of the job. You vet your team. You don’t put someone out on the ocean unless you know what they’re made of. Who they are. What they’re hiding.
But she gave me nothing.
No real posts, no opinion pieces, no social media noise beyond a few years-old shots of her standing next to classmates and barely smiling. One blurry photo at graduation. A science fair from high school. A dozen public footprints that don’t tell you a single real thing.
People who vanish online usually have a reason.
I push the door open. The bell above it chimes, soft.
Neither of them looks up.
Charlie’s mid-sentence, waving her pen over a printout like she’s narrating a battle plan. Madeline is sitting still across from her, but her focus is laser-tight. Her brow is furrowed. Her lips, full and pale, are tucked between her teeth. She’s biting the bottom one—absently, like she doesn’t know she’s doing it. A nervous habit, maybe.
Her hair is braided loosely over her shoulder. Auburn, a little windblown. Freckles across her nose and cheeks that the photos didn’t show.
And her eyes—when they finally lift and find mine—are so green they stop me short.
They widen slightly, startled.
Good. That makes two of us.
I pull out the chair at the end of the booth and sit down without asking. Charlie glances up.
“Morning,” she says, too casually. “We just got started.”
I don’t look at Madeline. “What have you covered?”
Charlie pushes the folder toward me and lists a few basics—equipment, location markers, our most recent sample data.
I nod once. “Alright. I’ll take it from here.”
Charlie catches the edge of something in my voice—I see it in her pause—but she doesn’t argue. She grabs her coffee and slides out of the booth, murmuring, “Good luck,” like it’s a joke but also a warning. She disappears to the counter.
I finally look at Madeline.
She’s straightened in her seat now, hands neatly folded on the table. Her eyes are still wide, but there’s something steadier behind them. She’s trying to read me. Already trying to map out the terrain.
She doesn’t speak.
Smart.
“You know what you’re doing?” I ask.
It’s not really a question. It’s a prod. I want to know what she’s made of—if the sharpness in her file was real or stitched together by professors who liked her handwriting.
She opens her mouth. Closes it. “I think so.”
I blink. “Well, that’s comforting.”
Her jaw tightens. Barely. A flicker of something crosses her face, but it’s gone before I can name it.
“We hired you because you’re smart. You’ve got precision. You ask the right kinds of questions. Your work mirrors ours more than anyone else’s ever has. Either that’s a coincidence, or you’re better than your résumé made you look. Either way, your professors gave glowing recommendations.”
She stays quiet.
“But don’t misunderstand,” I say. “You’re not in your usual lab now. This isn’t a university. This isn’t clean or easy or safe. This is field research. Unforgiving. Cold. Fast. The ocean doesn’t care if you’re tired or scared or unsure. And neither do I. There's a reason why not many people applied for the job.”
I watch her carefully as I speak. Most people flinch when I say things like that. It’s not meant to be comforting. It’s the truth. And most people can’t handle that.
But she doesn’t shrink.
Her green eyes narrow, just slightly. Her posture is straighter now, shoulders squaring like she’s bracing against something.
Then, she says it. Soft. Steady.
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
The words hit harder than they should.
I blink once. Then I smirk, almost involuntarily.
Not bad.
“Alright then,” I say, flipping to the next page and dragging it toward me. “Let’s keep going.”
She picks up her pen. The tip taps lightly against her notebook once before she starts writing again.
But her lips are pressed into a hard line now. Focused, yes—but not just that.
She’s irritated.
I can feel it.
Good.
Let her be.
It’s better she learns now that this place doesn’t bend for anyone. And neither do I.
But for the first time in a long time, I wonder—if someone like her can take the pressure... what else can she take?
And why the hell does it feel like the second I sat down, I already lost some kind of invisible game?
I shake the thought off and hand her the next report.
We’ll see how long she lasts.