Chapter 38: Reid
The bell above the diner door snaps when I push it open. Jake slips in behind me. Madeline hovers in the entrance, big eyes, mouth still parted like she hasn’t recovered from outside. She looks like prey caught between two predators, and maybe she’s right.
I tilt my head at her. A command, silent but clear: move.
For a heartbeat, I think she’ll bolt. But she doesn’t. She obeys. The twisted satisfaction that stirs in me is ugly, and I don’t push it away.
I take the corner booth, sliding into the cracked vinyl. Jake sits next to me, shoulder to shoulder. Madeline hesitates—hesitates long enough to make my patience fray—before she finally folds herself into the seat across. Her gaze goes first to him, then cuts to me. That little frown digs into her face like I’ve already disappointed her.
Good. I smirk at that, let it hang for half a second. “You should’ve figured it out.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “How does one figure that out, exactly?”
I shrug, lean back, stretch an arm across the booth. “Not my problem.”
Her mouth opens like she’s ready to spit fire, but instead she drags her bag into her lap and starts pulling out a mess of papers.
“I should probably re-transcribe everything first,” she mutters, stacking them like a shield. “Make it clean. That was my plan for this afternoon.”
Jake, ever the diplomat, says, “It’s fine. Just walk us through what you’ve got now.”
She exhales, flips open a page. “Okay… the humpback today was an older female. You could tell from how slow she was moving. She looked thin, with the rough measurements I took—”
“Measurements from where?” My voice cuts through before she finishes.
Her head snaps up, glare sharp enough to slice. “Binocular markers and distance formulas. Obviously not as precise without drones, but it’s what I had.”
“Margin of error?”
Her nostrils flare. “Less than ten percent.”
I don’t blink. Just nod once.
Jake leans forward, elbow on the table. “She was definitely moving slower. Looked thinner too. Lines up.”
Madeline turns a page, steadier now. “Right. And what’s strange is that a whale this old is making the trip here at all. There are other feeding grounds closer. Why burn the energy to come this far north?”
“Speculation,” I say flatly.
Her jaw tightens. “Yes, speculation. But worth flagging. With long-term data, we could see if it’s a trend.”
The flicker in me is quick, hot, unwanted. She’s sharp.
She flips to the next set of notes. “The porpoises—I thought I saw calves. Which would mean they’re calving closer to shore than we assumed.”
Jake nods. “I noticed that too. Smaller shapes in the pod.”
Her lips twitch into the beginning of a smile, soft. Too soft.
I lean back, eyes still on her. “Was she fine on the boat?” I ask, but I’m talking to Jake. “Do anything wrong?”
Madeline freezes, pen caught between her fingers.
Jake doesn’t hesitate. “She did well. Really well. Water was calm, good day to test her. There's some things we can work on.”
Her shoulders drop, the faintest exhale.
I keep my face carved in stone. But inside, something unsettles, shifts. She’s better than I expected. Better than I wanted her to be. And the way she looked when she spoke—alive, certain, bright—it sticks in my chest like a splinter.
Her voice fills the booth, a steady stream of observations. Migration, feeding grounds, porpoise calves. Sharp enough to impress anyone else. But I’m not anyone else.
At first, I track the details. Then my attention drifts.
Salt clings to her cheek, a faint white line. The water was calm today—too calm for her to have gotten splashed. Which means she leaned close. Too close. My eyes linger there, then on her hand rolling the pen back and forth, twitchy, restless. She talks too fast, like she’s racing the silence.
Fragile, I think. She hides it, but it’s there. Fragile, and stubborn enough to fight against it.
I let her talk until she runs out of steam. Until she looks up, those green eyes snapping between me and Jake, waiting for a verdict.
“You can go home,” I say, voice even, “and transcribe it into official records. And—”
Her back stiffens. “I know, I know. If I’m not done by tomorrow, no boat time.”
That earns the smallest curl of my mouth. “Quick learner.”
She glares, shoves her notes into her bag. “Bye, Jake,” she mutters, clipped, then bolts.
Jake nods back, softer than me. I just watch. And, clearly, so does he.
Through the window, we track her every step down the diner’s stairs. The swing of her bag, the burn of her hair in the afternoon light. She’s gone too quick, but I keep staring like I could will her back.
Jake’s fist crashes into my shoulder the second she's out of sight.
I snap my head to him. “What the hell was that for?”
“You nearly traumatized her,” he bites out, voice low.
“I was seeing what she was made of.”
Jake scoffs. “That wasn’t testing, Reid. That was cornering her.”
I lean back, let my arm drape over the booth again. “And she fought back. Didn’t she?”
“She’s not a fighter,” he says. “She’s just trying to survive you.”
A flash of heat twists in my chest. Because something tells me that she is a fighter, and has had to survive worst than me. “Surviving me is part of the job.”
Jake stares, hard. Without the easy grin, without the smoothing charm he feeds the world, he’s broody too. Same iron edges. Same shadows. Just a different way of carrying them.
“She did well today,” he says finally, tone flat. “Better than I expected. You keep her off the boats, you’re wasting her. And us.”
I grunt. Noncommittal.
Jake’s jaw ticks. “Whatever reason you’ve got for pushing her away—get over it. You saw how passionate she is about this shit. She belongs.”
I don’t answer.
Because maybe he’s right. Maybe she does.
But when I think of her—fingers twitching on the pen, eyes flaring when I pressed too hard—I can’t help it. I want to push again. To see if she holds. Or if she breaks.
Fragile, I remind myself. But something in me wants to know just how fragile.
I know I should stop.
But I won’t.
I’m not done testing her.