I want to fall down beside him. I want to grab him and Kray and Britta, and get them the hell out of here.
I’m hyperventilating. My lungs scream for oxygen. My arms are heavy with the weight of the wave behind me. I can’t concentrate.
Kray.
Emotion rises into my chest, unabated. A current that moves within me and breaks me.
I can’t contain it. I can’t hold on.
The wave races across the shoreline, feeding off my emotions. Unbridled, it shows no mercy.
I twist, and Riley’s gaze finds mine. Something like fear and regret holds my stare. His mouth widens in terror, and he lurches for me.
The last thing I hear is one final gunshot.
Moonlit shores disappear, replaced by the wood floors and bright lights of the simulation gym. The end happened so fast, we’re all splayed out in the middle of the room. I sit up and place my head between my knees. My lungs rasp from the water I breathed in when Nautia sent that wave crashing over us. My body still believes it was real.
From the far corner, Britta makes her way to the center. Her face wary, she plops down beside Gibson. He slings an arm around her shoulders, drawing her close.
My gaze travels to Nautia. She’s crouched down over Kray, who’s flat on his back. “I’m sorry,” she says, a tear leaking from her eye. Her fingers tremble while searches Kray’s face. “I’m so sorry.”
He reaches up and rubs his temple where the computerized soldier shot him. Then he pulls his hand back, staring at it. There’s no blood, of course, but his mind tells him there should be. Reality washes in fast, though, and he starts to laugh.
“I never want to be on a beach again. Unless it’s Plage de Tahiti. Can this thing simulate that, Cap? The scenario can be a topless Selena Gomez coming up out of the water. Hell. Yes.” Kray winks at Nautia as he wipes the tear away. He pushes stray hair from her cheek and lowers his voice. “It was just a simulation, Naut. It’s not real.”
“It felt real,” she says.
Kray grins. “All the more reason to program in my idea next.”
“Good to know death didn’t kill your sense of humor,” she says. Slowly, her eyes shift to me. Lament clouds her irises, and I’m dying to walk the ten feet that divide us, kiss the dot on her temple where she’d been shot, and pull her into me. “Why did the simulation stop?” she asks.
“Because we were all killed,” I answer.
Haskal pounds his fist against the floor. “We didn’t even get off the fucking beach!”
“How long were we in there?” Gibson asks.
“Eighteen minutes,” I reply, doing a quick scan of each person. So far, no one looks like they’re going to hurl or pass out. Good.
“So how’d you die, Captain?”
Before I can answer, Haskal dives in. “Nautia drowned us. Thanks, friend. So much for teamwork.”
Nautia’s gaze falls to the floor, and I want to comfort her. It wasn’t her fault; no one succeeds in their first simulation.
“Out in the real world, it would require that much energy to summon a wave. In the simulation, however, only half is necessary. It works the same way for you and Gibson. To control it takes practice, which is why the rest of the crew isn’t joining us until next week,” I explain.
“Practice, huh? All right,” Haskal says, standing up. “Let’s go again.”
“Yeah let’s do it,” Gibson chimes in.
“I’m game,” Kray says, shrugging.
Britta gives a flip of her wrist. “Whatever.”
When Nautia doesn’t respond, I look at her. Her eyes cut to me, like she can feel my stare. “Sure.”
Like Britta’s, her response is noncommittal. The girls’ confidences are at zero, and that doesn’t bode well for the next simulation. Still, they need practice.
After we give the control panel our information and another drop of blood to activate the simulation, we return to the middle. I say the access code and round two begins. Twenty-three minutes later I’m the last one standing in the woods outside of Wonsan. I drop my weapons in surrender and I’m shot multiple times, deactivating the program.
This time when the holograms around us disappear, the Specials stay sprawled out on the floor. Britta is pale and holding her stomach like she’s going to puke. Nautia’s trembling again, clutching Kray by the arm. The rest of them don’t look much better.
“That’s enough for today,” I say. “Go rest up. Partner training after lunch. Today’s simulations should give you a new perspective on individual duties.”
When I leave, my mind begins to analyze Nautia’s abilities within the simulation. How they shouldn’t even work inside. How the computer didn’t recognize her blood.
And goddammit all if I want solve every mystery about this girl.
“You’re late,” Nautia says as I jog onto the deck for our evening training.
“Kray and Britta had a second session after supper. If they can stop bickering for ten seconds, I think they’d work well together.”
Nautia snickers. “Good luck with that.”
A gust blows up, the scent of her soap riding on it. I’m reminded of her in my bed. I want to lead her to my captain’s quarters and caresses her, but I won’t. Not until she’s ready.
“We’re going to start off in the simulation room. There’s something you should see.”
“About my blood?” she guesses.
“Yeah. I didn’t override the system, so what you did in the first simulation shouldn’t have happened. Your powers are not programmed.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means the computer has no idea you’re an aquator. The computer knows shit about you.”
“Then how did it let me raise the wave?”
“Because you taught it to,” I say.
She stares at me, confused. “How did I—”
“Let me show you.” I offer my hand and smile when she takes it. Something forms in my throat at the thought of it having been a long time since I’ve been this intimate with someone. Not some lustful adventure that ends in physical satisfaction and emotional nothingness, but real closeness.
Nautia must feel it too, because she’s quiet as we descend the stairs to the lower deck. A quick glance over my shoulder reveals a soft smile playing at her lips. She walks right up against me, her other hand coming to rest around my wrist.
Her fingers tighten when the door to the simulation gym slides open. I lead her to the control panel, and only then do I let go of her. She stays close to me. Enough so, that I find a way to touch her each time I move. She doesn’t pull back.
When I find her newly formed file on the computer, I throw it out into the air so she can see it too. The hologram of Nautia’s 3D double helix spins in front of us.
“This is your DNA,” I say. “See the yellow links here, and blue links there?”
“Yeah. They’re…” She steps forward as she trails off. Ocean blues examine the structure, squinting at the complexity. She cocks her head to the side and reaches her fingertips out. “They’re moving. It’s like…it’s like they’re alive.”
“I’ve never seen anything like it, even in the DNA of people like us. Ours is different, for sure, but the links don’t change places. Here.” I find the structure of my own blood sample and toss the image out beside Nautia’s to compare them. “This one is mine.”
My DNA is still more intricate than many Specials, with an average of six links to a rung instead of the standard two of most human beings. But they all stay stagnant—permanently pieced together. Nautia’s has four on each rung, and the yellow links and blue links change places every few seconds. Swapping spots within their own rung, and the rungs above and below them.
“This is why the computer couldn’t register me,” she reasons, swallowing. She curls her lip between her teeth. “My DNA
isn’t stable.”
I catch the underlying tone of her statement: if her DNA isn’t stable, that must be why she’s not stable.
“I have a couple of theories,” I say as she continues to study the two strands of DNA, “but neither explains why you struggle with controlling your power.”
“This isn’t proof enough?” she half-laughs out. “The reason is pretty clear, don’t you think?”
“Actually, no. Your power is tied to your emotional core. That’s not in your DNA, Nautia. No one else on board has that extra layer, so I can’t compare. But before Nate died, you could control it. Your DNA didn’t change—you did,” I explain.
She blows out air through pink-glossed lips. “All right,” she relents. “What are your theories?”
“My first one is the most plausible: that this movement of strands is what makes you so powerful. This would mean that your DNA has always reacted this way, linking and unlinking. Your power flows through every single cell of your body. Almost like…” I pause, unsure of how she’ll react to the rest. “Like hydrogen and oxygen.”
“Like water,” she says.
“Yeah. Like water. When you create it, you fuse the molecules, and when you evaporate it, you separate them.”
“Which is what my DNA is doing. Basically, right?”
“Seems like it.”
“What’s your second theory?”
“That giant wave you created? It reached out to you, embraced you, and then you imploded it. What if the water—in that moment—gave you something you didn’t have before?”
She shakes her head, confused. “I thought you said my DNA has been doing this since I was born. What could the wave have given me?”
“Permission.”
“Permission?” she repeats.
“You said the wave was thinking, like the water itself was alive. And then in the simulation, you controlled the water when that shouldn’t have been possible. Just because we have the ability to do something, doesn’t mean we have the right to.”
“What does that have to do with my blood?”
“The water made you a part of it. Put those strands in motion to resemble, if you will, the molecular structure of itself.”
Nautia finally looks away from the projected images and stares at me. “Haskal once said that I needed to become one with the water. To let it fill me. I’d never felt that with my power, but that night? The night the wave curled around me? For the first time in my life, I felt free. Like the water no longer controlled me. That I controlled it.”
Her vulnerability right now gives me the in I need, and I move into her. Thread my fingers into her hair and lift her face to me. Eyes the color of the Mediterranean peer into mine.
“But if that’s true, why did I kill everyone in the simulation? Why can’t I control it?” she asks.
“The simulation works differently. It requires less power to do the same work, but Nautia…” I drop my voice as I lean in. Her lips are so close to mine. “I think you can control it now.”
She tries to look away, but hold her head steady. Her nostrils flare with self-doubt. “I don’t know, Riley. What if I can’t? What if I end up hurting people?”
“You won’t. I won’t let that happen.”
“You can’t guarantee that.”
“Yes, I can. You are Cara’s secret weapon. If Haskal is correct, we’re not supposed to make it to shore. Cara is banking on your erratic control to take out everyone on board this ship. And if we do make it to the coast, she’ll probably have a plan that involves killing…anyway. But she doesn’t know what we know. What I know.” I don’t want to be discussing strategy right now, but I want Nautia to trust me. And I need her to trust herself.
“And what is that?”
“That we have the advantage. Because you aren’t who she thinks you are. You aren’t the same person who left Brighton Academy weeks ago. You’ve controlled tornados, Nautia. Monster waves have bowed to your command.”
“Okay,” she breathes, determination darkening her irises. “I want to try. What do I do?”
“Test our theory.”
As crazy as Riley’s theory sounds, something tells me he’s right. Ever since the giant wave I created extended itself to me, I’ve felt different. Yesterday in the shower, I only had to think about the temperature and it warmed up. I’ve also noticed smaller things. Like using less energy to create my little juggling balls or to evaporate steam from the bathroom. Even Kray turned speechless when I dried my wet hair in under three seconds.
Not to mention all of the times it should have hailed and it didn’t. Or when my opening up and allowing my emotions to pour out actually stopped the rain instead of built it. And all those times, Riley was there too.
My brain is so engrossed in my thoughts, I don’t realize I’ve been holding Riley’s hand the whole way to the top deck. Downstairs, I felt each touch when he brushed against me, each breath on my lips. Each goose bump on my skin created by his arms around me, my head on his chest.
If Riley’s theory is correct, maybe all of the reasons we can’t be together will crash to the ground. If I can control the water, then does that mean I can also control my emotions regarding it?
Only one way to find out.
I take a deep breath. Let it out slowly. “Okay, I’m ready.”
“Why don’t you bring up a waterspout,” he suggests lightly.
No. I’m not going to start out small and work my way to more difficult things. My gut tells me I can do anything I want. The ocean tells me.
“No,” I say. “I’m going to invert one.”
I outstretch my arms. Flip my hands, palms down, over the calm sea. I don’t close my eyes; I don’t need to. The energy spreads easily through my veins and my bones. Every cell inside me responds, and I melt into the sensation of flowing water dancing through me. It’s amazing, and I’m in complete control.
Effortless.
At the side of the ship, water begins to swirl, a circle growing in diameter and funneling downward. Riley grips the railing, his eyes widening. The ship is on the very edge of what I’m doing. He doesn’t say anything, though, only watches as the cyclone expands. He trusts me!
Like I intended, the ship doesn’t move. The water beneath us remains still.
I smile, letting the power transform me. Not like before when I had to prove myself.
Because I already have. The wave? It was a test. Now, there’s a mutual understanding between this living force and me.
I giggle when I feel the tip of the whirlpool hit the ocean floor. Using the ground below like a trampoline, I springboard the vortex upward. I glance at Riley, whose knuckles match the color of his face. Still he says nothing, and I think I might love him for that. A few moments later, the inverted tornado jets into the sky. Water from the blast falls down around us, spraying us like a whale’s exhale. Laughing, I throw my arms around Riley’s neck. Place my fingers against his cheek and turn his head to me. Then I kiss him.
I don’t care that it takes him a second before he returns the kiss. Or that when he does return it, he’s cautious, each slip of his tongue measured. Because I just freaking controlled water! Not just controlled it—commanded it.
And it was easy. So perfectly, magically easy. I’m not light-headed. I won’t pass out, and best of all, I didn’t screw up!
God, it’s amazing.
I release Riley for a moment, but I don’t look at him. I just lift my arms and face to the sky to revel in the majesty of my element. An instant later, the clouds open up above us to reveal the pastels of a northern Atlantic dusk. Rose, dark violet, and musty blues transcend overhead, and I’ve never been more at ease with myself in my life.
For the first time since I can remember, I can breathe. Feel the moisture as if it’s a part of me. I hear the ocean below, not in soft ripples, but in whisper
s of permission.
For the first time since I can remember, I’m free.
Fingers thread through mine. My gaze slowly meets Riley’s, and I can’t stop smiling.
“I did it. I really, truly did it,” I say.
“Yeah. You did.”
My smile grows even wider at his praise. “This means the wall in my head is gone, right? My power isn’t tied to my emotions anymore?”
The slight grin on Riley’s face slowly fades. “Nautia, people who have their powers tied to their emotional cores will always have their powers set there. That’s where your power stems from. And it’s not a bad thing.”
He must see the thoughts swirling around in my mind, because he pulls me into his chest and kisses the top of my head.
“That’s why you hesitated when you kissed me, isn’t it?” I say, putting it together. “I’m still dangerous.”
Gently, Riley pushes my shoulders back to look at me. Tender eyes scan over my face, molten gold lighter in the twilight. “Trust me,” he murmurs.
I peer back, words caught in my throat. The way he said it, the way he’s looking at me now, it’s not just trust he’s asking for. It’s complete surrender. He wants me to let go, forget all of the damage I’ve done in the past and concentrate on this moment. Focus on controlling my power through the emotion without worrying about what comes next.
But is that even possible?
“What if—”
“There’s no ‘what if,’ Nautia.” He cups my face and presses his forehead against mine. “True, I can’t promise that everyone will come out of this safely, but everyone on board this ship understood the risks involved. You signed a contract, remember?”
I nod.
“No mission is without risk. Cara might expect you to kill us off for her, because she doesn’t think you can do this. I know different. I’m counting on you to help end North Korea’s program. You worry about control, and let me worry about lives. Can you do that?”
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