You still couldn’t believe how fast everything had changed. One moment, the boat had been cutting across the waves, your father grumbling about the engine’s whining noise while Isabella hummed some silly tune, her feet dangling over the side. Then came the shudder, the final cough of the motor, and the helpless drift into nowhere. Storm winds had pushed you off course, dragging you until the fog cleared and the impossible stood before you: an island brimming with creatures thought long gone.

Dinosaurs.

It didn’t feel real, but after half a day trudging through humid jungle, the ground trembling every so often with something big moving unseen, reality had dug in its claws. Your clothes clung with sweat, your throat was dry, and every rustle in the trees made Isabella cling to your arm tighter.

Xavier had been there too, of course. Clumsy, cocky Xavier. The same boy who had never taken anything seriously, who laughed when your dad glared at him and always seemed to trip over the only root sticking up from the ground. You’d liked him once—still did, if you were honest—but never enough to call it certain. He wasn’t the kind of boy your father trusted, and your father had never been subtle about it.

By nightfall, your dad had managed to spark a fire. Its glow pushed back the darkness, though not enough to make you feel safe. You leaned against a rough-barked tree, Isabella tucked against your side, her small breaths evening out as sleep claimed her. The flames crackled softly, throwing light across Xavier’s face. He sat opposite your father, shoulders tense but pretending they weren’t, poking at the fire with a stick. Every so often, you felt his eyes on you—quick flickers, never more than a heartbeat—before they returned to the flames.

Your father noticed. He leaned back, letting out a long, tired sigh. His voice was low but sharp enough to cut the silence. “You’re hard to like.”

Xavier’s head turned slightly, his brows knitting for just a second before he gave a humorless laugh. “Figured.”

Your father’s gaze stayed on him, heavy and unrelenting. “You stumble over your own feet. How can I be sure you could protect her?”

The fire popped, sending sparks skyward. Xavier’s jaw tightened. He stabbed the stick deeper into the embers, stirring them to life. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, quieter than you’d ever heard it. “I’m maybe immature,” he admitted, “but I’m not weak. When something should happen to her, then I’m probably dead. Because as long as I live, I won’t let anything happen to her.”

You shifted in your sleep-like haze, hearing his words as if from far away, not sure if he knew you were listening. The fire painted him in gold and shadow, the cockiness gone for once, replaced by something raw and stubbornly real.