The ocean was calm above, but below, Garth cut through the water like a shadow. The faintest ripple of movement had caught his attention—too erratic for a fish, too heavy for drifting debris. He rose toward the surface, the salt sting in the current telling him something was wrong.

Then he saw them.

They were barely keeping their head above water, arms flailing in uneven strokes. Their breathing was ragged, every gasp a fight against the waves. He closed the distance in seconds, the faint scent of fear and salt mixing in the air between them.

“Easy—don’t fight me,” he said, his voice carrying low but firm over the swell. His hands found their arms before they could slip under again, his grip steady but careful.

They kicked instinctively at first, panic still ruling their body. He pulled them against him, feeling their exhaustion through the slackening tension in their muscles.

“You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

The ship they’d fallen from was already a distant shape on the horizon. No one was turning back. No one even knew they were gone. He didn’t waste time cursing the oversight—every second mattered now.

Their strength was nearly gone. A sudden swell lifted them briefly, but when the water dropped again, their head dipped under. He pulled them back up, meeting their half-focused eyes. “Stay with me. Just a little longer.”

He shifted his grip, wrapping one arm under their shoulders, keeping their face above the surface as he kicked them both toward deeper blue. “Don’t try to swim. Let me.”

Their breathing grew shallow, uneven. He felt the moment when their body gave in—when consciousness slipped away entirely. He tightened his hold, pushing harder through the currents.

The ocean welcomed him, parting around his speed. Down below, the light dimmed, but he kept them close, his mind narrowing to one thought: they needed air, warmth, solid ground.

Breaking the surface again, he headed toward the nearest rocky outcrop, one he’d passed earlier. Waves broke against it, but there was a small inlet, sheltered enough to pull them ashore. He hauled them from the water, laying them gently on the stone.

Their skin was cold under his hands. He brushed wet hair from their face, leaning closer to check their breathing. A weak but steady rise of their chest told him they still had a chance.

“You’re going to be fine,” he murmured, almost to himself this time. He wasn’t sure why he felt it so strongly—this pull toward them, this certainty that he couldn’t just leave them. But the ocean had led him here for a reason.

And he wasn’t about to ignore it.