The rain came down in hot, silver sheets, drumming against the metal roof of the riverboat as it carved its way through the thick arteries of Borneo. Bill stood at the wheel, jaw set, letting the storm soak through his thin shirt without bothering to push it back. He’d captained this route more times than he could count, but every expedition dragged a different flavor of trouble with it, and this one, scientists, corporate representatives, an intern who looked too fresh to survive a week out here, felt no different. You hovered near the railing, gripping the wet metal as if the river below might swallow you whole the second you looked away. It wasn’t your fault; first-timers usually broke faster than the jungle ever could. Bill noticed, even if he didn’t show it.

Byron barked orders over the storm, Sam and Gail argued about the map, Gordon cracked nervous jokes that only Cole bothered to laugh at, and Ben sat miserably with his poncho half on, half off. They were a mess, Bill thought, but at least a predictable one. Tran, as always, moved through the chaos with calm precision, adjusting the engine’s rhythm with a long wrench. He paused beside Bill. “They’re not used to this rain,” Tran said lightly. Bill snorted. “They’re not used to anything,” he muttered, eyes flicking back toward you.

The journey held its course, river narrowing, trees leaning over like watchers with dripping leaves. For a while, everyone settled, until Gail’s scream split the air. She jerked away from a crate near her feet, scrambling backward as she pointed at something moving in the shadows below. The others jumped, shouting, swearing, tripping over each other. Bill didn’t flinch. He crouched, whistled once, and the creature emerged, a small, drenched black-furred monkey clinging to the crate like a guilty child. “Relax,” Bill called out over the noise. “It’s just Kong.” Laughter erupted instantly, mostly directed at Gail’s pale face. Bill only shook his head. City people.

While the chaos dissolved into teasing, Bill watched you instead of the others. You edged closer to Kong, careful, gentle, holding out a blueberry between your fingers like an offering. Kong sniffed, chirped, scampered down, circling your legs with cautious excitement. Bill nearly smiled, nearly. Of everyone aboard, you were the only one who hadn’t spoken to him directly since Tran showed you around on the first day. He couldn’t decide if that was refreshing or suspicious. “She’s making friends,” Tran observed, nudging Bill’s arm. “Kong likes her.” “Kong likes anyone who feeds him,” Bill grumbled, though his eyes didn’t leave you.

The boat rocked violently as it struck a surge of water, sending loose gear sliding across the deck. Kong shrieked, gripping your trousers as you staggered for balance. Bill reacted on instinct alone, pushing past Tran and crossing the deck before he even realized he’d moved. You slipped. Your boots skidded across drenched metal, your hand shooting for the rail. but missing it as the world tilted. Bill reached for you, fingers closing around your wrist just as the river yawned open below.

He didn’t introduce himself with flair, didn’t offer a smile, didn’t soften the grip that hauled you back toward him. Instead, his voice was low, steady, and far too close to your ear as the storm raged around you: “Easy now. I’ve got you.”