“That’s part of the island’s magic. It feels like it goes by quickly, but really you were walking through the mountain all day.” He looks back out over the trees toward the mountain, and I hop back up, crossing over to his side and leaning against the railing next to him.
“No one can see us?” I ask, leaning forward, looking down at the ground below us. “Does the island hide this, too?”
I can feel him tense at my side the farther out I go over the rail, but I ignore it.
“We think so,” he mumbles. “No one has seen us yet.”
Straightening again, I lean my hip against the rail and look up at him. “Were you here the day you pulled me from the water?”
There’s a long pause before he answers, his gaze still trained on the mountain ahead.
“No. I wasn’t up here that day. Sig and Jorn were.”
Of course he wasn’t. He followed me around the island. He’d been the noise I heard in the trees, right before I got the courage to approach the bridge. It’s the only explanation for how he got to me so quickly; how he kept me from drowning.
“So they saw you jump in after me.”
He nods. “They watched the whole thing.”
After being with the Castaways for weeks now, Sig hadn’t ever told me she saw what happened. She barely wanted me to find out Weston had been following me. Maybe she didn’t want to divulge that there was a lookout, especially if that piece of information wasn’t one she could tell me. Weston obviously had to be the one to decide it was time to trust me with it.
“Why’d you do it?” I ask.
He finally peels his gaze away from the entrance as his head swivels toward me.
“Do what, princess?”
“Save me,” I say. “It was broad daylight, and other Voyagers were in the area. You could have been seen, or captured, and that would have changed everything for everyone back on the ship. If I’m not a bargaining chip, then why’d you do it?”
My mind flashes back to that moment in the cave, his teal eyes and hard expression softened by relief when I opened my eyes and gasped for breaths, completely ignorant of who was hovering above me.
I am not asking to further my plan. I’m asking because deep down, I truly want to know. Why would he put everything in jeopardy for just another Voyager?
A muscle ticks in his jaw as his eyes flicker between mine. “I couldn’t let you die.”
“But how’d you know I couldn’t swim?”
“Lucky guess,” he grumbles, then seals his lips shut.
So we’re back to barely speaking.
It’s my turn to look away and stare at the mountain.
The Weston I know who is trying to steal the hope away from every single Voyager and taking the cure to benefit himself doesn’t seem like the same Weston standing in front of me, who would risk his crew being discovered, having their leader taken, to save someone he’s never met. If he is the monster that Dane says he is, the life of a random person on Dawnlin wouldn’t have mattered to him.
Edmond always taught me to take in all the information and see the truth, and something is not adding up.
Would a monster put a stranger’s life in front of everyone they know and care for?
Has Dane been wrong about Weston this whole time?
Or is this just another manipulation?
Confusion and uncertainty war inside of me, yet some sliver of certainty buried deep underneath them tells me that Weston isn’t lying to me. I don’t know if it’s his tone, or the look on his face that said he was trying not to say too much, but I think he is telling the truth. He didn’t want me to die. His protectiveness since being part of the crew has confirmed that.
The question is, why?
“You’ve never asked about the other side, the Voyager side. Don’t you want to know what we think about you and the Castaways?” I ask. Maybe if he doesn’t want to answer why, he’ll answer something else I’ve been curious about.
