“In men.”
He bent and kissed the center of the compass.
My breath caught.
Noah drew back.
“Green?”
“Yes.”
He smiled beneath the water.
We ate breakfast quickly.
Eggs. Toast. Fruit.
Two cups of coffee for Noah and one for me.
He looked brighter than he had in days.
Not because sex had cured anything.
It had not repaired his memory or erased the trauma.
He had approached a boundary on his own terms and discovered that he still belonged to himself on the other side.
Downstairs, Owen looked up from the ferry panel.
“You’re early.”
Noah rolled past him in the powered chair.
“I am awake and hungry. Please record the date.”
Caleb glanced at me.
I looked away.
He understood too much anyway.
Noah spent the morning helping Owen test the auxiliary pump controls on Ferry Three. He remained seated and isolated from the live current, calling out readings while Owen managed the connections.
His answers came more quickly.
So did his jokes.
At eleven, he argued with Caleb about the orientation of identification tags and won by threatening to relabel the entire toolbox.
I spent more time in the office than I wanted.
Bookings were beginning to increase.
The Harbor Transit contract had restored confidence in the yard. Two customers who had postponed refits called for new dates. The supplier finally removed the restriction from our account.
The insurance portal remained unchanged.
At noon, the office phone rang.
