But looking at Finn's face, seeing the relief and trust and growing love in his expression, River knew he'd made the right choice. Whatever mysterious forces had brought them together, whatever supernatural elements were influencing their connection, whatever medical challenges lay ahead—they would face it all together.
Chapter 9
Shifting Sands
Finn
The next morning, Finn stared at the maritime journal spread across his workbench and tried to remember when the hell he'd become capable of miracles. The leather binding gleamed with fresh treatment, every page carefully cleaned and stabilized, the faded ink revitalized to near-original clarity. It was museum-quality restoration work that should have taken him three weeks minimum, but according to his project log, he'd completed it yesterday while River was at the research station.
“What the actual fuck,” he muttered, flipping through pages that showed evidence of techniques he'd never learned and skills he definitely didn't possess twenty-four hours ago. The work was flawless, demonstrating knowledge of advanced preservation methods that came from years of specialized training he'd never received.
His hands shook slightly as he examined the restoration notes written in his own handwriting, detailed observations about paper composition and ink chemistry that read likethey'd been written by someone with a PhD in conservation science. The person who'd completed this work knew things about maritime preservation that Finn had never studied, used techniques he'd only read about in academic journals.
But more disturbing than the mysterious expertise were the marginal notes that had nothing to do with book restoration. Comments about diving safety protocols, observations about marine ecosystem recovery, detailed knowledge about underwater research that connected to River's work in ways that made Finn's chest tight with panic.
Water temperature optimal for kelp restoration at 58-62°F. Observed significant recovery in research grids C-7 through C-12. Important to monitor pH levels during spawning season to ensure reproductive success of recovering populations.
Finn read the note three times, his rational mind rejecting what his eyes were telling him. He'd never been diving. He'd never studied marine biology beyond casual conversations with River. He had no idea what research grids C-7 through C-12 even were, let alone how to monitor their recovery progress.
But there it was, written in his unmistakable fountain pen script, demonstrating knowledge that could only have come from direct observation and professional training he'd never received.
The workshop suddenly felt claustrophobic, filled with evidence of a version of himself he couldn't access or understand. Finn pushed back from his workbench and walked to the window overlooking the harbor, needing to see something stable and familiar while his world felt like it was built on quicksand.
The lighthouse beam caught the afternoon sun, steady and reliable in ways that made Finn's throat tight with longing. He thought about River at the research station, probably analyzing yesterday's data or preparing for tomorrow's dive, completely unaware that the man he was falling for was losing bigger chunks of his identity with each passing day.
River
How are you feeling today? Want company for lunch?
Finn stared at the message, torn between desperate need for River's presence and growing shame about the evidence of his deteriorating condition. How could he explain that he'd apparently spent yesterday afternoon completing expert-level restoration work he had no memory of doing? How could he admit that his workshop was filled with notes demonstrating knowledge he'd never acquired?
Finn
Need to work through some things. Rain check?
He typed back, hating himself for the deflection but unable to face River's concerned questions about his latest episode.
River
Of course. Call if you need anything. I love you.
The casual way River had written those three words made Finn's chest ache with longing and terror in equal measure. How could someone love him when he was losing pieces of himself daily? How could he build a future with someone when he couldn't trust his own mind?
The bell downstairs chimed around three in the afternoon, indicating someone had entered the bookshop despite the fact that Finn hadn't officially opened for the day. He listened to footsteps on the stairs with growing apprehension, not ready to deal with customers or small talk or pretending everything was normal when his reality was disintegrating around him.
“Finn?” Maya's voice carried up from the second floor, warm with concern and the particular tone she used when she was trying not to freak out about something. “You up there?”
“Workshop,” Finn called back, grateful for her presence despite knowing this conversation would probably be difficult. Maya had always been able to read him too easily, and today he felt like an open book written in a language he didn't understand.
Maya appeared in the workshop doorway wearing her “concerned sister” expression, the one that had become depressingly familiar during their mother's illness. She moved through his space with the careful attention of someone looking for signs of crisis, her dark eyes cataloging details that might indicate how worried she should be.
“How are you feeling?” she asked, settling into the chair beside his workstation. “You seemed pretty shaken up after the medical appointment yesterday.”
“I'm fine,” Finn said automatically, then immediately realized how unconvincing that sounded given the evidence of confusion and fear probably written all over his face.
Maya raised an eyebrow in the skeptical expression that had been perfected during years of dealing with Finn's tendency todownplay problems. “Try again. And maybe with more honesty this time.”
Finn gestured toward the maritime journal and the restoration notes that documented knowledge he shouldn't possess. “I'm finding more evidence of work I don't remember doing. Detailed, professional-level work that demonstrates skills I've never learned. Plus notes about marine biology that suggest I've been conducting underwater research in my spare time.”
