We breathed together in sync without even trying. The moment stretched, fragile but unbroken.
Somewhere far down the beach, a flicker of movement caught my eye. A figure too far away to identify, moving between the palms with purpose. I tensed, my hand instinctively pressing firmer.
The shape disappeared, swallowed by the rising dark, but as my eyes adjusted, searching the spot where the figure had been, I caught a small red light among the vegetation. Steady. Unblinking. Not a phone or flashlight. Too precise. The kind of light that comes from a recording device or a camera lens.
I tried to dismiss it. I told myself it was nothing—a resort security measure, maybe. This island wasn't the kind of place where you needed to look over your shoulder.
But my instincts, honed through years on the force, wouldn't let me fully believe it.
I considered standing up and dusting the sand off. I could ask if he was okay and then make a clean break, but I stayed.
I wasn't ready to let go.
Not yet.
I should've asked his name. But somehow, we'd agreed—without saying a word—that names would only make it harder. Saying something real might shatter the fragile, impossible thing taking root between us.
I liked the silence.
I relaxed when I didn't have to answer questions.
This man curled into the curve of my arm didn't know a goddamn thing about me. That made it bearable—no pity and lies about me being okay.
He was there. Present. Real. A body against mine.
It was a heartbeat I could feel and a breath I could match. I didn't need more than that.
Not tonight.
The waves were closer now. The tide was coming in.
His fingers twitched in his sleep—or whatever half-dream state he'd slipped into. I stayed still and kept my hand at the base of his spine.
The stars were starting to come out. I saw the first few flickering just above the palm fronds, sharp and bright in the darkening sky.
I closed my eyes, not ready to think about what came next.
Minutes later, the sun was gone, leaving only a purple smudge above the water. We'd need to move soon to find our way back before the beach went completely dark.
He stirred beside me, not quite waking, his breath warm against my skin. I decided it was the right moment to share.
"Michael." My voice was so soft it was almost lost in the sound of the waves. His eyes opened slowly, focusing on my face. "That's my name if you want to know."
He studied me for a moment, the fading light catching a glint of gold in his hazel eyes. "Alex." His voice was rough with sleep. "Professor Alex Kessler. I teach history."
"History of what?" I asked, not because I needed to know, but because I wanted to hear his voice again.
He stared at the horizon. "Patterns of power, mainly. How empires and corporations hide their darker mechanisms." He looked at me. "I study the things people don't want seen."
Something in his words made me wonder what he saw when he looked at me—what patterns and hidden mechanisms.
We were quiet again, but it was different. It weighed more with the bit of information we'd shared.
The path back from the beach was uneven—packed sand giving way to grass and roots I barely saw in the dark. I stayed close beside him, occasionally glancing at the shape of his shoulders as they moved under the loose cotton of his shirt.
We were both quiet. Silence still felt like the safest thing between us.
At the bungalow, he hesitated on the steps, unsure whether he was supposed to come inside. I pushed the screen door open without a word and stepped to the side.
