Page 59 of Autumn L.A.W

He closed his eyes for a moment and let the sway of the ship pass through him.

“I don’t bind the people I care about,” he said quietly to the empty cabin. “Not anymore.”

He opened his eyes again and kept writing.

Risks:

1. Sahara sleepwalks again.

2. Ezra cannot reach her in time.

3. Slipping. Falling. Atlantic Ocean.

He did not bother to give that third point a sentence. It did not require one.

He flipped back to the sigil and revised a line to make it slipperier. Maybe he could make the voice slide into the Atlantic. Instead of going into Sahara.

Then he did something he rarely allowed himself. He wrote a confession.

I kissed her because it would bring her back.

I kissed her because it was the fastest grounding mechanism available.

And I kissed her because some part of me already lives where she is and loves her.

He stared at the words until they stopped looking like treason and started looking like truth.

Then he shut the notebook and slid it back under the bunk like a secret that had been named, even if not yet shared.

Across the cabin, Sahara shifted and sighed but did not wake.

Ezra turned off the light.

Outside, the sea seemed to go on forever.

But inside, everything had changed, and for the first time in years, he did not want to change it back.

Morning came gently, as if the storm had wrung every sharp edge from the sky. The sea moved in long, thoughtful swells. The ship hummed like a living thing that had finally decided it would, in fact, survive the week.

Sahara woke up slowly. No stone. No sand. No crowns waiting in shadow. Just the faint scent of coffee from somewhere down the corridor, and the steady feeling of another human in the room.

Ezra was already awake, sitting on the edge of his bunk with his notebook balanced on one knee.

He stood up the second she stirred. “Good morning,” he said softly.

She stretched once. Checked her mind for lingering echoes and found silence. Blessed, ordinary silence.

“Well,” she murmured, “that’s a relief.”

His mouth curved. “Yes. Although I can’t take full credit. The ocean did contribute some of the effort.”

She sat up, hair an expected disaster. “Did you sleep?”

“A little,” he said.

Her eyes dropped to the notebook. “You were working.”

“I was thinking… and drawing.” He hesitated, then turned the notebook toward her.