Blackwater Islands Exodus

For a moment, he didn’t move, his scarred face pulling into a faint scowl—not from anger, but from confusion.

How did she know he was there?

“Didn’t mean to sneak,” he muttered, the words tumbling out clumsily as he lowered his head, as if bowing to the weight of her presence. He stayed outside the den, massive and awkward, like a boulder unsure if it belonged in the sea.

His good eye flicked toward her, then darted away.

Ruin shifted his weight, clearing his throat, the sound like a landslide of gravel. He didn’t know what else to say. She wasn’t just his sister anymore, not really. She was the Listener, a saint, a prophet. Revered. Untouchable. But she was still Visala, too, wasn’t she?

“You’re alone,” he added suddenly, the realization hitting him with a dull thud. His tone shifted, gruffer, protective. “Why’re you alone? Where’s Kerosene? Nayavanti?”