Stavanger Bay [m] the sparrows drag me down

Marina remembered what it felt like to drown. Some nights she still woke herself choking on the phantom burn of salt filling her lungs, the way it sharpened to a lance through her chest. It hurt like nothing else, like nothing but this. She took in a tremulous breath. The air was frigid and sweet in her throat. She was alive, and Dutch was hers. He'd chosen her.

But only when there was nothing else left. Only after all the hurt and the longing had cooled to bitterness, then apathy, and now — now what?

This is what you wanted. Wasn't it? She pressed closer, hesitating for long seconds stretching into minutes. The warmth of him softened the thorns from her racing thoughts. Dizzied and disoriented with the feeling, she wobbled on her feet a little. It'd been so long since she'd let herself be held.

Eventually, reluctantly, she shifted to murmur, This way. Her steps regained their steadiness after a few uncertain paces, and she looked back to meet his eyes. To be sure he would follow.