I had finished bandaging Jake's hand long ago, but neither of us had moved. We sat side by side in the marui, the hush of the waves rolling outside filling the silence between us. His injured hand rested in his lap, while mine fidgeted with the edge of the woven mat beneath us. He broke the quiet first.
"Why were you fighting so young?"
The question hit harder than I expected. My ears pressed flat, my mouth went dry. "That's... it's a sensitive subject," I murmured, voice barely above the crash of the tide.
Regret flashed in his amber eyes. "Shit. I'm sorry, sweets. Didn't mean to push." His tone softened, and he inched closer, rubbing a warm hand along my back. The nickname—sweets—sent heat crawling up my neck.
"It's... alright," I whispered. "You live with me now. You deserve to know." My voice trembled, but I refused to sound weak. That wasn't who I was.
Jake stayed quiet, just waiting. His hand on my back was steady, grounding. And so, I began.
"I'm the first-born of three. I was six when my siblings were born... and after that, my parents barely remembered I existed. They adored them. But me?" I gave a shaky laugh. "I was fed, clothed, but never... seen. No goodnights, no 'how was school,' nothing. So, I tried to make myself into something they had to see."
Tears welled before I could stop them, spilling hot down my cheeks. "I picked up one of Dad's spears and trained. Every day. Every night, too, when they didn't notice I was gone. I was six." My voice cracked on the last word.
Jake's hand moved from my back to brush away the tears. "You're okay, sweetheart. Take your time," he murmured. His ears had lowered in sympathy, his gaze steady but pained.
I inhaled, steadying myself, and continued. "I grew older. Better. Spears, knives, anything I could get my hands on. But they still never noticed. By thirteen, my mother tried to push me into healing—wanted me to be useful in her way. But I wanted to be a warrior. Tonowari saw my skill. He trained me. And by sixteen, I tamed a tsurak."
A ghost of pride flickered across my face, but it quickly dimmed. "There was a huge celebration. For me, and the others. But my parents didn't even show up."
Jake's jaw clenched. His ears pinned tight against his head. He didn't speak, but I could feel the anger rolling off him.
"I stopped telling them things after that. Why bother? At eighteen I wanted to leave, make my own life. But my mother made me stay—for my siblings. Said it was my duty to raise them." My tone grew bitter, sharp with years of swallowed frustration. "So, I stayed. I picked them up from school, cooked meals, did homework with them. Four years of that. Never enough. Nothing I did was ever enough."
My voice dropped, softer now. "At twenty-two, I couldn't anymore. I asked Tonowari for my own marui. He gave me this one. I left. Haven't seen my family since."
When I finally turned to Jake, expecting pity, I was met instead with fury. His eyes burned, wild with a mixture of anger and grief—for me.
"Kid," he said, his voice low and tight. "I'm so sorry you went through that. No one deserves that. No child."
"I'm okay," I whispered, though my chest still felt tight. "I'll be okay."
He took my hand then, his large, calloused palm enveloping mine. We sat like that, the hush of the ocean weaving through the silence, our hands clasped tight.
The marui curtain rustled, and the kids tumbled in, voices bright with excitement. Me and Jake shot to our feet, letting go quickly. Tuk darted forward, already spilling words, while Lo'ak and Neteyam bickered over who had done better.
"Woah, woah—one at a time," Jake laughed, holding his hands up as we all sat back down to listen.
After the noise settled, Neteyam glanced at me. "Hey, Ayla? Ao'nung and Tsireya said there's a feast tonight. Could we go?" His eyes were hopeful, almost pleading.
I smiled, then looked to Jake. "If your father agrees."
Jake shrugged, grinning. "Don't see why not."
That settled it. The kids whooped, Tuk bouncing in excitement.
By sunset, we joined the rest of the clan at the communal feast. Lanterns lit the beach, casting golden light over the waves. Hunters carried baskets of fresh fish, and the air was thick with salt and smoke. I found Tsireya and Ao'nung, already seated, and we joined them.
Across the fire, Neteyam and Ao'nung sat shoulder to shoulder, talking so animatedly that neither noticed me staring. Warmth tugged at my chest—Ao'nung, who barely tolerated the Sully boys, looked almost... happy.
I turned back to Tsireya, who was busy watching Lo'ak. Her cheeks flushed pink as she spoke. "He's good at diving. Faster heartbeat, but he's learning."
I raised a brow. "Mhm. Sounds like someone's got a crush."
Her blush deepened. "No! I don't! They just got here."
I smirked, enjoying her fluster, until she struck back. "What about you? How was training with Jake?"
My jaw dropped. "'Reya! He's forty-two. Absolutely not."
Her grin was wicked. "And yet you care for his kids like a mother already."
I groaned and stuffed more food in my mouth, ignoring her laughter. There was no winning with her.
So I changed the subject. "Did Ao'nung behave?"
She glanced at the boys, still laughing together. "Some snide comments at first. But then he and Neteyam started talking. And... he was fine."
I studied them, the way Neteyam's shoulder brushed Ao'nung's, the way Ao'nung actually smiled. "You don't think they...?"
"Gay?" Tsireya blinked. "I mean... maybe?" She looked again, and her brow furrowed. "Okay, wait—they do look kind of close."
I chuckled, leaning back. "We should hook them up."
Her head snapped toward me, scandalized. "They're fifteen! Ayla, no!"
I snorted at her dramatics. "I'm kidding. Promise."
She rolled her eyes, muttering, but a smile tugged at her lips. I settled back, watching the firelight dance on the waves, listening to laughter around me. After everything, it felt good—peaceful, even—to sit here with my best friend and this strange little family that was starting to feel like my own.
