Jake and I sat together for a while, hands entwined, his head resting against my shoulder. Neither of us spoke. The sky outside deepened into violet shadows, and I knew the hunt was waiting, but my body felt heavy, my spirit drained.
"Could we go to the gathering tonight?" I asked softly, not wanting to break the peace between us. "I don't feel up to hunting."
Jake gave a small nod, his eyes warm. "Of course. Whatever you feel like."
He rose, calling for the children, and together we made our way down to the communal bonfire.
The firelight glowed golden against the sand, laughter and voices filling the night air. Everyone lined up for their portion of fish and fruit before scattering into little groups. Jake sat with Tuk and Kiri, Lo'ak and Neteyam wandered toward Ao'nung, and I found Tsireya, settling beside her on a driftwood log.
We ate in companionable silence until my nerves finally won. I placed a hand on her shoulder, voice low. "I need your help."
Her ears twitched, curiosity sparking in her sea-bright eyes. "What is it?"
I sucked in a breath and blurted it out all at once. "ihavefeelingsforjake."
Tsireya blinked. "Um... again, but slower."
My face burned. I leaned closer, whispering, "I have feelings for Jake."
Her eyes widened, and then—disaster. A high-pitched squeal burst from her throat, loud enough for half the reef to hear. I slapped a hand over her mouth, panic sparking. "Shh! I can't let anyone know!"
She pried my hand away, confusion flickering across her face. "Why?"
My shoulders slumped. "Because they would frown upon it. I'm younger. He's Omaticaya. It would never be seen as proper."
"Oh." Her voice softened, and for a moment she looked at me not as a friend, but as someone who understood.
I gave her a sad smile and picked at my food, taking small bites to distract from the ache in my chest.
But Tsireya, ever bold in her own way, leaned closer with a conspiratorial grin. "What if you only told him? No one else. Not until you're mated. Better to ask forgiveness than permission." She smirked. "Lo'ak taught me that."
A laugh escaped me, unexpected and light. "I might just take that advice."
By the time the meal ended, the fire had burned low and families drifted home. I left Tsireya and joined the Sullys. We walked back together, the children chattering among themselves, Tuk skipping along at my side with her small hand clutching mine.
Back at the marui, mats were laid out in the same arrangement as the night before. I unrolled mine beside Jake's. Soon, quiet conversations faded to silence, and we all drifted into sleep.
⸻
Dawn's first light woke me. I slipped out quietly, padding down the sand until I reached the water. The ocean welcomed me, cool and alive, as I dove beneath the surface.
I needed time. Space. A moment to think about what confessing to Jake would really mean. He wasn't just one man—he was a father. Loving him meant loving his children, too. And I did. Tuk already called me "mum." Lo'ak slipped it out sometimes without thinking. They were already tangled around my heart in ways I hadn't expected.
But the risk still scared me.
The water glided across my skin, shivers sparking down my spine. I swam mindlessly, thoughts turning circles until they led me toward my secret cove beyond the reef. I called an ilu to carry me there safely.
The cove greeted me like an old friend—rock rising just above the water's surface, the rest an endless cradle of blue. I climbed onto the stone, dripping, and pulled the small pouch from my hip.
Inside were the things I'd gathered—string I had made, shells of every size, beads carved or found. At first, I had only meant to make a bracelet for Jake. But now, staring at the little treasures, I knew I couldn't leave the children out. They were part of him. Part of me.
I began with Jake's bracelet, threading shells and beads with careful hands, cutting the string with my dagger. Next came Tuk's—bright colors and tiny shells. Kiri's shimmered with iridescence. Lo'ak's I laced with dark coral and rougher beads, while Neteyam's held polished sea glass, wood, and a strong shell centerpiece.
When the last knot was tied, I tucked them all back into my pouch. My heart felt lighter, my decision made.
But as I neared the village again, a cold weight settled in my gut. Something was wrong.
And I was right.
Standing before my marui was my mother, my father lurking just behind her. Her face twisted in anger the instant she saw me. My eyes flicked past her to the safety of inside—Jake and the children, all watching. Tuk clung to Jake's side. Relief steadied me.
I lifted my chin, spine straight. "Hello, Mother. What are you doing here?"
Her lip curled. "I think I should be asking you. You abandoned us. Left without a word. And now I find you here, living with these... freaks." Venom laced the word. "You disappoint me, Tayala. I expected better."
Her disapproval was a blade I'd felt all my life, but this time—this time—I refused to bleed.
"You can insult me all you want," I snapped, rage simmering, "but you will not insult them. They are Na'vi, just like us, and they deserve your respect." My voice hardened. "If you came here only to spread poison, then leave."
Her eyes narrowed. "I came to bring you home. Pack your things. You can't stay here—with them."
Behind her, I heard Tuk's small, quivering voice: "Dad... is she moving out?"
My heart broke.
I turned back to my mother, voice shaking with fury. "I am not leaving. You are not my family anymore. They are." I motioned to Jake and the children.
Jake rose then, stepping out to stand beside me. His hand wrapped firmly around my waist, anchoring me. His voice was low, dangerous. "If you insult her, you insult me."
"Now leave," I finished.
For a moment, silence. Then my parents glanced between Jake's towering frame and my unyielding eyes, before turning on their heels and walking away.
The moment they were gone, my strength crumbled. I collapsed into Jake's arms, tears spilling freely. His hand rubbed my back in slow, grounding circles, the other still firm at my waist.
We stood there like that, until the children came out, Tuk wrapping her little arms around my leg, the others crowding close.
One by one, they joined the embrace until we were all gathered together—Jake and I at the center, the family I had chosen.
When we finally broke apart and went inside, I didn't let go of Jake. I couldn't. My morning of peace had shattered, but in its place was something stronger: the certainty of where I belonged.
