Chapter Text
CHAPTER ONE — Craving
The dream starts soft.
Rowan is glowing. Her hair’s damp from the ocean breeze, pulled into a loose braid, a few silver strands curling against her temples. She’s barefoot on the porch, sitting in a weathered wicker chair with a blanket thrown over her lap and Aury nestled against her chest. She hums something low and wordless. The baby nurses, small and greedy, hand fisted in Rowan’s shirt.
Maya watches from a distance.
She’s not really there, not with feet on the ground or breath in her chest, but she can feel the sun on her face and the salt on her lips. It smells like jasmine and citrus. The kind of smell that makes you think of somewhere you were loved, even if it’s not true.
She steps closer. Rowan doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t see her.
Aury unlatches with a sleepy sigh, and Rowan adjusts her shirt with one hand, offering the other breast.
And Maya says—softly, reverently, like a prayer:
“Can I too?”
Rowan’s head snaps toward her like a marionette. Her eyes are wide, unblinking.
“What?”
Maya blushes, but doesn’t back down. She takes another step. She’s breathing hard.
“You always looked so… full.”
“You shouldn’t be here,” Rowan says. Her voice isn’t angry. It’s scared.
“I’m just watching. I missed you.”
Aury starts to cry. Loud, shrill. The dream distorts—blurring at the edges like paint in water.
Maya reaches out.
“Let me hold him.”
“No.”
And then—the air changes.
A cold wind cuts across the porch. The sea darkens in the background. The sky goes greenish, bruised. And from behind Rowan… she emerges.
Rhavelis.
Not quite human. Not quite kind. She’s wearing the form Maya remembers—woman-shaped, beautiful, but off. Too tall. Hair too dark. Eyes too pale. She’s barefoot too, but her steps make no sound.
She puts one hand on Rowan’s shoulder and looks straight at Maya.
“You’re still dreaming about my wife.”
Maya opens her mouth to respond—maybe to apologize, maybe to beg—but no sound comes. Her tongue feels heavy. Her chest tightens.
Rhavelis tilts her head.
“You came here thinking she was alone.”
Her voice is low and rich and sharp.
She steps forward, between Maya and Rowan now, shielding her from view. The air buzzes. Maya can’t breathe.
“This is your last dream.”
“Please,” Maya whispers. “I just wanted to—”
“I don’t care.”
Rhavelis leans in close, face inches from hers.
“You don’t get to want her.”
“She was mine first,” Maya blurts before she can stop herself. “You took her from me.”
Rhavelis grins. It’s wide. Inhuman.
“She chose me. You just never noticed that as you were leaving, so was she.”
And with that, she blows. Just a soft breath. But it hits like a hurricane.
Maya screams and wakes up.
She’s drenched in sweat. Her sheets are tangled. The room is silent except for her gasping breaths. All she remembers and seeing Rowan, glowing, breasts bare and then… Something strange, dangerous, chasing her. Fuck.
She reaches for her phone on the nightstand with shaking hands. Opens her email. Starts typing:
Subject: Research Continuity & Field Work Notes
Hi Dr. Ro,
I hope you and your family are settling in well after your leave. I’m reaching out to touch base regarding your ongoing coastal samples and intertidal fieldwork. There have been a few new developments on our end—particularly around the barnacle behavior data you flagged last year—that I think you’ll find compelling.
Whenever you're ready to ease back into collaboration, I’d appreciate the chance to connect. No pressure, of course—your timeline takes precedence. If you'd prefer a site visit or informal debrief outside the lab, I’m happy to accommodate.
Let me know what works best for you.
And please give my congratulations to the whole household.
Warm regards,
Maya da Costa
Lead Supervisor | Deepwater Institute
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