I think I can manage being collateral damage
Everest’s ears go faintly pink at the mention of swooning—at least, he thinks she’s teasing, but the affectionate squeeze that follows seems to neutralize any sting of embarrassment, converting it neatly into a quiet, contented hum. He adjusts their pace so it matches hers exactly, even shifting slightly so their joined arms don’t jostle too much as they walk.
"Controlled degradation comparison," he murmurs thoughtfully, as if Isla’s driftwood hypothesis is a riddle he’d like to sit with for a week. "Yes. I’d like to try that. Maybe even do a longitudinal test—place a few samples at different water depths, see how mineral saturation and sun exposure affect them over time." He pauses, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. "You wouldn’t happen to have a tide chart in that satchel, would you?" He's only half kidding.
When she gestures toward the storefront, Ever turns neatly with her, letting his gaze sweep the displays outside—thick, sun-warmed cuts of cedar, slices of ironwood stacked like books, polished samples of lighter, decorative woods with rippling grain.
"To be polite, normally I’d ask where you’d like to begin," he says, drawing her a half-step closer so she can get a better look, "but this is supposed to be research. So I’ll say...let’s start with the cedar. Just to eliminate early bias."
His voice lowers as he adds, almost conspiratorially, "Do you know what it's like to...really want to sink your teeth into something?" As an ancient, he had the idea she might.
"Controlled degradation comparison," he murmurs thoughtfully, as if Isla’s driftwood hypothesis is a riddle he’d like to sit with for a week. "Yes. I’d like to try that. Maybe even do a longitudinal test—place a few samples at different water depths, see how mineral saturation and sun exposure affect them over time." He pauses, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. "You wouldn’t happen to have a tide chart in that satchel, would you?" He's only half kidding.
When she gestures toward the storefront, Ever turns neatly with her, letting his gaze sweep the displays outside—thick, sun-warmed cuts of cedar, slices of ironwood stacked like books, polished samples of lighter, decorative woods with rippling grain.
"To be polite, normally I’d ask where you’d like to begin," he says, drawing her a half-step closer so she can get a better look, "but this is supposed to be research. So I’ll say...let’s start with the cedar. Just to eliminate early bias."
His voice lowers as he adds, almost conspiratorially, "Do you know what it's like to...really want to sink your teeth into something?" As an ancient, he had the idea she might.
.
