I will not be great, but I'm grateful to get through
Ever’s frown deepens as Mateo explains, not in disbelief so much as quiet confusion, his eyes lifting toward the ceiling as if the answer might be written there. "But...Stormbreak is floating," he says, the words slipping out before he can stop them, more thought than challenge. "How can a floating island have tremors?" The question lingers, unsettled, because it refuses to slot neatly into anything he knows about how the world is supposed to work, and that makes his chest tighten all over again.
When Mateo suggests a walk, Ever nods almost immediately, relief softening his posture despite the unanswered questions. "A walk sounds nice," he agrees. As his hands slide into his pockets, his fingers curl around one of the small chunks of wood Isla sent him, the familiar texture grounding in a way that feels instinctive now. He rubs his thumb along its edge, anchoring himself to the present, to the steady pressure and grain beneath his skin and the memory of how this particular specimen tastes.
"Torchline has been really warm," Ever agrees after a moment. "Isla and I have been swimming quite a lot to keep cool."
When Mateo suggests a walk, Ever nods almost immediately, relief softening his posture despite the unanswered questions. "A walk sounds nice," he agrees. As his hands slide into his pockets, his fingers curl around one of the small chunks of wood Isla sent him, the familiar texture grounding in a way that feels instinctive now. He rubs his thumb along its edge, anchoring himself to the present, to the steady pressure and grain beneath his skin and the memory of how this particular specimen tastes.
"Torchline has been really warm," Ever agrees after a moment. "Isla and I have been swimming quite a lot to keep cool."
