The ocean spread endlessly beyond the railing. Bioluminescence pulsed beneath crystal-clear water, visible even under full daylight.
Blues and violets and silvers dancing in impossible patterns, too bright, too vibrant.
Kane's gaze drifted toward the volcano.
No smoke rose from its peak. The mountain sat pristine and dormant, as if it had never harbored magma or sealed creatures or ancient secrets.
The beach below lay empty. No vendors setting up stalls, no morning joggers, and no distant voices carrying on the breeze.
Just them. Paradise stretched perfect and untouched.
The hatchling purred against Kane's palm, a sound like distant thunder.
Everything felt right.
After breakfast, Kane cradled the hatchling against his chest while Cyrus drove the golf cart down the winding cliff road.
The market materialized as they rounded the final bend—vibrant stalls and fluttering banners appearing where empty sand had stretched moments before.
