Liv was wrong about one thing—it was not a "matter of time before I got my sea-legs back." After two close calls, I finally feel the glorious stability of land and swallow down the bile in my throat for good.

"Lady Cora," Gail announces, "it was an undertaking of sorts, but rest assured, Hydra is now the safest place on Earth. If you need anything, feel free to ask just about anyone. That being said, unless you need my immediate services, I'll be in the longhouse. I haven't had a good nap in weeks, and at my age, a good nap is crucial to my survival."

I laugh and tell her to enjoy.

"So…" I turn to address a very nervous Alex. "I guess it's time to find your friends."

We've barely gotten past the brush separating the beach from the jungle when a small child drops down from the trees and presses a knife's blade to my stomach. "Join my crew or perish where you stand!"

So much for Hydra being the safest place on Earth. I look down at the frowning child and conclude she can't be much older than seven or eight. "Okay."

"Excellent," she says and sheathes the knife. "I'm the captain and you're my first mate. Carry me on your back."

"Uh, no, I don't think…" I stop talking as the incredibly hyper child climbs on my back anyway. "Okay. Please don't do that. You're choking me."

"I need to make a pitstop at home," she continues. "Ouch! Hold my legs. Oh, hi Alex!"

"Hey, Peregrine." Alex gives a small wave. "Do you know where I can find your sisters?"

"Yeah, they're all at home. You can follow me. Onward, first mate!"

I'm at least somewhat familiar with the layout of Hydra. Or at least with the path that leads to the houses. Alex remains completely silent as I struggle to carry Peregrine up the hill towards the longhouse and the Hall of Freyja. Now that I have the time to do so, I look around more and admire just how colorful and vibrant this area is. Best of all, nobody approaches me. At most, a passing woman or two will nod their acknowledgement and smile at the squirming kid ordering me around.

"We're here," Peregrine yells triumphantly. "Take me inside, first mate. I have business to conduct."

A door flies open, and chaos tumbles out in the form of four excitable young women and Flint—Annie's young son I stopped from fighting a superhuman named Thor. Alex barely gets a greeting out before they knock her down in a dog-pile, lost in a fit of screams and laughter.

"I can't believe you're here," one of them screams.

"This is the best day ever," another girl chimes in. "What did you think about what I wrote you last? You never wrote back!"

"You'll have to tell me about it all over again," Alex says when she's finally released from the pile of bodies. "I ran out of raisins as payment, so Loki tried to eat your last letter. I could barely read it when I wrestled it out of his beak."

"Alex?" Annie wanders outside to see what all the commotion is about. "This is a surprise. Girls, get off her. Let her breathe. Lady Cora." Annie spots me and starts to bow but stops when she sees who has hitched a ride on my back. "Peregrine, you get off of lady Cora right this instant."

"You're Cora?" Peregrine asks. "Yippie! Lady Cora's my first mate! I didn't get to see when your eyes were bleeding, but now my crew will be the most revered in all the high seas. We shall pillage the word and take none alive—hey!"

Annie pulls Peregrine off me and restrains her tightly against her chest. "I apologize on behalf of this one, Cora. Takes too much after her father. I'm still attempting to civilize her. Speaking of which, it's time for your bath."

"What? No!" Peregrine struggles against her mother's grip, but Annie holds her up sideways off the floor, like a plank of wood, and starts walking deeper into the jungle. "Unhand me, woman! Help! First mate, save me!"

Poor Alex has finally been freed of the dog-pile, but she doesn't at all seem to mind being squished. The group stands huddled together, like if they don't hold tightly to some part of Alex, she's going to blow away at the first strong breeze. The sight of them makes me nostalgic for memories I don't have.

As if just now realizing I'm here, the once boisterous group of girls have quieted to barely above a whisper as they regard me shyly. Even though they're all smiling, they look like Jack did—unsure of what to think of me. All at one time, they say, "Hello, lady Cora."

The tallest girl—a brunette with a face full of freckles—steps forward and bows. "Lady Cora, would it be okay if we showed Alex around the island?"

Is that a tattoo? I'm taken aback by the sizable dragon snaking up this young girl's neck. I catch myself staring. Who is this? I never actually officially met any of Annie's daughters, so I have no idea who I'm talking to. Considering the rest of them are redheads, I can't even say for sure that this is one of Annie's children. "Yes," I tell her. "Of course. That's why she's here. You all go have fun."

I smile when their excitement seems to return in full force. Holding tightly to Alex's arms, the girls take off into the jungle in a cloud of laughter, leaving poor Flint struggling to keep up.

Now that I'm alone, I'm not entirely sure what I want to do. This is the first time I haven't been bombarded with requests or introductions. I eventually walk to the longhouse in search of my bedroom. I'm sick of this dress. Maybe I have pants in one of the clothing chests?

"Here." Gail holds out a small rolled paper when I step into the room. "Pris says this letter came for you about half an hour ago."

I unroll it and instantly frown.

I humbly request Alex's prompt return home. —Ben

Gail points to the corner of the room. "There's fresh paper on your desk, if you need it."

I shake my head and reach for a pencil. "No need to waste paper. I'll just write on the back." In big block letters I respond REQUEST DENIED and hand the newly-folded sheet to Gail.

I suddenly know what I want to do more than anything. I want to eat. More importantly, I want some more of that delicious bread and jam. "I'm going to check out the jam house. Can you point me in the right direction?"

"Welcome, my lady. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

It's nice to see Charlotte again under more pleasant circumstances. This workroom is beautiful and filled with a decadent sugary smell that instantly makes my mouth water. Large vats of ripe fruit line one wall and an assortment of empty jars line another. I smile at her. "Just wanted to see how you're doing."

"Me?" Charlotte sets down a full jar of mango jam and wipes her hands on an apron. "I'm doing as well as everyone else, I guess. If you don't mind my asking, I'm curious as to how you're doing. Loki sent us word while you were healing."

How am I doing? About what part? Being poisoned? Agreeing to an arranged marriage so people stop trying to kill each other? Healing Liv and literally DYING in the process? "I've recovered," I answer and walk further into the room. "Honestly, I don't really want to talk about it. I'd much rather learn about what you're doing. Can I help? I've never made jam before."

Charlotte perks up. "Actually, I'd love some help. If you don't mind. My sister's are out sick this morning, and I need to finish canning this fruit before it rots."

She has sisters? "Are your sisters okay?"

"Yes," Charlotte laughs lightly and shakes her head. "They're not actually sick. Just very hungover. They've been partying since we got word you'd woken up from your coma."

I glance around and sigh internally. Not a bread roll in sight. "Are you not much of a drinker?"

"Nothing wrong with a little mead now and then," she explains with a wink. "It's the hangover after a binge that's never quite worth it to me. Is something wrong?"

"Oh. . . no, no. Just—" It's embarrassing to beg, but I'm just so hungry. "You wouldn't happen to have some of that bread from the party, would you? I'd love a snack. If you don't mind me taking some jam."

"Please, have as much as you'd like." Reaching down behind the table, Charlotte pulls up a nice soft loaf and offers it to me. "Enjoy yourself while I show you how the magic happens."

I rip off chunks of bread as she explains how to preserve the fruit by skinning, cutting, and mashing mangos, papayas, peaches, and berries. Next, she demonstrates the amount of gelatin and honey to add and what consistency it needs to be before scooping them into a jar. Since honey has no moisture, it doesn't spoil and helps to give the jam a longer shelf-life. Charlotte shows me how to fill the jars, how to close them properly, and where to store them when they're finished.

"We usually eat it as fast as my sisters and I can jar them. But ever since you've returned, our orchard has been running wild. We've been harvesting such an abundance, we have to freeze some fruit for later. That's not even counting what's in this store room." Charlotte laughs again and gently nudges me with her elbow. "So, thank you."

This is fun. I'm happy I decided to check this place out because I'm genuinely interested in how they make such delicious jam. It's practically all I ate the last time I was on Hydra, and it's one of the few foods I've never tried to make homemade. Thankfully, half the battle is something I excel at—chopping. Charlotte gave me a quality knife to work with, and it's no time at all before I've sliced up an entire barrel of peaches while lost in a methodical stupor.

Please say something, Charlotte.

I scoop thick globs of mashed peaches into a big bowl and mix in the appropriate amount of honey and gelatin. Charlotte hasn't said anything since we've begun working. "I'm gonna be honest," I tell her. "I have no idea what gelatin even is."

She smiles kindly and reaches across the table for a bowl of mangos. "We boil bones for ours. It's a very long process, but it keeps the jam firm."

"Oh." Come on. Think of something else to say. This is the first time—outside of conversations with Alex—that a person I'm working with hasn't gone on and on about the things they want or need me to do. In fact, Charlotte's silence is starting to make me anxious.

It's not that I'm quiet because I have nothing to say. I would never shut-up if I had the self-esteem to do so. I'm usually quiet because nobody listens to me, and it's exhausting to have things I want to share with others and a room full of people who don't want to hear it.

"Can I ask you something?" I instantly flinch with regret at the memory of Ben responding to my question with a snarky, I don't know. Can you?

But Charlotte only looks up from the mound of sliced mangos she's working on and fixes me with another kind smile. "Of course."

We talk about everything, switching from one subject to the next like we're old friends. I learn about the rock pool not far from here where they get their drinking water, and the orchards where they harvest crops, and the small farm where they raise cows and goats for milk, sheep for wool, and chickens for eggs.

I relax the longer the conversation goes until she asks me about the wedding. I skirt around the question and ask if she's seeing anyone. She skirts around the question and asks me about Asgard. I ask about her family. She's the oldest sister, and we bond over that shared commonality. As she divulges more about her family, it becomes clear why she still has a British accent. Both her parents raised her here on Hydra after the Dharma Initiative was disbanded and its people adopted by mine. I guess that explains why Miles is here.

It's as easy to talk to Charlotte as it is to talk to Claire. Claire. "Do you know where the female survivors are? I haven't seen them since I returned."

"They're settled in the guesthouses," she answers. "Pris put them to work in the gardens. I can take you there after we've finished canning, if you'd like."

I finish screwing on the top to a finished jar of papaya jam and walk over to the organized shelf. One jar lies away from the others. I pick it up and squint to confirm it's what I think it is. "Is this strawberry jam? I love strawberries."

"It's the last jar for a few weeks." Charlotte suddenly looks irritated. "We hardly ever make it because it takes so many strawberries, and the children are notorious for plucking the plants clean before we can even harvest them." She frowns down at the bowl she's working on. "The last time we canned strawberry jam, Jane sailed all the way here just to break poor Gunnar's nose. Didn't even offer him a trade. Just stormed in and took the last jar."

I raise my eyebrows, even though this isn't surprising news in the slightest. "Yeah, she's a little. . . abrasive."

"Yes, well, she wasn't always like that."

"No?" Now that is surprising news. "She told me she grew up here. On Hydra."

"Mm-hm," Charlotte hums as she works. "But she left as soon as she turned sixteen. You're allowed to leave your community at sixteen," she explains when she sees my confusion. "We call it The Great Wandering. It's a time in a young person's life when they get to choose whether or not they wish to stay with our people or join Jacob's followers." Charlotte spoons more honey into the jar, her eyebrows mashing together. "Nobody ever actually leaves, but Jane couldn't wait to get away from this island. Even started growing her hair out the moment she left. I think she's embarrassed of us."

Charlotte's red hair is relatively long, so I'm confused. "Is short hair tradition here?"

"No, sorry," Charlotte explains, motioning to the right side of her scalp. "Jane has a head tattoo, but you can't see it anymore."

Our conversation dies down. I glance at her while I mash fruit. She looks sad. "Does Jane not visit often?"

Charlotte huffs, looks up at me, and blushes a soft pink. "Basically makes a bi-weekly trip to trade some foolish young person a bottle of dipping sauce for something worth far more than that. I keep telling her to leave them alone. Children only ever think with their stomachs."

I'm not even canning anymore. Propping my elbow on the table, I rest my head in my hand. "Why don't you visit her on the mainland?"

"I have my sisters here. And plenty of friends." Charlotte regards me curiously. Whatever was holding her back from being truly forthcoming seems to no longer matter. "I don't need to beg for anyones attention. If she wanted to visit, she would."

"Jane strikes me as someone who appreciates bluntness." I return my attention to chopping the fruit. "But she also doesn't seem like the type to be very honest with her feelings."

Charlotte stops chopping. "What exactly is it you're trying to say, my lady?"

What am I doing? If I'm wrong about this, I could irrevocably screw up their friendship. And for what? Because I like shipping people? What the hell is wrong with me?

I piece together everything I know about the two of them. How enraged Jane was at the engagement dinner. How Ben told Charlotte to leave after Jane got drunk because he "didn't want her to get any worse." Jane herself admitted she wasn't fighting Erik because he announced his engagement. She was fighting him specifically because he'd chosen Charlotte. Hm. In the show, Charlotte was paired with Daniel Faraday. A character I have no idea even fits into whatever is happening in this universe. So, if he's not here, is there a chance Charlotte could be destined for someone else?

"At the engagement dinner," I continue, staring intently into my jam mixture, "you mentioned Erik proposed to you to embarrass Jane." I'm not entirely sure how to approach the subject, but I'm just too damn nosy not to try. "I don't think I've ever seen someone so angry. It was a lot, even for Jane. It makes me wonder."

"About what?"

I raise my eyebrows and shrug. "That maybe she cares about you as more than a friend."

Charlotte scoffs quietly. "Jane only truly cares about Jane."

"Mmm, I don't think that's true."

"Have you seen something?" she asks, looking up from her bowl. "A vision?"

"Uh…no," I admit. Now my face is the one reddening. "This is more of a theory."

Charlotte nods, and I'm afraid I've disappointed her. "In all our years of friendship, we've had many a falling out. Sometimes she's just so… aggravating."

It's almost like I'm back home, listening to my mother and grandmother talk shit about whatever family gossip is hot at the moment. I lean forward, encouragingly. "Mm-hm?"

"Is it really so difficult to be straightforward? I'm not difficult to talk to, am I? I swear I never know what she's thinking. Just when I believe I've figured her out, she goes and does something asinine."

"Like what?"

"Like propose to Erik," she says in a rush of prickly anger. Neither of them have actually admitted to me how they feel in any straightforward manner, but judging from the way Charlotte's gripping a dishrag while she rants, I think I can guess where she stands. "It was such a shock."

"Wait, Jane didn't tell you beforehand she was proposing to Erik?"

"No," Charlotte exclaims in insult. "I had to find out from Sabine. I thought she hated the man, but then the next thing I know, everyone is planing their wedding, and I'm left wondering what's going on."

"Maybe she was trying to do what she thought was right? Maybe she didn't know how to tell you?" I know why Jane proposed to Erik and then receded the offer, but it doesn't sound like any of this was discussed with Charlotte. "I mean, she just as quickly broke off the engagement."

Charlotte sets down the jar she's working on and turns to give me her full attention. "May I ask you a question? Please answer not as my friend, but as the Goddess of Love. Can you tell me, with absolute certainty, that what you're saying is true?"

"Uh. I can't exactly confirm that's how she feels. But if you give me a day, I can find out."

At the end of the day, Charlotte takes me to the survivors.

Like she mentioned earlier, they've been sent to work in the gardens, but I'd use the term "work" lightly. Most of them are sitting in the grass, talking to the women of Hydra and munching on various produce. Even Kate—who is supposed to be serving time—is lounging in the grass, deep in a conversation. Sun seems to be the only one truly interested in the actual gardening. I spot Claire just as she lets out a particularly mirthful laugh at something an equally pregnant Norse woman has said.

I take one look at them all—satisfied they are safe and at least relatively happy—and decide not to talk to them today.

There's a new letter sitting on my desk in the bedroom. I take a steadying breath before uncurling it.

This matter does not concern you. I would appreciate if you could respect the boundaries within a father-daughter relationship. I am requesting Alex's immediate return home. I will not ask again. —Ben

I snort, flip the note, and grab a pencil.

Get over yourself and stop bothering me!

It's maybe fifteen minutes before a raven named Angrboda returns with a response strapped to her leg. "I require payment," she says.

"You don't want anymore raisins?"

"No." Angrboda hops across my desk and pecks at a ring. "May I have this shiny thing?"

What's a raven going to do with a ring? "Yeah, sure. It's all yours. Can I have the note now?"

I uncurl it, expecting another snide response, and immediately panic. Ben's written an angry cramped letter that takes up every inch of the paper. He's pressed so hard on some of the words that they leave deep indents that almost rip through. I fold it without reading beyond the first four words: I WILL NOT BE—

Breathe in. Breathe out. What's he going to do? Keep sending letters in all uppercase to drive home his point?

But what if he comes here? What if he catches me when Gail's not around? What if he yells at me? Maybe I should talk to Alex.

No. Wait. Calm down. I'm a grown ass adult. What's the worst he can do?

I keep the letter folded, walk over to my fireplace, and toss it in.

It feels weird to wake up naturally and not have anyone vying for my attention. Nobody knocks at my door and asks me to bless their children or heal their gaping wounds. The only person waiting patiently outside my bedroom is Gail, and all she wants is to present me with a breakfast platter. We eat together at one of the many tables in the longhouse and talk about nothing in particular. After breakfast, I let her know I'm going down to the beach to sunbathe, and she helps me pick out some pants, a t-shirt, and sunglasses.

"Not much point in sunbathing if you're in pants." Gail holds up the cotton garment in question. "Are you sure you don't want these shorts?"

No, because I don't want anyone to see my legs. If I don't see my legs, I don't have to think about jiggling or cellulite or—worst of all—the painful chub rub that's bound to happen the second my legs sweat even a little. I don't tell her this, and thankfully she doesn't fight me on the matter.

I'm halfway down the hill when I hear a familiar voice. "Morning, first mate. Where are we off to today?"

Oh, no. Please not right now. "I'm going to go sunbathe by myself for a while."

"Oh."

I just want peace and quiet, but I also instantly feel bad for Peregrine when her expression falls. "You should try and recruit more people into our crew," I say in an attempt to cheer her up. "A two person ship won't get very far."

Peregrine sniffs, looking dejected. "My sisters don't want to play with me. And Aiko's dad won't let her leave the temple anymore."

I stop myself from asking if there are any other children she can play with. If there were, she'd be playing with them. It's a familiar feeling to not have anyone to hang out with. Ultimately, I give in. "You can come with me if you want."

"Yeah?" Peregrine lights up for half a second before falling back into a comedically serious expression. "No need to carry me to the beach, first mate. I give you the day off."

A genuine laugh bursts out of me. "Thank you. I appreciate it."

"Lady Cora? Lady Cora!" Two young girls run towards me, frowning when they see Peregrine. "Ugh. Is she bossing you around too?"

It's not clear if these girls are bullies, or if Peregrine is the bully. I look from one little girl to the other and take note of Peregrine's slouching stature. "No," I answer. "Actually, I joined her crew. You wanna join?"

An angry response is forming on one of their lips before the other jabs her in the ribs and she catches herself. "No thank you, lady Cora." As quick as they arrived, the girls have disappeared into the trees.

I raise an eyebrow at Peregrine's uncomfortable expression. "I'm assuming they're not friends of yours?"

"They're all just jealous because I'm a luck god."

Huh? Honestly, I just want to relax in the sun for a little while, so I smile and nod and continue walking towards the ocean as she trails behind me. Eventually I find a nice palm to lie under and get comfortable in the sand while Fenrir and Pumba run along the shoreline. It's instantly relaxing to toast under a vibrant sun with a cool sea breeze blowing off the water.

This is what I've been waiting for since day one. If there's no way to get back to my actual reality—wherever that is—I might as well be existential in comfort.

I lie back in the sand and close my eyes, lulled into a calm by the sound of the ocean. Sunshine streaks lines of red behind my eyelids, and I watch them dance as a cloud passes over the sun and everything darkens. I open my eyes to find it's not a cloud.

Seeing him doesn't illicit intense fear or nervousness like I thought it would. My natural response to his murderous expression is to frown back up at him with equal loathing. "Do I have to sic Gail on you?" I sit up and rip off my sunglasses. "Because I will."

"We need to talk."

"No thanks. I'm on vacation."

"I wasn't asking for permission," he states flatly. "I'm telling you we're going to talk. I'll even let you choose the location."

"Well, I'm not moving, so I guess take a seat."

"No can do, Ben." Peregrine squares her shoulders and looks up at him. "I need my first mate rested so we can prepare for our next big raid."

"I'll make you a deal," he says, swiveling around to look at her. "You let me talk to Cora privately, and I won't tell your mother you're the one who stole fireworks and lit the pavilion on fire at the last Yuletide."

Peregrine falls silent, deep in thought. She nods. "Deal." The two shake hands, and then she's running off back up the hill.

Ben glares at me a moment longer before sitting in the sand and glaring at me from eye level. "Why are you being difficult? I made a very simple request."

"You sailed all the way over here just to reiterate what you've already told me in your letters?" I pop my sunglasses back on and sigh. "Great use of your time, Ben."

"Do you even know where Alex is right now?"

"She's fine. I've been with her this whole time." Not exactly true, but I did see her walking around with a big group of girls last night.

Ben shifts his gaze from me to the windy shore. "The fact that you've already died in the few days you've been here doesn't exactly instill confidence in your ability to keep her safe."

"I don't know what you want me to say." Without knowing why, I'm suddenly so irrationally angry my throat is burning. "Alex is legally allowed to be here."

"This isn't about legalities."

"Then what is this about? Because right now it just sounds like you want her back home because you're empty nesting."

"This isn't about me," he retorts sharply. "This is entirely about Alex. It's. . . it's seer business."

"What do you mean?" Wait, is being here putting her in danger? "Did Aiko tell you something about Alex's future?"

Ben can't seem to stop blinking as he opens his mouth and changes his mind. "No."

"Then who did? The previous seer?"

"I know you're new to all this," he complains, "but it's incredibly taboo to ask someone about their prophecy."

"Alex is running around with about ten other young girls right now." I sit up on my knees and stare him down when he tries to argue. "If she's in trouble, they all are, and I need to know about it."

He shakes his head, like what I just said was ridiculous. "They're not all in trouble—"

"Tell me," I interrupt. "You want my help? I want you to tell me exactly what the seer said. Word for word."

Ben stills and falls silent for a long time. "She saw me mourning her." He pauses, looking down at the sand, then out at the water. "She saw her die very young."

Think, think, think. In the show, how does she die? Keamy. Martin Keamy shoots her in the back of the head. But does Keamy even exist in this universe? Will there be someone else on the freighter? Some other mercenary? Will there even be a freighter?

"How?" I ask.

"Childbirth."

I stare at him, unblinking. Although, he'd never know because I put the sunglasses back on. "You do realize this island is where they keep the women, right?"

Ben jerks his head over to glare at me. His mouth twitches downward with a handful of snide responses, but all he ends up saying is a curt, "Yes, I'm aware."

"Then you're going to have to do a better job of explaining yourself." Wait a second. I think back to everything Charlotte told me yesterday. "Have you been keeping her away from this island because you're afraid she's going to realize how much more fun my people are and decide to join them? What is it…Wandering Week?"

"That's not at all what it's called."

"But that's what this is about, isn't it?" He doesn't answer, and that's as good as a confirmation. "Wow, this is. . . not your finest work. I thought you were supposed to be good at planning?" At the look on his face, I add, "I get what you're doing, and I actually appreciate where you're coming from. But you greatly misunderstand teenage girls if you think this is a viable solution."

At this, he stops and looks down at the sand before looking side-long at me. "You sound like you have an idea."

"My younger twin sisters are more of a headache than Alex could ever dream to be. Honestly, you have no idea how well behaved Alex is in comparison to most other teenagers I've met in my life." I hold up an index finger. "But. . ."

"I'm listening."

"No matter how well-behaved, it's sort of a teenage right of passage to find ways to give authority the middle finger." I almost laugh at his prickly expression. "I understand why you want her under constant supervision, but I guarantee she thinks you're stifling her because you still think of her as a child."

"She is a child," he argues.

"See? This is what I'm talking about. If she could hear you right now, she wouldn't see your intentions as loving. She'd probably think this was some kind of punishment." Alex said she has no idea why Ben won't let her go to Hydra, which means he's never talked to her about her future. "You've. . ." All the uncharacteristic calmness I've been holding onto abandons me, and I feel a familiar flush burning my face. If she's supposed to die in labor. . . "Have you, I mean, or anyone else, I guess. . . um. Hm." I wave my hands around while he waits for me to finish. "She's. . . um. Okay, like, you know what I'm talking about."

"Your point was so eloquently argued, how could there be any room for confusion?"

I don't think I've ever consciously wanted to slap someone so badly. It's not my fault if you've never had "The Talk" with your kid! If you'd have just told her what her future entailed, she could be best equipped at not letting it happen. Does birth control not exist in this universe?!

Before I can think of something to say, Ben beats me to it. "I'm very busy back at the mainland, and I don't feel like we've made any real headway with this conversation. So, please," he finishes in an almost whisper. "I am asking you to tell my daughter to come home."

I'm surprised to find that the overwhelming emotion I'm feeling is jealousy. Dad would never have fought to keep me or my siblings safe. Dad would have sold us for a case of beers if he could have figured out a way to do so without the FBI finding out. Ben may be incredibly misguided in his execution of Plan: Keep Alex Safe, but his heart's in the right place. He just wants to protect his daughter the way all parents should.

Which makes it all the more difficult to give my answer. "No," I say and watch as his expression morphs into surprise. "Alex is free to go home whenever she'd like, but I'm not going to force her off an island she's within her legal rights to visit."

"Well alright then." Ben's expression is a resigned mask of indifference when he stands. "I guess I've wasted both our time."

"Wait, sit." But he's ignoring me, so I jump up and follow him. "Do you know if her mother talked to her before she got sick?"

Ben scoffs dismissively and keeps walking. "Her mother didn't get sick. She fell off a cliff."

"That's not what Alex told me."

"One of your scouts fished her out of the water." Ben looks over at me. "What? You think I should have told a five-year-old all the gruesome details? I'm sure Alex would have loved to hear all about how the backside of her mother's skull had been cracked wide open. How fish had already begun to eat her bloated flesh. How—"

"Okay, thanks. I get it."

He stops walking, exhales. "Did her mother ask her…what?"

"No," I correct, suddenly thankful for the sunglasses hiding my cringing eyes. "Do you know if—" I am a grown adult who cannot say the words, "Do you know if her mother talked to her about sex?"

If everything in life were left up to my mother and grandmother, I'd get married, have a bunch of kids, and die without ever even knowing what birth control is. You know, like a good Catholic. But I went to a secular college, and they literally made everyone in the dorms take a "care package" during orientation that consisted of a handful of condoms. I was originally going to try and befriend my roommate by joking around and making balloon animals out of mine, but when I opened the pack, the latex smelt so horrendous I just threw them all away. My roommate turned out to be an asshole anyway.

I can't seem to form the words I want to say, so instead, I cross my arms over my chest and huff indignantly. "Have you ever thought that maybe what you're doing is the exact reason Alex's future turns out the way it does?"

"Excuse me?" he asks in an insulted snarl.

No sex-ed, no friends, no real freedom to travel where she wants. Come on, Ben. That's. . . that's. . . well, shit. That's me. You don't want Alex to end up like me! It's a struggle not to yell. "I'm shocked you don't see how this is a recipe for disaster. First boy her age she comes across is going to give her the Tarzan effect. That's not even taking into consideration all the outwardly innocent but definitely not innocent activities kids are up to nowadays. . . like Netflix and Chill."

"I swear I only ever understand a fraction of what comes out of your mouth."

"Okay," I snap, "so here's a simple question. Do you want Alex to be happy?"

"I want her to be alive."

"Good," I say, smiling. "We can finally agree on something."

I find Alex headed my way towards the beach, dressed in the same pants and shirt from yesterday. I almost get distracted and forget my plan when I notice the young women linking arms on either side of her are also dressed in normal street clothes. All the pure joy in Alex's smile saps out of her at the sight of me running towards her.

"Girls," I hiss. "Girls! Come here, quick!"

Alex and her friends hurry over to meet me as I sprint up the hill out of breath. "Ben's here," I tell her in a sharp whisper. "Just landed at the docks. He'll be up here any minute, and we both know you'll get dragged back to the mainland if he sees you."

Alex's face quickly drains of color. "Dad's here?"

I look behind me to check, and then I fix her with wide eyes. "You girls need to head to the Hall of Freyja. Right now."

"Yeah, she's right," Hazel whispers. "Luna and Pris won't let any man inside. We'll be safe there. Come on, Alex. We'll show you. Thank you, lady Cora!"

"Yes," they all whisper in unison, "thank you, lady Cora."

"Go," I tell Alex. She's completely frozen in place at the thought of suffering the consequences for disobeying Ben's orders. "Go, Alex, I'll talk to him for you. Just go. Look, here he comes! Girls, get her out of here. I'll come get you when he leaves."

I watch as they tug Alex into the town center towards the hall. It isn't until after the group has disappeared into the building that I turn around to meet Ben.

"Ha," I whisper. "Gail doesn't know what she's talking about. They totally bought my act."

I watch his brows draw closer together, but he never ends up truly frowning as he stares off in the direction of my hall. "I have your word this will work?"

"Go home and be thankful she's listened to you this far." His brows crease together even more, and I backpedal. "Trust me, if there's one thing I'm good at, it's taking care of my—" I cut myself off before I say sisters. "Just trust me. I've got it from here." I thought my plan was infinitely better than his, but he still looks unsure. "Please, Ben. Who's she going to believe? Her dad? Or the literal Goddess of Love?"

It looks like his small nod is both reluctant and irritated. "I expect regular updates."

"Sure thing. No, wait," I add when he turns and starts heading back to the docks. "Actually, I have a delivery I need you to take back for me. One second." I turn and hurry down the path to the empty longhouse, past the long tables and benches and firepits, and step into my bedroom to grab the jar of strawberry jam off my desk. I didn't expect him to follow me, but he's there when I turn around. "Here," I say and hand him the jar. "Can you please give this to Jane?"

"Is this from you?"

No, and neither is the note I tied to the lid. "Yeah," I lie.

"Mm-hm." Ben turns the jar around in his hand. "Why do I have the suspicion I'm being roped into your meddling? I'm on Jane's bad side as it is."

"Ugh, fine. I'll give it to Jane." As soon as I extend my arm to snatch it back, Ben reaches up and holds it just out of my reach. It's comedic, in a way. This is something my much taller sisters used to do all the time, but thinking of my sisters just makes me homesick, so my voice comes out flat and irritated. "What are you, five?"

Even through the purplish-yellow bruises covering most of his face, I can tell he's pleased with himself. "I never said I wouldn't deliver it."

I reach for the jar again, but it's useless, and I can feel the frustration building up. "Would you just give it back?"

A sharp metallic clank echoes in the room, and Ben takes a quick step backwards. Someone just loaded a gun.

"Is he bothering you, my lady?" The voice isn't familiar, and neither are the faces of the two angry women casually holding rifles just barely pointed at the ground. "We saw him follow you in here. Everything alright?"

"Yes, everything's fine," I say quickly and hold up a hand in reflex. Please don't shoot him. Ben lowers his arm, and I glance at the jar still clutched tightly in his hand. "I asked him to deliver something to the mainland for me." My eyes travel up and lock with his. "He was just leaving."

Ben nods once in agreement and turns to address the women. "I'm docked at the south shore."

The angrier of the two smiles, still frowning with her brows. "Then we'll make sure he gets there safely." At the last minute, as Ben is passing through the doorway, I watch as the woman not so subtly thwack him hard in the back of the legs.

What a mess. I grab my notebook and scribble all of the plans I have to keep Alex safe from her current lethal future. Maybe I should let her stew a little. It'll make the impact of this situation even more unforgettable. I find a bowl of cashews and stay in my bedroom munching away until they're all gone. Then I start heading to the Hall, making sure not to stare too long at the naked art on the walls.

That should be enough time spent worrying. I'll look like a hero giving Alex the news she can stay on Hydra, and then she'll—

From out of a circle of women, Alex spots me in the flickering candlelight and waves excitedly.

"Oh. . . my. . . God. . .what, what, ahhh, uhhhh. . ." I can't seem to form a coherent sentence as I hurry towards her and reach out to brush my fingers against the side of her freshly shaved head. "You cut your hair?"

"Yeah, we all did." Alex looks around at the group who nod encouragly. Each of the young women she'd been hanging out with—including Annie's daughters—all have various shaved hairstyles. "Why?" I watch her entire expression drop as she reaches up to feel the large triangular undercut by her ear. "Does it look bad?"

All of the nearby women fall silent, waiting for me to assess their work. My already panicked smile widens until I can't feel my face anymore. "No, it. . . looks. . . awesome," I finally get out in a strangled high-pitched whine, which the girls mistake for excited praise. As they talk amongst each other, I sink into the closest seat. She shaved half her head. Half her head is bald. What the hell? She's been gone for, what? An hour? "Girls? I need to talk to Alex for a second. Can you wait outside, please? It's just hair," I muse aloud, trying to calm myself down. It's not permanent. It'll grow back. It's fine.

"It looks bad, doesn't it?" Alex's entire being deflates. "Does my tattoo at least look okay? I got your rune."

Every inch of my body prickles painfully with a debilitating rush of fear. "Your. . . tattoo?" Alex pulls up her sleeve to reveal a patch of reddened skin surrounding a dark black rune of some sort. I can't stop blinking. When I open my mouth, all that comes out is a pained groan. This is a joke. This has to be a joke. Someone is messing with me. Maybe it's a henna tattoo? "Is that real?"

"Mm-hm. I've wanted a tattoo for years now, but all the best artists were on Hydra." Alex covers the slightly bloody lines with her shirt sleeve and takes a seat next to me. "Are you okay? I thought the tattoo came out pretty good."

"No, it's not that. . ." My brain is scrambled. Ben is going to kill me. Alex hasn't even been in my care a full 24 hours and she's already made her way through several Norse initiations. I haven't even had the chance to talk to her yet. "I talked to Ben."

Alex immediately straightens in her seat. "What'd he say? Is he gone? Do I have to go back?"

"No," I answer and finally look her in the eye. "I told him you were safe here with me, and he legally can't take you back if you don't want to go. Just. . . can you promise me one thing?"

"Anything," she quickly answers.

"The next time you and the girls want to do something. . . awesome, can you invite me?"

I sit at my desk—franticly swiping away sweat from my forehead—and crumple a dozen papers before thinking of the perfect icebreaker.

I know you just left, but I'm checking in that the mainland isn't on fire or anything. Also, do you have any strong opinions about tattoos?

I crumple up the paper and fling it across the room into the fireplace.

Any mainland problems I should know about? Alex is doing well here. She seems happier than I've seen her yet. I'm working on the plan we discussed. Nothing really to report on that end, but I'll let you know when there is.

The paper smashes up into a tight little ball in my clenched fist as I start a new note. In the end, I'm too much of a coward to tell the truth.

I forgot to ask about your spinal x-rays. What were the results? Also, any opposition to tattoos? I'm considering getting one.—Cora

I ask a nice woman carrying a baby on her back where I can find the ravens used to send letters to the mainland, and she insists on taking me directly to the aviary. Inside, I find Loki.

"Good, it makes my life easier that you speak raven." Loki hops down off his perch and lands on my shoulder. "You want me to deliver it to who?"

"Ben, please."

"Figures. Most all the mail here goes to that house. Alright," he agrees with a click of his beak. "I require payment in full if you receive a response."

"Okay." I shrug. "What do you want?"

"What are you offering?"

We eventually settle on raisins. I roll up the message, tuck it into the cute little holster belted to his leg, and he whooshes into the sky in a flurry of black feathers.

"What on earth has you so fidgety?" Gail crosses my bedroom and starts unbraiding my hair. "You haven't been able to sit still since dinner."

As if on cue, Loki flaps into the room, calling, "Letter from Ben!"

Loki pecks happily at the raisins I piled on my desk for him while I unroll the message as quickly as I can.

I'm happy to report there is absolutely nothing wrong with my spine. You're either a faulty seer, or you saw so far into the future I won't have to worry about it until I'm too old to care. And as to your other question: I can't be opposed to tattoos, considering I have two. My only suggestion would be to get anything except your own rune. That would be tacky.—Ben

I haven't even finished reading before I start laughing with relief. He has a tattoo. Two tattoos. Even if he does get angry about Alex, I can at least call him a hypocrite. "Oh, thank God." I sink back into my seat at the desk and take a fresh slip of paper.

You have two tattoos? Where?

It's only a few minutes before Loki returns with the message: Not in any places you're allowed to see.

"Are you going to keep me in suspense, or are you going to tell me who you're talking to?"

In my paranoia to shield the message from Gail, I crumble it up in my fist and turn to fix her with a tense smile. "It's nothing." I know she knows I'm lying, but that doesn't stop me from saying, "Just checking in on the mainland."

At the end of the week, I'm left lamenting the fact that this hasn't felt like a vacation at all.

Not only have the female survivors taken every opportunity to complain to me about their living conditions and general confusion as to what's going on, but my plan to watch over Alex hasn't been quite the success I had originally hoped.

The plan was simple and straightforward. As the literal goddess of love, I was going to wheedle my way into Alex's friend group and, after securing myself as a formidable source of relationship advice, convince her to consult me in all romantic endeavors. But it's been almost six whole days of spying on her because I never got an invite to any of their activities. Good news is she hasn't gotten any more tattoos or attempted to get piercings or any other body modification. She and her friends have gone surfing, practiced some songs as a band, and gossiped. A lot.

But surprisingly not about boys. Not that girls should spend all their time talking about boys, but teenage girls who spend none of their time discussing the opposite sex? It's left me confused.

I'm headed back to my bedroom after yet another day of keeping my eye on Alex from far away on the sidelines. I got cheated out of a vacation. Instead of relaxing, I got stuck babysitting. I technically volunteered to babysit her. What a load of crock.

A thought occurs to me as I wade through a patch of tall grass. I haven't heard from Ben all day. He's usually sent an update request by now. I bet there's a letter waiting for me in my room.

A chill wind kisses my exposed arms and the back of my neck, and I shiver with goosebumps. Island days are hot and muggy, but the night air is cool and refreshing after sweating for hours and hours. Best of all, there doesn't seem to be any birds on Hydra because all I hear in the fading light are the various chirps and clicks of bugs. A small blessing.

All seems a little more peaceful in its simplicity until a canvas bag is tugged completely over my head.