C155 Family Be Damned

The first sensation was cold.

Abone-deep, unforgiving cold that clawed at his skin and numbed every nerve.

It seeped into him as if the very marrow of his bones had turned to ice.

His eyes fluttered open, dry and stinging against the salty air.

For a moment, all he could see was endless blue.

The sky above was a muted grey-blue, the ocean stretching endlessly around him, and he was lolling gently in a canoe that creaked faintly with every small wave.

His body was stiff, his limbs barely responsive.

The sharp sting of hypothermia clawed its way through him, making his teeth chatter violently even as his breath escaped in weak and uneven gasps.

He couldn’t remember how he got here.

All his numb mind could piece together were the flashes of the game room and of Antonia’s face twisted in something unrecognisable.

A cry of despair and disbelief echoed in his mind as he tried to sit up, his movements sluggish and uncoordinated.

The canoe wobbled dangerously, tipping with each slight shift of his weight. “What the hell?" His voice was hoarse, raspy, and barely audible against the roaring emptiness around him.

Then, the sound of an engine.

It was a low, distant hum that grew louder and more distinct.

Mikhail squinted toward the horizon, his blurred vision catching sight of a large vessel slicing through the water.

Relief flooded him, though it was brief and incomplete.

Before he could wave, the passing ship’s wake struck the canoe, tipping it violently.

Cold water engulfed him.

The shock was immediate, stealing the little breath he had left.

His arms flailed weakly, his muscles too numb to keep him afloat.

For one terrifying moment, he was certain he was going to drown.

Darkness crept at the edges of his vision as the cold seemed to pull him deeper.

Then he heard shouting.

Muffled voices reached him through the water.

A splash nearby.

Then the feeling of strong hands grabbing him, dragging him up.

“Got him!”

He was hauled onto the ship’s deck, his body limp and shivering uncontrollably.

The rough scrape of the deck against his bare skin felt distant, as though it was happening to someone else.

A voice cut through the haze.

A man, authoritative and bewildered peered down at him

“What in Pete' s name is he doing out here?"

“Captain,” another voice chimed in, “he’s barely dressed. And that canoe... It shouldn’t be here. We’re miles from anywhere.”

Mikhail tried to speak, to explain, but his lips wouldn’t form the words.

His head lolled to the side, catching a brief glimpse of the ship’s crew gathered around him.

The captain, a broad man with weathered features and a deep frown etched into his face, knelt beside him.

“Get him to the infirmary,” the captain barked. “Quickly!”

The crew moved swiftly, lifting Mikhail’s weakened body with surprising care.

As they carried him below deck, the captain muttered, “Where the hell did this boat even come from? There’s nothing for miles."

Mikhail drifted in and out of consciousness as they carried him down a narrow hallway. Snatches of conversation reached his ears.

“He’s lucky we spotted him."

“Lucky? I’d say it’s a damn miracle."

When he was finally laid on a cot in the infirmary, a woman with a sharp, no-nonsense tone stepped in. “He’s hypothermic. Get me blankets, and heat up some water. He needs to be stabilised."

The doctor’s voice was a steady rhythm against the chaos in Mikhail’s mind.

He felt blankets being draped over him, the scratchy wool doing little to stave off the relentless cold.

“Where are we?” He croaked, his voice barely above a whisper.

The doctor glanced at him, her eyes sharp but not unkind. “Far from anywhere, I’m afraid. We’re off the coast of... well, let’s just say it’s going to be a while before we see land."

Mikhail’s chest tightened. “Acadia?”

She frowned, clearly not recognizing the name. “No, sweetheart. You’re a long way from wherever that is.”

Her words hit him like a sledgehammer.

Despair settled in, heavy and suffocating. He was in another country.

Another goddamned country.

Maybe even another continent.

The realisation sent his thoughts spiraling.

How had it come to this?

Antonia’s face flashed in his mind, her eyes cold, her words sharper than any blade.

He remembered the way she’d spoken to him that night in the game room and the venom in her voice when she called him a pathetic fool.

“Could she really…?” he whispered, the words barely audible even to himself.

The doctor paused, her hand hovering over a thermometer. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut against the torrent of emotions threatening to consume him.

Could Antonia really have done this to him?

Left him for dead in the middle of the ocean?

His thoughts churned like the waves outside.

She was his sister.

His blood.

They’d grown up together, shared meals, memories, and laughter.

He’d protected her, defended her, and loved her.

And now…

Betrayal cut deeper than the cold ever could.

“Rest,” the doctor said gently, her voice a lifeline against the storm inside him. “You need to regain your strength."

But Mikhail knew sleep wouldn’t come.

Not with the weight of this betrayal bearing down on him.

As the ship rocked gently, carrying him further from everything he knew, one thought solidified in his mind: when he made it back to Acadia, there would be hell to pay.

Family be damned.