"'Mmh~ don't pinch them... shhh~~'"
Celia's eyes opened.
Not the gradual kind. The immediate kind. The specific, full-upright jolt of consciousness that happened when the thing that woke you was something your sleeping brain had filed as 'requires assessment' rather than 'can be ignored.'
She lay on the fold-out and stared at the ceiling.
The cabin was dark. The porthole showed the island's silhouette — closer now, the black shape of it pressing up against the deep grey of four in the morning sky.
She heard Nara's voice again.
Low. Specific. The quality of it carrying the exact frequency of someone trying very hard to keep a sound smaller than the sound wanted to be.
"'Hn — too deep, wait — 'wait—'"
Celia's mouth fell open.
She lay completely still.
