As the daylight slanted through the windows of the cottage, moving with agonizing slowness across the floor until it had faded entirely, Jaren finally accepted that Leelo wasn’t coming. He told himself it had nothing to do with him; she’d had more chores than she realized, or, like him, she hadn’t slept last night and had overslept this morning. There were plenty of perfectly reasonable explanations for why Leelo hadn’t come. But his anxious mind insisted on conjuring more and more unreasonable explanations, mostly centered around her not liking him as much as he liked her.

By the morning of the third day, Jaren’s concerns had turned more practical. He’d been out of food since the first day, and now he was completely out of water, too. The interior of the cottage had grown musty in the humid summer heat, and Jaren knew he couldn’t put off bathing one more day. He couldn’t stomach his own stench, let alone imagine subjecting Leelo to it, if she ever returned.

He’d stripped down to his britches at some point yesterday. Redonning his reeking pants and tunic was a visceral experience he didn’t care to repeat. He grabbed the small knife Leelo had left for him and his empty waterskins, then headed into the woods.

Finally, Jaren admitted to himself that he was angry. Leelo knew he was completely dependent on her. It wasn’t his fault he was trapped on this island, that he had no way of finding the boat or fixing it. He liked being helpless as much as he liked being trapped in a hovel for days on end. Even if Leelo was mad at him for one of the thousand reasons his brain had conjured—the one he kept coming back to being that he was a terrible kisser—it was no excuse to leave him to starve to death.

He stewed the entire way to the pools, having imaginary conversations with Leelo, crafting the perfect thing to say when she finally did show up. He already knew he’d forgive her the moment he saw her. And deep down, he still believed there was a perfectly good explanation for this. He was being selfish, expecting too much of her. But anger was a more comfortable emotion than fear. Better to believe she was punishing him than that something bad had happened to her.

He was already stripped out of his filthy clothing when he reached the pools. With a quick glance around to make sure he was alone, he dropped into the water, relishing the feel of it on his sticky skin. Almost immediately, he began to feel less irritable.