Hæra had hurried. She must hurry more. If he was in the ocean, she’d find him. It couldn’t be too late. Gritting her teeth against the pain in her leg, Hæra cantered toward the water.

At the water’s edge, moonlight gleamed off a long, thin, metal surface. It was the barrel of Jonathan’s shotgun, which lay alone on the sand.

No. Oh no.

She stopped in her tracks, panting, to sniff the gun. The barrel was cold, and she smelled no lead or discharge. If Jonathan had brought the gun for self-defense, he hadn’t been able to use it. Had he dropped it so he could go into the water? Or had Asgall snatched him, dragged him down? She had to⁠—

In her peripheral vision, something caught her eye.

To the left, a dark lump lay on the sand.

She turned, slowly, because it could not be what it was. It could not be a human body. It couldn’t be⁠—

Two human bodies?

Her legs shook like a newborn foal’s as she made her way over. Like the gun, the bodies lay at the edge of the water, which lapped at them. They didn’t move as she approached. They didn’t breathe.

One of them was Jonathan. She knew his scent, although it was dulled by salt water. His trousers were wet up to the waist.

The other was a naked man, covered in wounds. His hands were curled into Jonathan’s jacket as if he’d been trying to drag him somewhere. The man’s face was half turned into the sand, his eyes closed, but she saw the family resemblance. A long nose, a full mouth. A lean, pale body with rangy muscles.

Asgall’s human form.

She stared dumbly at him. That didn’t make sense. None of this made sense.

Never mind it, then. Forget Asgall! He could go to the deepest depths and beyond. She needed her friend. Her best friend. Her real family.

Jonathan couldn’t be dead. Not truly. She had to wake him up.

Hæra nudged Jonathan’s body with her nose, rolling him over. “Jonathan?”

He didn’t move. His eyes, wide and glassy, looked up at the night sky. His face was gray, his lips blue. But there were no cuts or bruises. His clothes weren’t ripped. Asgall hadn’t wounded him.

“Wake up,” she whimpered. “Jonathan, I’m here. Wake up.”

His chest was still. No breath lifted or lowered it.

This couldn’t be right. There must be something here to explain what had happened. Something, anything. Hæra rammed Asgall’s body with her head, hard enough to kill him again, to expose more of him.