“Yes,” Luce said. The lie was like a cold stone jammed in her throat. “I took his jacket. Just in case you wanted to see.”

“I don’t want you to think I don’t trust you or anything . . .” Why did Dana’s voice sound so mournful? “But I guess, sure, I should look at it. Like, for the record.”

Luce noticed that Dana stayed nearby as they made their way back to her cave and that she kept almost herding Luce so that they hugged the shore as closely as possible. Luce had to maneuver carefully to keep her scales from getting grazed on the rocks. That orca attack had really rattled Dana, then. Luce couldn’t blame her. She’d seen orcas leap herself, seen the sea tint red with blood.

Luce had left the jacket wadded up in a corner of her cave in a deliberate show of indifference. Dana smoothed it out with delicate movements, turning it from side to side in the dimness. She caught sight of the writing on the sleeve.

“Dorian. You think that was his name?” Luce was amazed to hear Dana’s voice cracking.

“Maybe. That or it was some band he liked.”

“Have you checked the pockets or anything?” Luce hadn’t. She’d wanted to make sure everything looked perfectly untouched. She tensed as Dana’s graceful fingers began sliding through the many pockets, pulling out bits and pieces of Dorian’s life: a pencil stub, some gum, coins, a thick black marker. Then something shifted in Dana’s face, and Luce knew she’d found the drawings. They were folded in a white square, stiff with salt. There was something strangely gentle in Dana’s movements as she unfolded them. Luce was shocked to see a single gleaming tear curve down Dana’s cheek then land with a tiny splash on the pebbled shore.

“Look, Luce. They’re all pictures of you!” Luce tried to keep her expression calm as she slipped closer to Dana. It had never occurred to her that Dana might cry over the death of a strange human, and for some reason the sight of it made her nauseous with guilt. What would happen if she told Dana the truth? “Wow, he could draw! And he must have been so obsessed with you . . .” Luce appeared again and again on the sharply creased pages: her body curled inside a wave, her face and shoulders as she towed a dazed-looking Dorian in one arm.

“He had the indication around him. The sparkling.” Luce knew it was a mistake to tell Dana too much, but somehow the words escaped her anyway. Dana looked up sharply, tears streaking her full glossy cheeks. “He was a metaskaza, Dana, except that he was a boy. You remember how Catarina told us it was impossible for them to change?”

“That’s why you saved him?” Dana didn’t seem angry about that anymore.