I wake cold, alone, and on a beach. To my right are thick woods and to the left an expanse of rolling waves. Above me, the sun breaks over the treetops; it is the dawn of a new day. I sit up, taking in the rest of the scene. At the edge of the trees and sitting on a fallen log, I spy a lone figure with its back to me. The ebony hair and the shape of her outline look familiar. I stand and hurry over the sand; small shells jab at my bare feet.

As I draw near, I shout, “Jaelle, it’s me, Kat!”

She rocks back and forth with her arms wrapped around her knees and her white nightgown billowing in the breeze. She doesn’t turn or make any indication she hears me.

“Jaelle, can you hear me?” I continue.

It’s no use, I soon realize. She’s in a trancelike state.

A bleat alerts me to something at one end of the fallen log. I jog a few steps to find the baby girl atop a bed of kelp. She stretches, gurgling, but shows no sign of distress or discomfort, but she can’t stay here. I stoop, readying to pick her up when a head pops up from the other end of the log. It’s the boy. He waves shyly and sits on the end of the log, staring. I can’t tell if he’s looking out to the water or gazing upon Jaelle. When I take a step to investigate, I’m suddenly losing purchase with the sand around me. It’s caving, sucking all of us down with it.