By 2:00 PM, the tropical heat was a physical weight. Nyx had chartered a small, private displacement boat, claiming she wanted to see the limestone caves on the far side of the island. Linghe, true to his introverted nature, had followed—preferring the quiet of a remote shore to the performative energy of the resort's main beach.
They sat in a hidden cove where the water was an impossible shade of glass-bottom green. Linghe leaned against a sun-bleached rock, his damp hair pushed back, his eyes shadowed by the brim of a hat. He was a man of few words, finding comfort in the stillness, watching Nyx move with the grace of a liquid.
"You're very comfortable in the silence, Linghe," Nyx observed. She was waist-deep in the water, her skin glistening. She waded toward him, the water rippling out like a warning. "Most people in your position feel the need to fill the air with their own voice. You... you just watch."
Linghe tracked her movement, his gaze heavy. "There is more to be learned by watching than by speaking. People tell you who they are when they think you aren't listening."
"And what have I told you?" she asked, stopping just inches from him. She leaned her arms against the rock he sat on, trapping him in a soft, salt-scented perimeter.