The engine hummed low beneath them, steady and salt-wet, cutting through the green water toward the tree-line that Nara recognized before she even consciously looked for it.
She knew this ocean.
Her hands were in her lap, fingers laced, and she told herself she was sitting still because the boat required balance.
She told herself that.
Gia had her hands on the wheel and her jaw set at the angle it took when she had decided something and was finished being asked about it.
The wind pulled at her hair — dark, thick, cut shorter since the last time — and she did not push it back.
She watched the horizon.
"I didn't expect you to be able to drive a boat."
Celia said it from the back bench, looking at Gia's shoulders, noting the ease there. The complete, infuriating ease of a woman who had quietly learned a skill just to come back to a place.
Gia did not turn around.
"Shut up."
