The morning sun on the island was a relentless, golden weight, filtering through the canvas of the tent in jagged streaks of light. Ace groaned, his consciousness slowly surfacing from the first dreamless, peaceful sleep he'd had in a year. His arm instinctively reached out to the side, searching for the familiar warmth of the woman who had sought refuge in his arms during the night, but his hand met only the cooling fabric of the bedroll. He bolted upright, his bare chest marked by the sprawling purple ink of the Whitebeard Jolly Roger glistening with a light sheen of sweat. "Maye?" he croaked, his voice thick with the gravel of sleep. The tent was empty. Panic, sharp and sudden, flared in his gut a lingering side effect of losing her once before. He scrambled out of the tent, squinting against the blinding brightness of the beach. The camp was slowly coming to life. Izo was meticulously folding blankets, and several members of the crew were already huddled around a small fire, the smell of roasting fish and strong coffee beginning to cut through the salt air. Ace scanned the area, his eyes landing on Marco, who was leaning against a palm tree, idly picking at a piece of fruit. The First Commander looked entirely too smug for seven in the morning. "Where is she?" Ace demanded, not bothering with a greeting.
Marco took a slow bite of the fruit, his half-lidded eyes tracking Ace's frantic energy. "Calm down-yoi. She didn't vanish into thin air. She headed into the forest about twenty minutes ago. Said she wanted to wash the 'nightmare and the sand' off. There's a freshwater spring and a waterfall about half a mile inland." Ace didn't wait for the rest of the sentence. He was already moving, his boots crunching over the dry brush at the edge of the jungle. "I'm just checking on her," he muttered to himself, though the way his heart was drumming against his ribs suggested otherwise. "Blackbeard's spies... the island could be crawling with them..." He pushed through the dense tropical foliage, the air growing cooler and more humid as he moved deeper into the heart of the island. The sound of rushing water began to drown out the distant chatter of the camp, a rhythmic, crashing melody that led him toward a hidden grotto. Ace slowed his pace, his survival instincts telling him to remain quiet. He pushed aside a thick curtain of broad, emerald leaves, intending to announce his presence but the words died in his throat. The grotto was a cathedral of stone and moss, centered around a crystal-clear pool fed by a tumbling silver waterfall. And there, standing directly beneath the crashing spray, was Maye. Ace froze, his breath hitching so sharply it felt like a physical blow to his lungs. She was facing away from him, her midnight-brown hair plastered to her back in a dark, shimmering sheet. The water cascaded over her shoulders, tracing the elegant curve of her spine and the familiar lines of her body that he had only ever seen draped in loose linens or battle-worn clothes. Her skin, pale and flawless save for the faint, silvered traces of scars from Marineford, looked like polished marble in the dappled sunlight. She reached up, pushing her hair back with both hands, her head tilted back as she let the cool mountain water wash over her face. In that moment, she looked ethereal, less like a pirate and more like the deity the "Watcher" claimed her to be. The heat that surged through Ace had nothing to do with the Mera Mera no Mi. His face went from its usual tan to a searing, volcanic crimson in a matter of seconds. His brain, usually primed for combat or mischief, hit a complete dead end. 'I shouldn't be here. I definitely shouldn't be looking. If she sees me, she'll kill me—or worse, she'll think I'm a creep.' He scrambled backward, nearly tripping over a protruding root. He didn't just retreat; he fled, moving with the desperate speed of a man running from a literal explosion. He tore through the brush, branches catching on his skin, until he burst back into the main camp, panting as if he'd just run a marathon. He collapsed onto a log near the fire, burying his face in his hands. His ears were burning, and the image of her standing under that waterfall was burned into the back of his eyelids like a flashbulb. "Back so soon-yoi?" Ace didn't look up. Marco was standing over him, a cup of coffee in one hand and a look of pure, unadulterated mischief in his eyes. He leaned down, whispering just loud enough for the nearby Izo to hear. "You look a little flushed, Ace. Did you run into a tropical fever... or did you happen to find that waterfall a little more 'scenic' than you expected?" Ace's head snapped up, his eyes wide and panicked. "I didn't see anything! I mean- I saw the water! And the trees! I was checking for enemies! It was a tactical reconnaissance!" "Tactical, huh?" Izo chimed in, smirking as he sharpened a needle. "Is that why your hat is on backward and you're vibrating like a Den Den Mushi?" "Shut up!" Ace roared, standing up and swinging a playful, fire-laced fist at Marco's head. Marco ducked with a lazy chuckle, his blue flames flickering briefly as he danced out of reach. "Careful, Fire-Fist," Marco teased, skipping backward. "Your 'tactical reconnaissance' is making the sand smoke. You might want to go take a dip in the ocean to cool off. Or would that be too much water for one morning?" "I'M GONNA KILL YOU, PINEAPPLE!" Ace shouted, chasing Marco around the clearing while the rest of the crew erupted into fits of howling laughter. Amidst the chaos, Ace stole a glance toward the forest path. His heart was still racing, a mix of guilt and a new, dizzying kind of attraction swirling in his gut. He was the "Fire-Fist," a man who faced death with a grin but he had never felt as defenceless as he did right now, waiting for a girl to walk out of the trees.