The salt wind carried the sharp edge of dawn across the water. Gulls wheeled overhead, their cries thin and ragged against the sky. The sea had been rough all night, and it had left its mark on the shore.
The body lay half in the foam. Pale limbs tangled in wet silk. Black hair spread like ink across the wet sand. A thin shift clung to her frame, translucent where the water had soaked through. Her skin had a blue tinge at the lips and fingertips. She did not move.
Joren found her first.
He stood over her, boots sinking into the wet sand, and watched the water lap at her bare feet. His brother Kael came up behind him, breathing hard from the walk.
"She's dead," Kael said.
Joren knelt. He pressed two fingers to her throat. The skin was cold but not the cold of a corpse. A pulse beat there. Weak. Irregular. But there.
"Alive," Joren said.
