CHAPTER FORTY NINE: THE TIDES IF DISTANCE

"Belonging isn't something given — it's something earned, often through trials of trust and time." ------- Khaimah Peter

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Gravill sat on the edge of his bed, fingers loosely clutching the fabric of his blanket as the boys continued their conversations without sparing him a second glance. They talked as if he weren't there — loud and unapologetic, words tumbling over each other like waves crashing against jagged rocks.

Kieran, the only one who had bothered to learn Gravill's name, had already lost interest. He sprawled across his mattress, feet hanging off the edge, tossing a small bronze coin in the air and catching it with lazy precision. The metallic clink echoed in the room, a rhythmic beat beneath the constant chatter.

"So, what do you think they'll make us do tomorrow?" one boy asked, dragging a damp towel through his sweat-matted hair.

"More endurance drills, probably," another muttered, rubbing at a fresh bruise on his arm. "Instructor said we were still 'too soft' today."

The boy with the scar — the one who first acknowledged Gravill's presence — scoffed. "Soft? I saw you throw up halfway through the last lap."

Laughter rippled through the room like a cruel current, and the boy flushed, chucking a boot at the scarred one. Gravill shifted, the sound of their easy camaraderie making the room feel smaller, the space around him more suffocating.

They belonged.

He didn't.

Gravill lowered his gaze, absently rubbing at a sore spot on his wrist. His body still felt wrecked from the journey here, muscles tight and aching with every small movement. But it wasn't the physical exhaustion that weighed the heaviest — it was the isolation.

He had felt more at home bleeding in the ocean than he did sitting in this room.

And the others made no effort to change that.

When Gravill finally stood, the wooden floor creaked under his weight, and the conversations stumbled. Eyes flicked toward him, brief glances sharp enough to cut. They didn't say anything, but the tension crawled beneath their skin, as palpable as the salt in the air.

It wasn't curiosity.

It was distrust.

Kieran lifted his head, watching Gravill stretch out his sore limbs. "What, you planning on sneaking out already?" he drawled, flipping the coin one last time before catching it and tucking it into his pocket. "Can't handle the luxury?"

Gravill shook his head. "Just need some air."

"Air, huh?" The scarred boy snorted, rolling onto his side. "Good luck. The courtyard locks up after sundown."

Gravill glanced toward the small window at the top of the wall, where the last streaks of dying sunlight painted the sky in muted gold and violet hues.

He didn't care.

The dormitory pressed down on him like a weight, the unfamiliarity of it all coiling tight around his chest. He needed space. Distance. Anything to drown out the feeling that he didn't belong.

He stepped toward the door, but as his fingers brushed the handle, a voice cut through the room like a blade.

"Don't come back soaked."

Gravill turned.

The boy who had said it — the one who first shook him awake — leaned against the wall, arms folded, eyes gleaming with something sharp and unfriendly.

"Don't want the place smelling like fish," he sneered.

A couple of the boys snickered. Kieran just watched, expression unreadable, but he didn't defend Gravill either.

Gravill's grip on the handle tightened, but he didn't say anything. Didn't bite back. Didn't rise to the bait.

He just stepped out into the hallway, closing the door quietly behind him.

He walked until the sound of their laughter faded into silence.

And only then did he let himself breathe.

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The corridor stretched out before him, dimly lit by flickering lanterns mounted on the stone walls. The air smelled of salt and damp wood, and every footstep echoed as he moved, the sound bouncing back to him like a reminder of how empty the space was.

Gravill traced his fingers along the rough wall, the cold seeping into his skin. He didn't know where he was going, but he kept walking, following the faintest draft of sea air.

Eventually, he found himself at a small, barred window overlooking the ocean. The waves glistened under the moonlight, rolling in a steady rhythm, crashing against the jagged rocks below.

He pressed his forehead to the iron bars, the cold metal grounding him.

For a moment, he let himself imagine the water reaching up to swallow him whole.

It would be easier, wouldn't it? The sea had never turned him away.

Never made him feel like an outsider.

His chest ached, but not from the bruises.

From the hollow, yawning space inside him.

He didn't know how long he stood there, staring out at the horizon, before the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor.

Gravill stiffened, stepping back from the window as a figure emerged from the shadows.

Kieran.

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching Gravill like he was trying to figure out what made him tick.

"You're not gonna make it if you break this easily," he said, voice low and sharp.

Gravill swallowed. "I'm not broken."

Kieran's mouth twitched, but it wasn't a smile. "Sure you're not." He pushed off the wall, walking closer, his boots scuffing against the stone. "Look, I don't care why you're here. But the others? They don't trust new blood. And they really don't trust kids who look like they've crawled out of the sea."

Gravill tensed. "I didn't crawl out of the sea."

"Could've fooled me." Kieran tilted his head, gaze like a blade. "If you want to survive here, you need thicker skin. They'll keep pushing until you snap. And if you snap..." He leaned in, voice dropping lower. "They'll tear you apart."

Gravill clenched his fists, nails biting into his palms. "Why are you telling me this?"

Kieran studied him for a beat longer, then shrugged. "Maybe I'm bored. Maybe I want to see if you drown or not." He turned on his heel, heading back toward the dormitory without looking back.

Gravill stayed by the window long after Kieran's footsteps faded.

The waves kept crashing.

And he kept standing.