Back at the cottage.
The air thickens as the pressure drops, signaling an approaching wet-season storm. Jenny rests in the cottage, her ankle throbbing despite the fresh poultice, while Kevin prepares the exterior for the coming wind and rain.
🔧 Kevin18:29
Kevin — hang the oilskin on the porch hook, wipe hands on a rag, set the kettle on the stove for morning, sit at the kitchen table in the dark
💭 peek at the thought
The cottage feels smaller in the dark with the rain hammering the roof. Generator's steady hum through the wall — belt's holding. Jenny's asleep in the bedroom, breathing even. My hands still smell like diesel and greenheart. The wrench is on the workbench where I left it. I could pick it up and go back out to the dock, check the mooring ring one more time. But the tide's turned and the wind's backing west. Nothing out there I can fix tonight that won't wait for morning.
nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b
🌿 Jenny18:29
Jenny — lean back in the chair, feeling the throbbing heat in my ankle, watch the shadow of the kettle on the wall.
💭 peek at the thought
He's so quiet tonight. The silence is heavier than the rain on the roof.
google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it
🔧 Kevin18:31
Kettle'll boil in ten. Mug's clean.
pull out the chair opposite her, sit heavy, let the silence stretch
💭 peek at the thought
She's still up. Ankle's bothering her more than she said. The shadow of the kettle throws her face in a way that looks deliberate — chin tucked, eyes on the wall, not me. She doesn't ask about the dock. Doesn't ask about the radio silence. Doesn't ask about the letter in my pocket. The rain slants harder against the porch glass. Generator keeps its rhythm. I should say something. Anything. The words sit behind my teeth like grit.
nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b
🌿 Jenny18:31
Thanks.
trace the grain of the wooden table with a finger, avoiding his eyes.
💭 peek at the thought
He thinks a clean mug fixes the fact that I'm rotting from the inside.
google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it
🔧 Kevin18:33
Ankle still hot?
reach across the table, stop two inches from her hand, pull back to my own mug
💭 peek at the thought
She traces the grain like she's reading something written there. The table's scarred — knife marks from gutting fish, epoxy drips from the dock repairs, a burn ring from the kettle I set down too fast three months back. She knows every one. I know the ones she made: the shallow groove by the radio where she rests her pencil, the ink stain from the pen that leaked in her pocket during the Carex transect. We've mapped this table between us without speaking. The generator coughs once, catches. Rain hammers the roof. My pocket weighs heavy with the letter. Four letters burned. This one stays. She still won't look up.
nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b
🌿 Jenny18:33
A bit.
shift my leg slightly under the table, wincing as the movement rubs against the bandage.
💭 peek at the thought
It feels like a fire under the skin that won't stop burning.
google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it
🔧 Kevin18:35
Want another soak before bed? Water's still warm on the stove.
push back from the table, stand, go to the stove and lift the pot lid, steam rising
💭 peek at the thought
She says "a bit" like she says "fine" — meaning the opposite. The wince she tried to swallow shows in the corner of her jaw. Salt soaks are drawing it out, she said yesterday. Red line receded two millimetres. She measured it against the ballpoint mark on her skin. I watched her do it, pretended to check the generator log. The antibiotics finished. Metronidazole blister empty. Doxycycline done. No more courses in the kit. If it flares again, we're down to poultices and hope. The radio crackled at 1600. Weather fragment. Supply boat still not showing. I didn't tell her. Didn't tell her about Tom's frequency either — static and a voice that might've been his, might've been atmosphere. The letter in my pocket burns. 'Here. Still here. — K'. Coward's words.
nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b
🌿 Jenny18:35
Yeah, please.
look at the steam rising, feeling the weight of the exhaustion in my bones.
💭 peek at the thought
If I say yes, maybe I can actually sleep for an hour.
google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it
🔧 Kevin18:37
Hold it there. Ten minutes. I'll get the fresh gauze.
carry the pot to the table, set it on the cork trivet, help her lower her foot in, go to the medical kit on the shelf
💭 peek at the thought
She doesn't argue. Doesn't say she can do it herself. That's the worst part — the way she just accepts it now. The steam carries salt and sea beet and mint, the poultice mix from this afternoon. Pot's heavy. My shoulder clicks lifting it. Carry it to the table, set it on the trivet. The bandage unwinds slow — gauze stuck to the edges where the pus dried. Underneath: angry red tracking up from the heel, but the hard line of infection holds at her mark. Two millimetres. She measured honest. I'll give her that. The water's hot but not scalding. She eases her foot in, breath hisses through her teeth. The radio ticks static in the corner. Barometer on the shelf: 1006 and falling. Storm's not done with us.
nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b
🌿 Jenny18:37
Be careful.
lower my ankle into the water, closing my eyes as the warmth hits the swollen skin.
💭 peek at the thought
The heat is almost too much, but the pulsing stops for a second.
google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it
🔧 Kevin18:39
Got it.
kneel at her feet, peel back the soaked gauze slow, spread cream on the fresh squares, wrap her ankle clean and tight
💭 peek at the thought
"Be careful." Not of the pot, not of the water. Of me. Of whatever's coming out of me sideways tonight. She reads the shake in my hands setting the pot down, the way I don't meet her eyes, the letter burning in my pocket like a coal. She's always read me. Even in the dark. Especially in the dark. The gauze is in the kit — sterile squares, antibiotic cream tube flattened from rolling, the last of the ibuprofen. I know the count without looking. Two tablets. One blister pack empty. One with two left. The radio spits static. Somewhere out there the supply boat's fighting the same backend. Or it's not coming. The barometer says it's not coming. I tear the gauze wrapper with my teeth, cream on my fingers, come back to her.
nvidia/nemotron-3-ultra-550b-a55b
🌿 Jenny18:39
Thank you, Kevin.
watch him work in the dim light, the scent of antiseptic filling the small kitchen between us.
💭 peek at the thought
His hands are so steady, and mine never stop shaking.
google/diffusiongemma-26b-a4b-it