"If I so much as see a puddle near this camp, I'm killing everyone," Diana announced, chucking more firewood onto their already massive bonfire.
They'd set up on a steep hill overlooking the village and beach, high enough that even Grace—who was getting seriously paranoid about water—felt safe. Night was falling, and Diana had gone full psycho with her self-appointed bodyguard role. She'd already circled their camp fifteen times, sword drawn, eyeing every shadow like it might grow tentacles and grab her ass.
"You can't kill water," Grace pointed out.
"Watch me," Diana growled, stabbing the fire with a stick like it owed her money.
Meridian sat cross-legged near the flames, surrounded by scrolls she'd somehow kept dry during their underwater chaos. Her face was doing that intense scholarly thing that made her look like she was constipated.
