Where… am I? Blinking, I realized I wasn’t in the ocean anymore. I was lying on a small cot inside a wooden hut. And then I saw him. A man sat nearby, staring at me like he had seen a ghost. His dark hair was messy, his clothes worn, and his tanned skin told me he spent most of his time under the sun. I tried to speak, but my throat felt like sandpaper.
“W-where am I?” I croaked.
The man blinked, snapping out of whatever daze he was in. “You’re awake,” he muttered, his voice deep and rough. I swallowed hard.
“Who… are you?”
He hesitated before answering, “Damon. I’m a fisherman. I found you washed up on the shore.”
Damon. The name didn’t ring a bell, but something about him felt… safe. I tried sitting up, wincing at the soreness in my muscles.
“How long have I been here?”
“Three days,” he answered. “I almost thought you weren’t going to make it.”