The Ride to the Mainland

First light was a pale, colourless thing.

The snow lay deep and unbroken across the harbour. Margot’s boat sat heavy against the stones, its hull dark against the white. Thin sheets of ice had formed along the edges of the water overnight, cracking softly whenever the boat shifted.

Emma and Sydney boarded in silence. Their packs were already stowed. Margot cast off without ceremony, pushing them away from the island with strong, efficient strokes. For a while the only sounds were the creak of wood, the soft crack of breaking ice, and the low rush of the cold wind.

Margot was the one who broke the quiet — and she did it with the same dry, unbothered tone she used for most things.

“Well,” she said, glancing at the two of them as she steered around a plate of thin ice, “you both look like you’ve been chewed up and spat out. Jennifer’s work, I’m guessing.”

Neither Emma nor Sydney answered.

Margot gave a short, humourless huff of amusement. “Silence. Perfect. My favourite kind of passengers.”

She adjusted their course with practised ease, guiding the boat wide of a darker patch where the ice had packed thicker underneath.

“Water’s a bastard right now,” she continued. “Looks fine on top until it isn’t. We’ll take the long curve around the northern shelf. I’d rather burn an extra half hour than rip a hole in the hull and swim the rest of the way. And before either of you asks — no, I’m not interested in dying for your little research trip.”

She shot Emma a quick, sideways look, eyes sharp and faintly amused.

“No offence.”

Emma gave a small nod. Sydney kept her gaze on the water.

Margot kept talking, filling the cold air with her usual mix of practical warning and dry commentary.

“Jennifer told me to put you as close as possible to the old coastal road. After that you’re on your own. Snow’s deep inland. Wind picks up and you’ll lose visibility in minutes. I’ve done this run four times since the first real freeze. The coastline changes every week. Some of the old landing points are locked solid now. Others have opened up where the current’s still mean enough to keep the ice broken.”

She paused to push them through another thin sheet of ice, the boat shuddering slightly.

“I’ll drop you at the best spot I know and be back in forty-eight hours. Same place. If you’re not standing there when I arrive, I wait one extra tide. Then I leave. Those are the rules. I don’t do heroics and I don’t do search parties. Clear?”

“Clear,” Emma said.

Margot gave a short nod, satisfied. “Good. Because whatever you two find out there — suppressant, answers, or just a lot of frozen disappointment — I expect you to either bring it back or have the decency not to make me explain an empty boat to the council. I’ve already used up most of my patience this month.”

The island had disappeared into the low white haze behind them. Ahead, the mainland coast rose in a long, broken line of frozen cliffs and snow-covered trees. Ice cracked under the bow as Margot guided them through the last stretch.

She glanced between Emma and Sydney one more time, a faint, knowing edge in her expression.

“And try not to freeze to death or fuck each other senseless in a snowdrift before I come back. I’d prefer to return with the same number of people I left with.”

Neither woman replied.

Margot steered them in close to a narrow, snow-choked beach and brought the boat to a stop.

“This is as far as I go,” she said, voice turning practical again. “Forty-eight hours. Don’t be late.”

The mainland waited.