Maya Hollis had always been good at slipping through the cracks. At eighteen, her life felt like a collection of empty spaces: no social spotlight, no trendy shoes paraded across feeds, and certainly no attention from Cole Ramirez—the boy whose indifference felt like a scar she kept pressing.

On the night of her cousin Tessa’s wedding in Charleston, she made no effort to blend in. Tugging at the stiff neckline of a plain navy dress, she drifted through the sea of pastel chiffon and laughter like a ghost. She was already counting the minutes until she could disappear again.

“Maya, at least pretend you’re enjoying yourself,” her mother said, smiling tightly for the photographer’s flash.

“Feels more like a wake than a wedding,” Maya murmured under her breath.

When the band struck up another love ballad, she slipped away. Past the tables cluttered with glasses, past the chattering guests, until the music faded and the night opened up. Outside, the hotel’s pool shimmered under the moon, untouched and silent. She thought she was alone.

Dropping into a chair, she shoved her headphones in and turned the music loud enough to drown everything else. The night air smelled of jasmine and chlorine, wrapping around her like a blanket. For a moment, she let herself forget she was anywhere at all.

Then came the sound, first a splash, then a frantic thump, followed by a scream that sliced through the music.

Her head snapped up.

An older woman was thrashing in the pool, her arms flailing, her hair spreading like silver weeds. The gown she wore ballooned around her, pulling her down with every frantic move. For a heartbeat, Maya froze, her brain fumbling.

“Help me!” the woman sputtered, choking on water.

Guests began to trickle out, drawn by the commotion. Phones lifted, someone even laughed nervously.

“She’s probably drunk,” someone whispered.

Maya didn’t think twice. Her feet pounded against the stone as she tore off her shoes. Then she was in the water. The cold bit into her like knives, but she kicked hard, fighting the drag of her soaked dress and the rising fear in her chest.

“Hold on to me!” she shouted over the splashes.

The woman clung to her, coughing violently. “I slipped—couldn’t—”

Maya dragged her to the shallow steps, muscles screaming, and hauled her upright. The crowd fell back, torn between filming and applauding.

“Get a towel!” Maya barked, the command sharp enough to jolt them into motion.

Minutes later, inside the guest restroom, the woman sat shivering under a thick towel. Her hands trembled, but her gaze was startlingly clear.

“You saved me,” she said, voice low but steady. “I’m Harriet. I shouldn’t have been wandering out there. I saw something in the water—a strange glimmer—and then I fell.”

Maya frowned. “A glimmer?”

Harriet’s eyes met hers, piercing. “It doesn’t matter. You moved. That’s what matters.”