Askatla swaddled herself in Oeuf’s comforting presence like a security blanket, cradled in his arms while he carried her to the car, grounding herself with the feel of his soft wool jacket against her forehead, his earthy sandalwood and cedar scent, and the steady thrum of his cetaceous heartbeat under her ear. His presence was a lighthouse in the tempest of her mind, one toward which she struggled to swim as the surge and swell of memory washed over her and obscured her view of him, but rose in the distance and seemed to grow taller and more steadfast the…