Thalassic

My name is Bird Howsley, and I'm a beautiful disaster. Okay, "beautiful" is probably being generous. But the "disaster" part is right. In a brutal dystopian waterworld, where survival depends on skill and smarts, I'm pretty much always one bad decision away from watching my life go completely down the drain. Luckily, I have a lifeline: my cute, level-headed sailing teacher, Sargo Paz. Did I say cute? I didn't mean cute. He's just a friend. I definitely don't have weird sex dreams about him. Anyway, three days ago, I got a message from a guy who's been dead for ten years. That's odd, right? I came up with a plan to go find him, but it went pretty badly sideways, and Sargo and I ended up in the crosshairs of a very sketchy underground organization that now wants us dead. We didn't know what else to do except flee into the Salt. Now we're stuck together on Sargo's tiny sailboat, facing down pirates and harrowing seas, and things are getting, um-tense between us. Oh, and did I mention I've been blacking out? Like . . . a lot? Contains mature themes.

It is not the Salt we conquer. It is ourselves. So I just found out that Sargo has been abducted to a city eight thousand miles across the Salt. Which means if I ever want to see him again (which I'm pretty sure I do) I'm gonna have to embark on a treacherous voyage to get him back . . . . . . alone. Dangerous? Yes. Insane? Definitely. Necessary? Well, I'm pretty sure I'm falling in love with the guy, so . . . yeah. The problem is, I'm still a massive asshole and I haven't really gotten over this drinking thing. And there might be a teleporter inside my head. Oh, and I still don't know how to sail. Plus, ever step closer seems to unravel more dark secrets about the people that took him . . . and about me. Contains mature themes.

Rock bottom is just a pitstop. Things are not going well. I've been drinking a lot. But I don't think anyone would blame me. I'm alone. Abandoned. Sargo abandoned me. No. I drove Sargo away. At least I have therapy. That's good-at least, that's what everyone tells me. Rav, my therapist, tells me my drinking problem has hidden roots. She says my brain is "wired differently" and we need to figure out how to make my wiring work. She calls it "unlocking my superpower", which feels condescending, but I guess I'll go with it. What happens once I unlock that superpower? I don't know. We haven't gotten that far yet. Then there's the whole matter of the teleporter in my head, and the questionable morals of the biotech corporation that put it there. I can't even think about that whole situation. I never wanted to save the world; I can barely save myself. But it seems like I might be the only one who can. What is that saying-not the hero you wanted but the hero you deserve? Maybe I am the hero this shitty world deserves. Contains mature themes.