Jean's body ached, her head was pounding, and Logan's words were like needles, but she couldn't argue with him. Not now. She didn't have the strength for it.
Her mind replayed flashes of the storm, the deck, Farah's horrified face... and then the phone. Her heart skipped.
She had tucked it into her body shaper right before the wave hit.
Jean's eyes widened, and she turned to Logan, grabbing his arm weakly. "Logan… I have it," she said, her voice breathy. "I have Farah's phone."
Logan blinked, confused. "What?"
"The phone," she repeated, eyes hopeful. "Farah's phone, with which she took our photo. I slipped it into my shapewear before the wave… before everything."
He stared at her in disbelief.
Then his jaw tightened.
"You're kidding me," he said slowly, voice rising with frustration. "You almost drowned. We almost died… and you're worried about some damn phone?!"
Jean flinched, but she held her ground.
