I never understood what she meant until now.
"Volcanic activity?" His question brings me back to the data, to the puzzle that should have my full attention instead of the way his proximity makes my pulse quicken.
"No. Volcanic vents create predictable thermal gradients—the heat radiates outward in measurable patterns, and you'd see associated chemical markers. Sulfur compounds, elevated mineral concentrations, changes in water acidity. This is just... heat. Isolated. Pulsing, almost, like something breathing down there." I shake my head and deploy the second buoy, positioning it closer to the trench's edge. "Something I've never seen before."
The morning passes in a rhythm of deployment and analysis, each new data point adding to a picture that grows stranger by the hour. Temperature anomalies. Unusual mineral concentrations in the water samples. Electromagnetic fluctuations that shouldn't occur naturally at these depths. And underneath it all, a persistent hum in the sonar readings, so low it barely registers but present enough that I can't dismiss it as equipment error.
Grayson remains nearby throughout, a silent presence that I'm far too aware of for my own comfort. He helps when I need an extra pair of hands, lifting equipment with an ease that reminds me how strong he must be beneath those layers of wool and oilskin. His fingers brush mine when he passes me a sample container, and the contact sends electricity racing up my arm, an echo of what I felt during our handshake yesterday.
I pull back quickly, focusing on labeling the container with coordinates and depth readings. Professional. Detached. The way a scientist should behave when conducting field research, not like a woman who can't stop noticing the way her guide's shoulders move beneath his jacket.
"You're good at this." His voice startles me, unexpected after so long in comfortable silence.
"I've had practice."
"Not just the technical work. The patience. The willingness to sit with data that doesn't make sense until it starts telling you something." He's watching the horizon rather than me, his profile sharp against the gray sky. "Most people want answers immediately. They get frustrated when the world doesn't cooperate."
"The ocean doesn't care about our timelines." I seal the sample container and set it with the others. "She reveals things when she's ready, not when we demand it."
Something flickers across his face, an expression I can't quite read. "You talk about the water like it's alive."
"Isn't it?" The question comes out more seriously than I intended. "Not conscious, maybe, not in the way we understand consciousness. But aware in its own way. Responsive. My whole life, I've had this sense that the ocean knows I'm here. That it's paying attention."
The silence that follows stretches long enough to make me uncomfortable. I've said too much, revealed something that sounds irrational when spoken aloud. Gran used to talk this way, and my mother always changed the subject.
"My grandmother believed something similar." Grayson's voice is quieter now, stripped of its usual gruffness. "My grandfather taught me the practical things—how to read the water, how to guard what needs guarding. But it was my grandmother who understood what the sea actually feels. She said it remembers everything. Every ship that's sailed her waters, every person who's drowned in her depths, every secret that's been whispered to the waves. She said the ocean doesn't know how to forget."
Before I can respond, the laptop emits a sharp ping. New data from the deepest buoy, the one deployed directly over the trench's center. I pull up the sonar feed and feel the blood drain from my face.
"Grayson." My voice sounds strange to my own ears. "Come look at this."
He crosses the deck in a few quick strides, leaning over my shoulder close enough that the heat of him radiates through my jacket. On screen, the sonar image shows the trench in grainy blue and black, shadows marking the contours of underwater terrain that hasn't changed in millennia.
Except something is moving down there.
The shape is massive, larger than anything that should exist at those depths. It appears and disappears at the edge of the sonar's range, there one moment and gone the next, like something swimming through water so deep that even my instruments can barely reach it. The signature doesn't match any known marine life. Not whale, not squid, not anything I've catalogued in five years of research.
"What is that?" I whisper.
Grayson goes rigid beside me. His jaw tightens, and the muscles in his neck cord with tension. He says nothing, but his silence speaks volumes, and the expression on his face isn't confusion or surprise. It's recognition.
"You know what that is." The accusation escapes before I can soften it. "You've seen this before."
"We should move." His voice has gone flat, stripped of emotion. "This location isn't safe."
"Not until you tell me what I'm looking at."
"Isla." The way he says my name makes something twist in my chest. "Some things are better left unknown. Trust me on this."
"I can't." I stand, closing the laptop but keeping it clutched against my chest like armor. "I've spent five years chasing answers that everyone told me didn't exist. I've sacrificed relationships and career opportunities and any semblance of a normal life to understand what's happening in these waters. Andnow you're standing there, clearly knowing something, asking me to just walk away?"
The wind picks up, whipping my hair across my face and sending spray over the gunwale. The sky has darkened while we talked, clouds rolling in from the west with the speed that Grayson warned me about. The sea that was calm an hour ago now churns with swells that rockDeepwatchhard enough to make me grab the rail for balance.
"The storm's coming faster than expected." He's already moving toward the wheelhouse. "We need to find shelter."
"Grayson—"
"Later." He fires up the engine and takes the wheel, guiding the boat into a turn that has us heading toward a stretch of coastline I don't recognize. "I'll answer what I can. But not here, not now. First we get somewhere safe."
