Her jaw sets with a stubbornness that would be admirable under different circumstances. "The whales are dying, Mr. Hale. They're beaching themselves on shores they've avoided for centuries and changing their migration patterns in ways that don't make biological sense. Something in these waters is affecting them, and I need to find out what before more of them die."
"Nature's unpredictable. Sometimes things just happen without explanation."
"I don't believe that." She steps closer, near enough that I could reach out and touch her if I were foolish enough to try. "And I don't think you do either. You spend more time on these waters than anyone else on this island. I've asked around, and everyone says the same thing. Grayson Hale knows every current, every channel, every hidden place the sea keeps. If there's something wrong out there, you've seen it."
She's right, and that's the problem. I have seen it. The whales have been passing through waters they've avoided for generations, swimming too close to the deep places where the boundaries between worlds grow thin. They're circling the trenches where shifters have communed with ancient powers since before humans built their first boats, drawing attention to locations no outsider should ever discover.
That's exactly why she has to leave.
"There's nothing wrong with the waters," I lie, keeping my voice flat and final. "You're chasing shadows, Dr. Calder. Go home."
"I can't." Her voice softens and loses some of that academic certainty, revealing something rawer underneath. "I've dedicated my entire life to understanding the ocean and protecting it. If I walk away from this, I'm abandoning everything I believe in. Everything I've worked for."
The words hit harder than they should because I understand dedication. I understand the bone-deep need to defend something larger than yourself, to stand guard between the deep places and those who would exploit them. The trenches are mine to watch over. Mine to keep safe. Mine to shield against anyone who might threaten what sleeps in those lightless depths.
But this woman with her questions and her data and her determination represents exactly the kind of threat I've spentmy life preparing to stop. Scientists dig until they find answers, and some answers should stay buried beneath a thousand feet of black water.
"You should go," I say again, gentler this time despite myself. "The waters around Skara are dangerous for people who don't know them. Storms come up fast out here, faster than you'd believe possible, and the currents will pull you under before you realize you're in trouble. Outsiders don't survive here long."
"Then help me." She meets my eyes without flinching, without any of the deference most people show when they realize they're pushing against someone who won't be pushed. "Show me what I need to know. Keep me safe while I do my work."
A rough laugh escapes my chest before I can stop it. "You don't know what you're asking."
"I'm asking for help from someone who knows the Sound better than anyone alive." She reaches into the messenger bag slung across her shoulder and pulls out a tablet, swiping through screens with practiced efficiency. "Look at this and tell me you don't see a problem."
I don't want to look. Looking means engaging, and engaging means getting pulled deeper into something I should be pushing away. But my eyes drop to the screen despite my better judgment, and what I see there makes my blood run cold.
Whale migration data spanning five years, with routes mapped in glowing lines across a digital representation of the waters around Skara. Satellite tracking markers showing pods congregating in areas they've historically avoided. Temperature readings and sonar mappings that reveal far too much about the underwater topography surrounding the sacred trenches. She's got imagery showing whales swimming in precise patterns around the perimeter of the deep places, circling like sentinels trying to warn anyone paying attention.
The patterns are unmistakable to anyone who knows what to look for. The whales are tracing the boundaries of the protected waters, marking the edges of the places where shifters have communed with old powers for generations. They're warning us, the same way they warned my grandfather before the last great storm, the same way they've warned guardians throughout history when something threatens the balance between worlds.
But she can't know that. To her, these are just anomalies waiting to be explained, puzzles begging to be solved. She doesn't understand that some puzzles have teeth.
"Where did you get this data?" My voice comes out harder than I intend.
"Satellite tracking. Ocean buoys. Five years of continuous research." Her eyes light up because she thinks she's finally gotten through to me, finally found the key to unlock my cooperation. "I have more back at my rental, including temperature readings and detailed sonar mapping. There's evidence of activity in the deepest trenches that doesn't match any known marine life."
Every protective instinct I possess screams at those words. "What kind of activity?"
"I don't know yet, and that's exactly why I need access to you and your boat." She leans forward with the intensity of someone who's found a puzzle worth solving. "I need your knowledge of the places tourists don't go. The hidden channels. The areas that don't appear on any official charts."
"Some places don't appear on charts for good reason."
"That's exactly what I'm trying to understand." She pauses, and something changes in her expression from scientific curiosity to genuine concern. "There's also something else you should know. There's talk of development coming to the island. Corporate surveyors have been spotted along the coast, and Maritime Development Corporation is meeting with the islandcouncil at the end of the week. They're promising jobs, economic growth, and modernization."
My hands curl into fists at my sides. "What kind of development?"
"They want to dredge the channels for cruise ship access. Make Skara more accessible and more commercial." Her expression darkens with the same protective fury I'm fighting to contain. "They'll destroy the ecosystem if they're allowed to proceed. Disrupt migration patterns, damage breeding grounds, turn your waters into a highway for profit."
She doesn't know the half of it. Dredging the channels wouldn't just disrupt migration patterns. It would expose places where reality thins, where the old powers still hold sway, where the boundary between our world and something far older grows paper-thin. It would destroy everything my family has protected for centuries, everything the brotherhood has fought and bled to keep hidden.
It would destroy us all.
The brotherhood needs to know about this threat. Declan MacRae has been coordinating our defenses since the mercenary attack last month, and Rafe's network of informants should have caught wind of corporate surveyors operating in our territory. The fact that this woman knows more about the development plans than we do suggests a dangerous gap in our intelligence, one that could cost us everything if we don't close it quickly.
But bringing a human scientist into our orbit carries its own risks. The brotherhood has survived for centuries by keeping our existence hidden from the wider world, and every new person who learns our truths represents a potential breach in that security. Declan's mate, Eliza, was different because she was bound to him by magic older than memory. This woman is just a researcher with inconvenient curiosity and a talent for asking dangerous questions.
"When's the meeting?" I hear myself ask.
