I grunt and start the engine.Deepwatch'srumble vibrates through the deck as I pull away from the mooring. Isla doesn't glance back at the village the way she did that first morning. Instead, she's reviewing yesterday's findings on her tablet, one hand braced against the rail for balance.
"There." She points to a cluster of buoys marking the protected zone. "We need samples from just outside the boundary. If Maritime's already contaminating the periphery, itstrengthens our case that they can't be trusted near the core sites."
I cut the engine and letDeepwatchdrift into position. Deep, cold water. Isla moves around the deck with purpose, checking readings, narrating her process in that low voice she uses when thinking through problems.
"Temperature's definitely elevated. Higher than it should be." She frowns at her screen. "Could be natural variation, but the timing's suspicious. Maritime's survey ship was in this area recently."
"You're sure?"
"Kian tracked it." She glances up. No hesitation in her eyes. She trusts us now, trusts the information we provide without question. "He said they were running sonar sweeps. Probably trying to map the trenches without actually entering protected waters."
The thought of Maritime's equipment probing the sacred places sends a growl rumbling through my chest. My bear rises close to the surface, protective and furious. Isla's gaze sharpens.
"Easy." Her voice is calm. "We'll stop them. That's why we're doing this."
She's talking to my bear as much as to me.
"How long for the samples?"
"Shouldn't take long if the current cooperates." She lowers collection equipment over the side, her movements efficient and practiced. "I need readings at multiple depths to establish the contamination gradient."
The way she works—pulling connections from scattered data, building her case before anyone sees the holes.
"Got it." Isla hauls up the sampler, her arms straining against the weight. I move to help. Instinct. My hands close over the line above hers. The position puts me near enough to smell the saltspray in her hair, near enough to feel the warmth radiating from her body despite the morning air.
She doesn't step away. Neither do I.
"Thanks." Her voice has gone quiet, and when she looks up at me, she holds my gaze easily. No fear. No uncertainty. Those eyes—they see everything I'm trying to hide.
I release the line and step back, putting necessary distance between us.
"I'll secure it." My voice comes out rougher than intended.
She nods and returns to her tablet. That small smile plays at the corner of her mouth. She knows what she's doing to me.
Deepwatchcuts back through the harbor mouth as the sun climbs higher. Isla's gathered enough evidence to prove Maritime's already impacting the ecosystem. Temperature differentials, chemical traces, contamination patterns. She runs through her arguments as I secure the mooring lines, her enthusiasm making her gestures sharp and animated.
"The temperature differential alone suggests their survey equipment is already impacting the ecosystem. Add in the chemical traces from the samples we've been collecting, and we can prove they're either incompetent or deliberately circumventing environmental protocols." She pauses, observing me work. "Grayson, this is solid. Between this and the archaeological evidence Moira's compiling, we can make a real case to the council."
"If they listen."
"They'll listen." Certainty colors her voice. "Because if they don't, I'll make it very public that they're ignoring evidence of environmental crimes. Maritime might have money, but they don't have data like this."
The fierce determination in her voice makes my bear stir. She's ready to fight for these waters, and something primal inme responds to that strength. Mine, the bear thinks. I shove the thought down and coil rope with more force than necessary.
"There's a meeting later today," I say. "Rafe wants to review the latest intelligence on Maritime's timeline."
"I'll be there." She starts gathering her things, then hesitates. "Do you ever take a day off? You've been running patrols every night on top of this."
"Someone has to."
"There are others who could take a rotation." Those eyes that miss nothing study me again. "When's the last time you slept more than a few hours?"
"I'm fine."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting." I finish with the ropes and straighten, meeting her eyes with what I hope is enough gruffness to end this line of questioning. "Go prep for the meeting. I'll be there after I check the nets."
