Isla's eyes meet mine through the haze of hypothermia. Understanding passes between us—not just about where we're going, but what Carrick will do. He'll use me to break her. Force her to choose.
They carry Isla below deck. Valuable cargo now, kept alive with heated blankets and fluids forced down her throat. I stay on deck, wrists burning while the drugs work through my system.
Power stirs eventually, fighting to surface. The sedative is wearing off, and with it, the inhibitor that's been blocking the shift. But not fast enough. I test the bindings carefully. They tighten when I pull, digging into skin with magical barbs. Designed to hold shifters. Even if I could shift now, it might just make them worse.
The ocean changes as we travel—heading back to the eastern trenches, to the deepest point where Isla repaired the ward.Where the entity sleeps behind protections my ancestors helped create.
Fear keeps me alert despite exhaustion. Fear for Isla, for what Carrick plans, for what might happen if he succeeds in binding an ancient evil to his will.
The boat slows. We're above the trenches now, open ocean with no land visible. But something rises from the depths that shouldn't exist.
A platform, anchored to the ocean floor somehow, extending up through hundreds of meters of water pressure that should crush any human construction. Magical wards shimmer around it, keeping the ocean at bay. Industrial equipment covers the surface, along with living quarters and a command center.
Carrick's base. His real operation, hidden above the deepest trenches. This is where he's been working all along, using the shore attacks as distractions while he built this monstrosity directly above the ward he wanted to break.
Men secure the boat. They haul me across first, still bound and unsteady. The bindings burn hotter as I step onto the platform, reacting to whatever protections Carrick has woven into the structure.
Then they bring Isla. Conscious now, color returning. The warming worked. But wariness sharpens her expression as she takes in the platform, the equipment, the impossible construction hovering above the depths.
Carrick stands at the center of it all, directing his people with calm precision. He's changed clothes, looking fresh and composed. Like this is just another day at work instead of the prelude to releasing an ancient evil.
"Bring them to the chamber." His voice carries easy authority. "We begin at dawn when the tides turn. Everything must be perfect."
They drag us across the platform toward a structure at the center. Heavy metal doors open to reveal a chamber carved from volcanic rock. No windows. No escape routes. Just solid stone with intricate runes carved into every surface.
A ritual chamber, built for containing and directing massive amounts of magical energy. The runes glow faintly, reacting to our presence.
They chain Isla to the far wall, manacles around her wrists and ankles. The pendant hangs at her throat, pulsing with soft light.
They chain me to the opposite wall, still in human form because the inhibitor won't let the shift come properly. Bindings dig into my wrists and ankles, burning. I test them once. They hold solid.
Carrick enters the chamber, examining his preparations with satisfaction. "Perfect. The guardian and the selkie, positioned exactly where they need to be. You understand how this works, don't you, Dr. Calder?" He approaches Isla slowly. "Selkie blood must be offered willingly. Spilled by choice, not force. Ancient magic is particular about consent."
Isla's jaw tightens but she says nothing.
"Which is where your guardian becomes useful." Carrick moves to the ritual table, selecting a silver blade. "I don't need to hurt you, Dr. Calder. I just need to hurt him. Slowly. Creatively. Until you willingly offer what I need to make it stop."
"The ward will hold," Isla says, voice hoarse but defiant. "Even with my blood, you can't break through what I repaired."
"I don't need to break it." Carrick tests the blade's edge against his thumb. "I just need to convince what sleeps below to come to me willingly. And nothing motivates ancient powers quite like the scent of selkie blood offered in exchange for a guardian's life. Your sacrifice for his salvation—it's poetic, really."
Insane. Completely insane. Ancient entities don't honor bargains. They don't serve human mages. They consume and destroy and corrupt everything they touch. Even if he could channel its power through Isla's willing offering, it would devour him the moment he lost concentration.
But madmen don't listen to reason.
Carrick leaves, sealing the chamber behind him. The doors close with a resonant boom that speaks of serious magic woven into the metal. Even if I could break the chains, I'd never get through those doors.
"Grayson." Isla's voice carries across the chamber. "I'm sorry. I should have stayed at the community hall like you said. Should have waited for backup."
"You saved the ward." I pull against the restraints, testing for any weakness. "You did what needed to be done. This isn't your fault."
"He's going to hurt you." Her voice cracks. "Torture you until I can't stand it anymore. Until I willingly give him what he wants just to make it stop."
"Selkie blood must be offered freely." I meet her eyes across the chamber. "Not coerced. Not forced. The magic won't work if your consent isn't genuine."
"But if he's hurting you?—"
"Then you hold on." My voice comes out harder than intended. "No matter what he does to me, you don't give him anything. You understand? Nothing."
