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The hospital.

The Coast Guard dock.

At the bottom of the page, beneath Thomas’s name, someone had written three words.

FIND THE EYE.

Ben moved closer to me.

Commander Keating folded the paper.

“We’re relocating your family immediately.”

I couldn’t stop staring at the evidence bag.

The person hiding inside Blackwater hadn’t been watching the Coast Guard.

He had been watching us.

5

CALLE

“The ocean hides a great many things, but it never keeps them forever.”

—James Sinclair

“Relocate them where?” I ask.

Commander Keating already has his phone in his hand. He walks away from the evidence table, speaking rapidly to someone on the other end.

“Everyone on this list gets moved,” Keating says. “Immediately.”

My eyes remain fixed on the photographs spread across the evidence-room table.

Storm.

Willow.

Ivy.

Calle.

Hazel.

Mom.

Thomas.

Beside every name is a location.

Not an address. Something worse.

A place where each of us can usually be found.

Storm—Sea Whisper.

Willow—clinic.