The Argonaut rose from the fog like a steel cliff, its decks bristling with antennae and cranes. Once an oceanographic research vessel, it had been quietly refitted for something more dangerous—armoured plates welded along the hull, reinforced nets, and harpoon cannons bolted in place.Elena stood at the base of the gangway, clutching her duffel bag. The compass in her pocket twitched as though eager to escape. When she glanced up the ladder of steel steps, she caught sight of a figure already waiting on deck.
Halvorsen.
He looked older, though only months had passed since the island. His shoulders were heavier, his eyes sunk deep into shadow. Yet when their gazes met, something unspoken passed between them: a recognition that no one else in the world could understand what they had survived.
“Elena,” he said simply, as she stepped aboard.
She tried to smile. “So they dragged you into this too.”
“I could say the same.”
Their reunion was cut short by a sharp bark of command. “All hands to muster!”
The voice belonged to Captain Rourke, a man cut from weathered oak. His beard was salted with grey, his coat patched with the wear of storms. His eyes, however, were sharp as glass. He strode across the deck, boots ringing against steel.
“Welcome to the Argonaut,” Rourke growled. “You’ve been told the basics. What you haven’t been told is that the ocean doesn’t forgive fools. Do your job, follow orders, and maybe you’ll live long enough to regret signing on.”
A nervous laugh rippled through the crew.
Elena scanned the faces. Some she recognised—Mikhail, the quiet engineer who had once fought beside them on the island; Torres, the medic whose hands still bore faint scars. But there were new ones too.
Maya, a young marine biologist with wide, eager eyes, shook Elena’s hand too hard. “It’s an honour to meet you,” she gushed. “I read your preliminary reports. To be in the field with survivors of that expedition—”
Elena cut her off gently. “You don’t know what you’re wishing for.”
Others were less cordial. A pair of government handlers in black windbreakers watched from the bridge, clipboards in hand, their silence more menacing than any scolding.
By nightfall, the Argonaut was under way, engines churning against the swell. Elena stood at the rail, staring into the endless grey. The water looked calm, but she knew better. Somewhere beneath that surface, teeth as long as her arm prowled in silence.
Halvorsen joined her, coat collar turned against the spray. “The crew doesn’t know what’s waiting for them,” he murmured.
“Neither did we,” Elena replied.
The old man tapped the pocket where his journal lay. “This time, at least, we’re not blind. That counts for something.”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she let her hand close around the compass in her pocket. The needle spun, then locked eastward—out into the black Atlantic.
Toward something vast. Something hungry.
And it was waiting.
Source: Some or all of the content was generated using an AI language model
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