Chapter 5: Teeth in the Water

The cradle gave way. Not all at once just enough to make the floor feel like a bad promise. Metal screamed under me, a high, wet sound that made my molars ache. Water slapped somewhere too close, smelling of rust, salt, and something older.

Evelyn didn’t move. She stood like she’d been carved from the city’s harder bones, her silver hair haloed in the failing light. The limp in the doorway did move one slow step, then another, weight shifting wrong on the left leg. I could almost hear the cartilage grind.

The timer on the phone blinked 00:27. The digits were too big, too bright, like a child’s clock teaching you what the end looks like.

I kicked the chair toward the opening in the wall. Its metal legs scraped, caught the limp figure’s shin, and earned me a hiss. Not pain offense. The kind that comes from a mouth with too much dentistry and too little patience.

The water under the cradle whispered. Not a friendly sound. The kind of whisper that gets under doors and tells you not to bother locking them.

My sister’s voice still rang in my skull. Evelyn’s eyes still drilled into me. And Max wherever he was was probably smiling that invisible smile, cataloging every twitch like a jeweler appraising stones.

00:21.

I lunged for the phone. It was warm, greasy, like it had been in too many pockets and none of them clean. “You want a choice?” I said to the room, to the gulls screaming above, to whatever thing was chewing on this city’s underbelly. “Here’s one.”

I hit none.

The screen went white.

The limp figure lunged. Evelyn shouted something I didn’t catch because the cradle dropped the last inch and dumped me knee-deep into saltwater so cold it punched the breath out of me like a fist to the ribs. My muscles locked. My skin turned to glass.

I came up with the blade still in my hand. The limp figure came with a gun black, compact, and pointed at my head like we were about to have a polite conversation.

I didn’t give them the courtesy of aiming. I went for the wrist, steel on skin, and the blade kissed a vein. A spark of blood bloomed black in the half-light. The gun clattered into the water and vanished into the dark below.

Evelyn’s hand found my hair, yanking me toward the doorway. Her nails were sharp, deliberate reminding me she could drag me just as easily as save me.

Behind us, something in the projector flared Max’s voice bleeding through like a ghost in static.

“You just rewrote the ending,” he said. “I like that.”

The water kept rising. The timer was gone. But the choice… the choice was still breathing in the room, pacing.

I stumbled through the doorway, blade tight in my grip, water sheeting off my legs. The limp followed, slower now. Evelyn was talking into her collar mic, words clipped, professional. I caught fragments “containment,” “west entrance,” “asset compromised.”

Asset. That was me.

The hallway beyond was narrow, lit by strips of dying LEDs that hummed like insects. Somewhere in the walls, pumps throbbed, moving water where it didn’t belong. My boots left salt prints that gleamed before fading.

We passed a door with a viewing panel. I didn’t mean to look in, but I did. Inside: a tank, half-full, with something moving lazy circles under the surface. I saw the shape, the white flash of teeth, the faint electric ripple in the water that made the hair on my arms rise.

Not my problem. Not yet.

Evelyn pushed me forward. “Keep moving.”

“You could say thank you,” I said.

“For what?”

“For not choosing you.”

She glanced back, just enough to let me see the smallest crack in her armor. “Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

We hit a junction. The air here was warmer, damp, like something breathing too close to your ear. The limp figure stopped at the corner, leaning into the shadows. Watching. Waiting.

Max’s voice came again, closer now. I realized it wasn’t just through the speaker system. He was somewhere ahead, alive, enjoying himself.

“Grace,” he drawled. “You’re better when you’re wet and desperate.”

I didn’t answer. The blade in my hand was answer enough.

Evelyn took the lead. I followed because the alternative was going back to the limp, and I didn’t like repeating mistakes. The corridor bent left, then right, leading us into a room that smelled of bleach and copper.

Tables. Tools. A drain in the floor.

Max stood by the far wall, a shape in black. His smile wasn’t invisible anymore.

“You really should’ve picked one,” he said.

“I did.”

“I noticed.” He glanced at Evelyn. “And she noticed too.”

The limp figure came in behind us, closing the door. The sound of the lock turning was heavier than it should’ve been.

Max tilted his head at me. “Now we start over.”

I laughed, low. “You think I came here to start anything?”

His eyes flicked to my blade, then back to my face. “You came here because you don’t know how to walk away.”

Maybe he was right. But there’s more than one way to leave a room.

The limp moved closer. Evelyn shifted her weight, one hand near her jacket pocket. Max stepped forward, spreading his hands like this was all a friendly misunderstanding.

I let the silence stretch until it felt like it might snap. Then I moved fast, low, aiming not for Max but for the limp. The blade caught fabric, then flesh, and the figure folded sideways, breath leaving in a wet gasp.

Evelyn’s gun cleared leather. Max froze.

“That’s my choice,” I said.

The limp hit the floor. The smell of salt and blood mixed in the air. Somewhere far above us, the gulls screamed again louder, sharper, li

ke they knew what had just shifted.

And I knew one thing: this wasn’t over. Not even close.