Chapter 108: Madeline
Three hours later, the sky is a thin, hazy blue and the water looks like brushed steel. We’ve slowed down a few times — not because Sloane wanted to, but because the sea practically demanded it.
The first time, Finn shouted something about movement off the bow, and then the surface broke open into flashes of white and gray.
That had been about two hours ago now.
They came out of nowhere, a whole pod of Atlantic white-sided dolphins cutting through the water alongside us, surfacing and diving in perfect rhythm. It was impossible not to stop for them. They were so close we could hear them clicking and whistling, their bodies flashing silver and white under the sun.
I’d leaned over the rail, snapping photos, filming short clips I knew probably wouldn’t show much. The light had been wrong, the water too reflective. But still, maybe if they were heading in the same direction as the buoy, it would back up my theory about the bait balls getting trapped near the seamounts.
Sloane hadn’t wanted to slow down at all. She came to the railing by the wheelhouse door, arms crossed tight, her expression screaming impatience.
“We’re wasting time,” she said.
I’d called back, “Recommended speed around them is under ten knots.”
She rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck, but she slowed the engines anyway, grumbling the entire time.
I didn’t care. Not if it meant the dolphins stayed safe. Sloane could hate me all she wanted; I wasn’t backing down from something that mattered.
The second time we stopped wasn’t nearly as magical as the first.
Sloane almost hit a damn tree.
Not a branch — a tree trunk, massive, half-submerged, its surface slick with seaweed and barnacles. It came out of nowhere, and if she hadn’t yanked the throttle back when she did, we would’ve plowed straight into it. The boat lurched so hard I had to grab the railing to keep from face-planting.
After that, Sloane and Finn had to check everything — the engines, the rotors, the propellers — to make sure nothing got tangled or damaged by all the seaweed we’d dragged with us. We were still close enough to shore that it wasn’t dangerous, but far enough that if something broke, it would’ve been a long, cold drift back.
While they worked, Liam came up from below deck holding a thermos in one hand and a granola bar in the other.
He grinned and said, “You’ve been standing out there since we left. Come warm up before your fingers fall off.”
I giggled. “I just… love it. Out here. I forget it’s cold.”
He rolled his eyes. “That’s not a healthy personality trait.”
Still, I let him convince me. I went inside with him, the warmth of the cabin wrapping around me instantly, the smell of cocoa and salt and old coffee machines filling the air. I took a sip of the hot chocolate and nearly sighed out loud — sweet, too sweet, but perfect.
A few minutes later, Sloane and Finn came in too. She still looked annoyed — probably more at herself for missing the trunk than anything else. But what struck me was the tiny flicker of tension that passed between us when she stepped into the cabin. Four of us.
All four of us in the lounging area.
The same area where she’d made up a rule that only three people were “allowed” at a time, just to keep me out.
No one said anything. It just hung there, heavy and awkward.
So we pretended to focus on our snacks instead — Finn cracking open a soda, Liam tearing another granola bar in half, me stirring the last of my hot chocolate even though it didn’t need stirring.
When Sloane finally said, “Engines are clear,” everyone moved like they’d been waiting for the signal to breathe again.
We dumped our wrappers, headed back up, and a minute later the boat was slicing through the water again, the smell of fuel and salt in the air.
And now, well— we’ve been circling the buoy area for the past hour. Back and forth. Again and again.
Sloane’s running the sonar, scanning the depths, tracing over the same ridges and seamounts in case we missed something on the first few passes. Nothing yet. Just clean readings.
The sea out here is darker, heavier. The horizon’s a faint gray line, and every now and then the fog rolls low enough that I can’t tell where the sky ends and the water starts. It’s beautiful, but it feels… endless.
Sloane’s patience, however, is not endless.
She lets out a sharp breath, her hand tightening on the throttle. “We’ve been here an hour. There’s nothing.”
I glance at the sonar screen again — just to be sure — and then say, “What kind of whales did they say they saw?”
She shrugs, irritated. “How the hell am I supposed to know? The report said ‘big whales.’ That’s all it said.”
I press my lips together. “If they really are big ones, they could still be under. Some species can stay submerged for over forty minutes, especially with water this deep.”
Sloane makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a laugh. “So what? We just wait?”
“Yes,” I say simply. “If they’re here, we’ll see them. Or hear them. The spout will be massive — we won’t miss it.”
She rolls her eyes and mutters something under her breath, but slows the boat just a touch, which means she’s listening.
I pull my notebook onto my lap, jotting down the coordinates, the time, the tide height. The hum of the engines is steady beneath my feet, vibrating through the soles of my boots. Finn and Liam are both quiet for once, sitting near the bow and scanning the horizon like maybe they’ll will the whales into appearing.
Sloane leans back, exhaling hard. “One more hour,” she says. “Then we’re heading back.”
I nod, eyes still on the water.
If they’re really here — if those “big whales” are somewhere under us — one more hour might be all we need.
And as if the universe heard me defending the ocean’s patience—
About half an hour later, the air splits.
A sound so loud, so deep, it vibrates straight through the hull. Not just noise—pressure, force. It hits us in the chest, rattles the metal beneath our boots. Finn curses, Liam yells something I can’t make out, and even Sloane jerks back from the wheel, one hand flying to her ear.
The whole boat trembles.
My notebook slides off my lap and hits the deck. My heart’s in my throat, every nerve on high alert.
“What the hell—” Sloane starts, but she doesn’t finish.
Because it happens again.
Closer. Louder.
And this time, it’s not just a sound.
It’s a presence. Something vast, alive, and right under us.
We all freeze—every single one of us—eyes wide, waiting.
Then, from somewhere below the surface, a shadow moves.
And the world goes completely, utterly still.