"Good," I say with malice.
Kael shoots me a look.
I sit in the sand beside her. I refuse to sit and offer her comfort. I sit to search the enemy.
A heavy, warning vibration rumbles through the water. Kael shifts his bulk. He wraps his fingers around my wrist to halt my search.
"What? I'm looking for answers, Kael," I say. I pull my arm from his protective grip. I reach for the leather utility pouch attached to her rigid belt. "If she came to hunt a monster in the dark, she brought specific tools. I know her well."
I undo the iron clasp. The heavy leather is stiff with bitter ocean salt.
I search the dark interior. I find the usual guard essentials. I pull out a rough whetstone. I pull out a dense coil of braided line. I find a small, razor-sharp hunting knife.
But there is something else hidden at the bottom. It is wrapped in a dark scrap of protective oil-cloth.
I pull the hidden object into the light.
It's a glass dart.
The weapon is delicate, wicked, and a swirling purple liquid still lightly coating the inside.
"Look. This is it," I whisper.
I hold the glass up to the bright green light of the ceiling moss. The purple liquid is viscous and heavy. It mimics black oil mixed with rotting blood. Only a few drops remain, clinging to the inside of the glass with a parasitic grip.
"This is the weapon she made me use on you," I say, turning to face Kael. "This is the poison taking your voice."
Kael goes still. He stares at the wicked glass dart. His heavy hand goes to his own throat. He traces the smooth line of his skin.
The horrific memory flashes in his black eyes. The past confusion. The spreading numbness. The sudden, terrifying descent into absolute silence.
"Bolt," I say, holding the glass dart up to the copper cage, careful not to touch. "Identify this weapon."
The eel uncoils his length. He brings his heavy head close to the metal bars. He sniffs the glass. Blue sparks arc between his wide nostrils.
"Nastybrew," Bolt rumbles. "It is old magic. It is deep, forbidden magic."
"What is the liquid?"
"It is venom harvested from the Hush-Urchin," Bolt says. "The vile creature lives in the crushing dark of the deepest trenches. The venom paralyzes the vocal chords. It freezes the internal resonance chambers. It turns the screaming victim into a silent ghost."
Bolt looks at Kael with a rare expression of pity.
"It is no poison meant to kill the body," Bolt says in a low hum. "It is a cruel poison meant to silence the soul. It is used by the worst trench bottom-feeders to stop their helpless prey from screaming for rescue."
My grip tightens on the glass dart. I fear the fragile weapon might shatter in my shaking hand.
"Is the silence permanent?" I ask.
The heavy question hangs in the warm water of the shell.
Bolt hesitates. His yellow light flickers, dimming with uncertainty. "The raw sting of a wild Urchin wears off in time. A small dose fades. But this liquid?" He gestures a sparking tail toward the dart. "This is concentrated. This is magically refined. This specific silencer is likely meant to last a lifetime."
Kael looks down at the white sand. His broad shoulders slump in profound defeat. The wall of his isolation grows, crushing his hope.
"No," I say, refusing the grim diagnosis. "There must be a way to break the dark magic."
"It's complex chemistry, Red," Bolt sighs, his voice crackling with exhaustion. "This is no simple spell. You cannot kiss his cheek and make the damage disappear. You need a specific chemical reagent. You need a solvent to dissolve the magical binding in his throat."
