We are entering the rotting underbelly of the Reef.
The place where the beautiful, glittering city dumps its unwanted trash. A terrifying landscape of rusted iron pipes, crumbling stone masonry, and towering, unstable mountains of forgotten debris. The water here is full of decay, the water sluggish and heavy with sediment.
The perfect place to hide a shell made of garbage.
"Go slow," Mira croaks from her place on the floor. I turn to face her. "There are acoustic mines placed near the main drain entrance."
I freeze at the wheel, my muscles locking in place.
Mines?
"Steer hard to the left," she wheezes, pointing a trembling finger into the dark. "Hug the stone wall. The military sensors are sensitive to vibration."
I turn the heavy iron wheel to the left. The shell groans in protest at the sudden shift, the metal joints creaking like dying whales.
We swim past a cluster of dark, floating iron spheres chained to the seabed. Proximity mines. They bob, their iron surfaces covered in layers of grime and sea growth, waiting for a careless traveler to trigger their deadly payload.
If we had gone straight down the main channel...
I glance over my shoulder at Mira. Her face is chalk-white, beaded with sweat from the simple act of speaking. Her thin chest rises and falls in shallow, painful-looking movements. Yet her milky eyes remain fixed on the dark water outside, her fractured mind focused on navigating the perimeter that threatens to crush us all.
I dip my heavy head in a gesture of gratitude.
She offers no acknowledgment. Her eyes shut, and she sinks deeper into the sailcloth blanket, her body returning to the state of hibernation the draught has forced upon her.
The shell grinds to a halt.
The hidden fissure. Oona's secret cave.
It lurks behind a rotting curtain of toxic kelp, the fronds heavy with black sludge. A towering wall of fallen masonry debris conceals the entrance, a testament to the city's decay.
I guide the House of Drift into the dark shadow of a collapsed ventilation tower. The shell merges with the surrounding wreckage, becoming another pile of refuse. To any passing military patrol, we are invisible.
With the engine silenced, I tap on the copper pipe beside Bolt's cage.
Two soft strikes. The eel's blinding light dims to a faint glow. The mechanical hum fades into nothing. A heavy, oppressive silence descends upon the cabin.
I turn to Vaelis.
He stares at the dark cave entrance beyond the kelp curtain, his luminous face drained of color. The crimson fins that usually blaze with defiance now droop in the stagnant water.
Terrified.
He is a Prince of the light, a creature of warm waters and glowing coral gardens. This foul darkness, this suffocating stench of rot and decay, is alien territory.
I glide to his side, my rough hand finding his trembling one.
Right here, I sign into his palm, the gesture simple.
His fingers tighten around mine. "I know."
He reaches down. He picks up the empty glass dart, its wicked form a reminder of the poison that stole my voice. He grabs the silver hand-mirror, caressing it gently before tucking it securely into his belt.
"Let's go get your beautiful voice back," he says, his voice a thin blade of determination cutting through the oppressive silence.
My sight returns to Mira's still form on the floor.
"She stays here in the shell," Vaelis says, his golden eyes following my direction toward Mira's still form. "She can't swim. Not yet."
