The Surface

The impact was brutal. Cold water rushed in through the vents, shocking Declan’s system. The sedative fought against the adrenaline, but the freezing ocean was a powerful antidote.

The car sank nose-first. The water rose to their waists, then their chests.

Declan fumbled for his boot. The dive knife. He hadn't let them take it.

He pulled it out. He slashed at his seatbelt. It parted.

He lunged across the center console. The water was at their necks. Ivy was thrashing, her head pressing against the roof liner, trying to find the last pocket of air.

Declan grabbed her. He spun her around. He sawed at the zip ties on her wrists.

* One strand. Two.*

The plastic snapped.

The car was fully submerged now. Pitch black. The pressure was building.

Declan smashed the butt of the knife against the side window. It didn't break. He hit it again. And again.

The glass shattered.

The ocean rushed in, filling the car instantly.

Declan grabbed Ivy by the waist and shoved her toward the window. She kicked, scrambling out into the open water.

Declan tried to follow. He kicked his legs.

He didn't move.

Pain shot up his left leg. The impact of the crash had crumpled the firewall. The pedals had twisted. His foot was pinned.

He yanked. He pulled until his hip popped. He was stuck.

He looked up.

Through the broken window, he could see the faint, wavering light of the moon filtering down from the surface. He saw Ivy’s silhouette kicking upward.

She was safe.

His lungs burned. The familiar panic of drowning set in—the spasms, the desire to inhale.

He watched her break the surface.

Declan stopped fighting. A strange sense of peace settled over him. He had done it. He hadn't saved the boy, but he had saved her. He had cheated Thorne. He had cleared his ledger.

He opened his mouth and let the ocean in.

\---

Ivy broke the surface, gasping, coughing up salt water. She treaded water, looking down.

Bubbles rose for a moment. Then, nothing.

She waited. Ten seconds. Twenty.

When she was sure he wasn't coming up, she swam to the pier ladder. She climbed up, shivering, her wet dress clinging to her skin.

Kael was waiting at the top. He held a thick wool blanket.

He wrapped it around her shoulders.

"Is he gone?" Kael asked.

Ivy looked down at the black water swirling around the pilings. She wiped the hair from her face. Her expression shifted. The terror melted away, replaced by a cold, bored indifference.

"He's gone," Ivy said. Her voice was steady. No tears. No hysteria.

"Did he suspect?"

"Not for a second," Ivy said. "He had a hero complex. It was pathetic, really. All I had to do was cry and look helpless."

She tightened the blanket around herself.

"Grandfather will be pleased," Kael said. "The narrative holds. The unstable diver kidnapped you, crashed the car, and you miraculously escaped. The police will find his body trapped in the wreckage. Case closed."

"And the hard drive?" Ivy asked.

"Destroyed," Kael lied. Or maybe he didn't. It didn't matter.

Ivy walked toward the waiting town car, her heels clicking on the wet wood. She paused and looked back at the ocean one last time.

She thought about Declan in the cave. How he had held her hand. How he had promised to save her.

"Good acting, Miss Thorne," Kael said, opening the car door.

Ivy smiled, a sharp, shark-like thing.

"I know," she said. "I should have been an actress."

She slid into the warm, dry car, leaving the diver to rot in the dark, the final payment for a debt that was never his to begin with.