The morning sun poured softly through the hospital window, painting the sterile white walls in shades of gold. The steady beep of monitors had been part of Elle's rhythm since yesterday, but now the sound felt distant—fading like a dream she was finally waking from.
"Everything's in order," the doctor said kindly, removing the IV from her arm. "You're free to go, Miss Deveraux. Just take it easy for a few days."
Elle managed a faint smile. Her body still felt light, fragile—like glass pulled from cold water.
When she stepped out of the room, she was met by a small crowd waiting near the corridor—Amara, Kai, Noah, Lena, and a few others from the trip. Amara immediately rushed forward and wrapped her in a careful hug.
"Finally!" Amara exclaimed, her voice shaking with relief as she smiled through watery eyes. "You scared us so much, Elle."
Elle's lips curved into a soft, reassuring smile. "I didn't mean to," she said gently, squeezing Amara's hand. "But I'm here now."
Amara let out a shaky laugh, brushing a tear from her cheek. "That's all that matters."
Lena grinned softly. "You look better. Still pale, but better."
Noah smirked. "That's Elle's default setting."
Kai stood a little apart—quiet but watchful. His eyes met hers briefly, and she saw it: something heavy, unspoken, behind that calm gray gaze.
They escorted her outside, the warm sea breeze instantly wrapping around them. The hotel's private car waited to take them back to the island resort, the gentle sound of waves echoing in the distance.
It felt almost peaceful—too peaceful after everything that had happened.
As they drove, Elle glanced at the empty seat beside Lena. "Where's Giselle?"
Lena's expression faltered. "She… left early this morning. Didn't say much to anyone."
Elle frowned. "She didn't come to see me?"
Amara exchanged a quick look with Kai and Noah before answering. "No. I think she's still shaken, Elle. The doctors said she was having panic attacks last night."
Elle turned her gaze toward the passing ocean. "I see."
The rest of the ride passed in silence, only the rhythmic hum of waves against the shore filling the gaps between their thoughts.
---
The resort was quiet when they arrived.
The place smelled of salt and hibiscus, the gentle hush of the sea making it feel deceptively peaceful.
Inside the lounge, everyone gathered for tea and a light breakfast. The mood was strange—half relief, half unease.
Lena set her cup down and spoke first. "I ran into Giselle before she left. She looked… terrified. Like she'd seen something she shouldn't have."
Amara frowned. "Terrified?"
"Yeah," Lena said quietly. "She wouldn't talk to me. Just said she needed to rest. Her hands were shaking."
Elle stayed silent, stirring her tea absently.
Kai leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "You think it's about the dive?"
Lena shrugged. "She's the one who saw Elle like that. Anyone would be shaken after that."
But Kai didn't look convinced. Neither did Elle. Their eyes met briefly—a flicker of shared suspicion neither voiced.
Before anyone could continue, there was a knock at the door. Two police officers entered—polite but professional.
They spoke to Elle privately on the other side of the lounge.
"Miss Deveraux," one of them greeted, "we wanted to update you regarding the oxygen tank incident."
Elle stood slowly. "Yes?"
"We've completed the inspection," the officer continued. "Your tank showed signs of an internal malfunction. It's uncommon, but it happens. The case will be marked as an accident."
An accident. The word hung in the air, fragile as glass.
"Thank you," Elle said softly.
After the officers left, Amara let out a relieved breath. "At least it's over."
But Elle couldn't shake the weight pressing at the back of her mind—the image of darkness, the voice that called her name underwater. It all felt too deliberate.
Later, she spoke quietly to Kai about it. He listened, noticing her faraway look.
"You don't believe it, do you?" he asked.
She met his gaze. "Do you?"
He didn't answer, but the silence said enough.
---
That evening, the corridor outside the guest rooms was silent except for the soft whir of ceiling fans. Clarisse's heels clicked faintly against the marble as she stopped outside Giselle's door and knocked once.
The door opened a crack. Giselle's face appeared—pale, eyes swollen from lack of sleep.
"Clarisse?"
"May I come in?"
Giselle hesitated, then stepped aside. The room was dim, curtains drawn. A half-finished cup of coffee sat cold on the table.
"You shouldn't be alone," Clarisse said, sitting on the edge of the bed.
Giselle wrapped her arms around herself. "I can't sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see her."
Clarisse frowned. "Elle?"
Giselle nodded. "She looked right at me before she blacked out. She said something, Clarisse." Her voice trembled. "She said, 'She'll come for us.'"
Clarisse's breath caught. "You're sure?"
"I'm sure," Giselle whispered. "And when I went to her at the hospital… she looked at me like she knew."
Clarisse's skin prickled with cold sweat, though she forced her face to remain calm. "Listen to me, Giselle. You're in shock. Elle doesn't remember anything. The doctors said she lost consciousness—if she really knew, she would've told the police, right?"
Giselle's lip quivered. "What if she's waiting?"
"Stop." Clarisse's tone sharpened. "Panicking will only make things worse. Act normal. Talk to people. Laugh if you have to. We did nothing wrong—understand?"
Tears welled in Giselle's eyes. "I didn't mean for any of it—"
"I know," Clarisse interrupted gently now, though her heart raced. "Just rest, okay? Take your pills."
Giselle nodded weakly. She reached for the small bottle on her nightstand, swallowed two pills, and lay back. Within minutes, her breathing slowed into uneasy sleep.
Clarisse stood by the window, staring out at the endless dark sea. The sound of waves no longer comforted her—it sounded like whispering.
---
The next morning dawned bright and windless. Everyone packed quietly. Suitcases rolled across marble floors; voices echoed softly down the halls.
Elle moved slower than the others—still sore, still thoughtful. Amara fluttered around, helping her zip her bag while Noah cracked jokes to keep things light.
"Once we're home," Amara said, "you're getting two full weeks of rest. No arguments."
"Yes, Doctor Amara," Elle teased, a small smile returning.
On the bus to the airport, Lena leaned against the window, snapping pictures of the ocean one last time. "We should come back here when we're all less… traumatized."
Amara laughed. "Next time, no diving!"
The group chuckled, the tension lifting a little. But Kai, seated across from Elle, watched her in silence. Her gaze was turned toward the sea again, lost somewhere far beyond it.
He wanted to ask what she was thinking—but something about the stillness in her face told him she wouldn't answer.
---
Two days later, the island was nearly empty. Vincent stood on the same dock where the chaos had unfolded. The sea looked harmless again, glimmering like liquid glass.
He adjusted his diving gear and slipped into the water. It was colder than he remembered.
Below the surface, silence swallowed everything. He swam toward the reef, retracing Elle's path from that morning. He could almost see her there—graceful, curious, unafraid.
Near the spot where she'd gone under, he found traces of the incident: disturbed sand, a broken coral branch, and something metallic half-buried nearby. He reached out and picked it up—a fragment of a clamp, twisted unnaturally.
Later, in his rented bungalow, he studied photos of Elle's oxygen tank obtained through a contact at the investigation office. The edges near the valve showed deliberate scraping, as if someone had forced it open and resealed it imperfectly.
"An accident," he muttered bitterly. "Right."
He closed his laptop and stared at the shell resting on his table—the one he'd picked from the ocean floor. It gleamed faintly, mocking him.
Someone had tried to hurt her. And he intended to find out who.
---
Far from the island, Edric sat in the back of a black car, his laptop balanced on his knees. The soft hum of the tires was the only sound as footage played across the screen.
He'd used his network quietly—pulling strings through the resort's security head, reviewing every camera from the docks to the storage halls. Most footage showed nothing unusual. Until one clip caught his eye.
Timestamp: The night before the dive.
Location: Corridor near the supply room.
Clarisse and Giselle.
The two girls appeared on the grainy video, whispering, glancing around before slipping through a door that led toward the gear storage area.
Edric leaned closer, replaying the moment. There was no camera inside that room—he knew, because the resort's design predated newer security protocols. But their body language was enough. Nervous. Intentional.
He paused the video on Clarisse's face, her expression half-hidden in shadow.
"So," he murmured, "it wasn't an accident after all."
He copied the footage onto a secure drive, neatly labeling the folder: Dive Incident – Evidence A.
As the car rolled toward the private airstrip, he gazed out the window. The city lights blurred past like ghosts.
From his pocket, he pulled out his phone—a picture of Elle smiling on her seventeenth birthday still set as his wallpaper.
"Miss Elle," he said quietly, almost to himself. "You deserve to know the truth."
He closed the laptop with a soft click, the decision settling in his chest like finality.
Tomorrow, he would see her.
Tomorrow, she would learn what had really happened beneath the calm surface of her own sea.
---