CHAPTER FIFTY ONE: THE ECHO BENEATH THE WAVES

"The sea does not forget those who touch its depths — it calls them back, again and again, until they are no longer their own."

—— Khaimah Peter

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Gravill sat on the cold stone floor long after Kieran had shut the door, his chest rising and falling in uneven gasps. The shell pulsed faintly in his hand, its glow dimming and brightening like a heartbeat. He turned it over, water dripping from the grooves, and watched the way the droplets slid across his fingers as though the sea itself refused to release him.

His clothes clung to his skin, soaked and heavy, but he barely noticed. All he could think about was the creature's face — those lantern eyes, that jagged grin. It had felt too real to be a vision. Too vivid to be a dream.

The weight of it settled over him like a net dragging him to the ocean floor.

Gravill pressed the shell against the stone floor, tempted to smash it. But something in him hesitated.

He didn't know what the shell was. Or why it called to him. But he knew it was important.

His pulse steadied, breath slowing. He wiped his wet hair back and climbed to his feet, stuffing the shell into the inner pocket of his shirt. It was still cold against his chest, its glow faintly visible through the fabric, but at least now it was hidden.

He needed answers.

But he had no one to ask.

The thought made his chest tighten. His stepfather's disdain, the boys' cruelty, even Kieran's half-hearted curiosity — no one wanted him here. No one would care. And his mother... She wasn't even sure he was still alive.

His jaw clenched, and he wiped at his face, furious at the sting behind his eyes.

He wouldn't break.

He wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

The dormitory was quiet, filled with the soft sounds of sleep. The flickering lantern cast shadows that twisted and stretched, crawling up the walls like living things. Gravill stepped carefully, feet barely brushing the ground as he moved toward his bed. But just as he slipped beneath the threadbare blanket, a voice whispered from the shadows.

"You saw it, didn't you?"

Gravill froze.

Kieran sat cross-legged on his bed, watching him with sharp, unblinking eyes. The dim lantern light carved jagged lines across his face, and for the first time, he didn't look bored. He looked... excited.

"The creature," Kieran whispered, leaning forward. "You saw it."

Gravill's mouth went dry.

"What do you know?" he rasped, voice barely above a breath.

Kieran's smile didn't reach his eyes.

"It always comes for the new ones first."

Gravill's chest tightened, and he gripped the blanket as if it could anchor him. "What are you talking about?"

Kieran swung his legs off the bed, bare feet landing silently on the cold stone floor. He rose slowly, like he was afraid to startle Gravill, and padded closer until he loomed at the edge of the mattress.

"The sea follows some of us," Kieran said, voice barely more than a hush. "It watches. And when it finds something it likes..." He lifted his hand, fingers spreading out like claws. "...it takes."

Gravill's heart hammered against his ribs.

"You're lying," he hissed.

Kieran chuckled. It was a dry, humorless sound. "Am I?" He crouched so they were eye level. "You're still wet, Gravill. And you stink of salt."

Gravill opened his mouth to argue, but the words stuck in his throat.

Because Kieran was right.

His skin still glistened with seawater. His clothes were damp, the briny scent clinging to him like a second skin. And the shell...

It throbbed faintly against his chest.

"You should've left it," Kieran said, eyes flicking to Gravill's shirt. "Whatever you took. Whatever called to you." He stood and stepped back, voice dropping lower. "But you didn't. And now it knows your name."

Gravill's breath caught. "What knows my name?"

Kieran didn't answer. He just climbed back into bed, yanked the blanket up to his chin, and rolled onto his side.

"Don't go near the water," he whispered, voice barely audible. "Even in your dreams."

Gravill lay awake long after Kieran's breathing slowed, staring at the ceiling until the lantern light sputtered out. He gripped the shell through his shirt, chest rising and falling with shallow, restless breaths.

The night stretched on, the dormitory silent.

But in the distance, he swore he heard the faintest echo of waves.

And the sound of something scraping against stone.

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