The sea took what it wanted.

  And it wanted her.

  The ship was dying.

  It heaved and groaned, the wood screaming as the waves tore it apart piece by piece. The mast snapped with a sickening crack, vanishing into the darkness below. The lantern overhead shattered, flaring once before it was snuffed out completely.

  Water rushed in.

  She clawed her way forward, fingers slipping against the slick floorboards, lungs burning as she gasped for air. The storm howled, a wild, merciless thing, and the wind lashed at her face as she crawled toward the bed—toward the unmoving figure.

  “Get up.” Her voice barely carried over the chaos, raw and ragged. She reached out, shaking them, harder this time. “Come on. We have to go.”

  Nothing.

  The ship lurched, and suddenly she was weightless, thrown into the air as another wave slammed against the hull. Her stomach flipped. The world spun. The moment stretched, impossibly slow—then the impact hit like a hammer.

  She crashed onto the deck, her head smacking against wood, the breath ripped from her lungs. Stars burst behind her eyes.

  Move. Get up.

  The ocean roared, and her body obeyed before her mind caught up, instincts taking over. She staggered to her feet, legs shaking, blood pounding in her skull.

  The bed was empty.

  Her stomach turned to ice.

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  No.

  She twisted around, searching wildly, blinking through the rain that blurred her vision. There—just beyond the railing, barely visible through the sheets of water and foam—

  A hand.

  Reaching.

  She didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate.

  She ran.

  The deck tilted sharply, sending water rushing around her ankles. She fought against it, against gravity, against the pull of the sea as she lunged forward—

  Fingers grazed skin.

  For a moment, she had them. For a moment, they were there, real, solid, within reach—

  Then the ship pitched again.

  The ocean surged up, black and hungry.

  And the hand slipped away.

  Her scream ripped from her throat as she threw herself after them, arm outstretched, grasping at nothing but air. Salt burned her eyes. Wind tore at her hair.

  They were gone.

  The sea had swallowed them whole.

  She hit the water hard.

  The cold was instant. It carved through her, deeper than bone, sharper than breath. The waves closed over her head, stealing the sky, the air, the world.

  Down.

  The current yanked her under, a force stronger than her limbs, stronger than her desperation. Salt filled her mouth, burned down her throat, pressed into her ears. Her body twisted, weightless, useless, tossed like a piece of driftwood in the dark.

  No, no—

  She kicked, flailed, tried to find the surface, but the sea did not care. The storm above was distant now, muffled, thunder like a heartbeat she couldn't reach.

  Her arms swung wildly. Reaching. Grasping.

  But there was nothing to hold onto.

  Nothing but water.

  Her lungs screamed. Her vision blurred. Somewhere, far above, light flickered—cold and unreachable.

  No.

  She wouldn't let it end here.

  With the last of her strength, she forced herself upward, legs burning, arms aching. The ocean fought back, pulling her down, pulling her under, but she fought harder.

  She broke the surface with a gasp so sharp it felt like knives in her chest.

  The storm was still raging. The wreckage of the ship was barely visible, just jagged silhouettes against the lightning-lit sky.

  But the compass was gone.

  Her stomach clenched. She turned wildly, water sloshing against her face, her throat, but it was useless. The sea had taken it, just like it had taken everything else.

  The waves crashed over her again, shoving her under, stealing breath from her lips before she could take enough.

  She surfaced once more, choking.

  No wreckage left to cling to. No compass to guide her. No hand reaching back for hers.

  Just her.

  Alone.