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I lift my head, realize the floating blocks above me are ice. I’m still in the frozen northeast. The water should freeze my limbs into immobility, yet I cannot feel it.

But my cheek still stings from where the man cut me on his spearpoint.

Right after I came out of that ice tomb with Kearan.

Kearan.

They’ve taken him or killed him.

And that thought, while it once would have not made a difference to me—now I feel incensed.

That is a member ofmycrew. He is no one’s for the taking. Not while I’m still alive.

I need to get out of here.

My cutlass is gone, of course. So are a good majority of my knives. But surely, I had far too many on me for those men to find them all.

I slip my fingers into my boots, only to come up empty. I try for pockets in my clothing, but the water has made the fabric stiffen, and it’s hard to reach inside my coat with my hands bound. I hear something move behind me, and I go very still.

Sound travels faster underwater, doesn’t it? It could be something very far away, I reason.

Youcan’tbeafraidofthedarkwhenyou’rethemonsterlurkingintheshadows.

That’s always been true on land. But underwater?

Believe it.

I have to.

Iamthedeadliestthinginthisocean.Iwillnotletpanicconsumeme.Ihave nothing to fear in death.

Except, Alosa gave me a job to do. I have not yet done it. I cannot die before I save those girls.

I try to bend my arms and legs. The ropes are too tight at my wrists. My legs have little sway from the weight of iron bound to them. Thinking to pick up the iron and take it with me, I reach for it, but it’s far too heavy to budge.

I search the seabed, looking for something sharp, but there is nothing in sight save a bit of seagrass.

I have to find a knife.

Bending myself in half, I try to feel for where one single weapon could be. Those men couldn’t have found them all. I own fifteen knives, damn it.

And then, at my side, I feel the pressure of steel digging into my skin. I twist my arms, trying to reach for it, fingers scratching against my clothing. Eventually, the tip of one finger presses against steel, the pommel of the dagger. I try to grasp the edge with my fingernail, but I always keep them short and can’t get a grip.

A fish half my size swims in front of me, and I nearly scream from the surprise of it. With the scant light, it looks brown with no remarkable features, save its sheer size. It circles me once curiously before moving on.

I try again for the knife, twisting until my muscles burn and my fingers cramp. But finally, my fingers pinch at the hilt, and I pull it free.

Another ten minutes and I have my hands free of the ropes. In just two more, I have my feet free of the iron weight. I push for the surface, swimming fast as I kick my legs.

When my head breaches, I gasp in a hard gulp of air, despite not needing the extra burst of oxygen. My stomach sinks as I look ahead, seeing nothing but endless ocean on the horizon.

When I turn, I feel sick because there is still nothing. I’m in the middle of nowhere. With nothing. Just emptiness above and beneath me.

This is a nightmare.

Except it’s not.

I know it’s not. Because I am fully alert, fully aware of myself. I may be different, but I am present. No dream is this real.