Chapter 3

Julian pressed down hard on my kneecap with a pen. "Feel that?"

I shook my head.

He moved his hands up.

My calf.

My thigh.

My lower hip.

Sensation was vanishing, like ice melting into nothing.

"Cut the livestream right now!" Julian roared at the crew. "Turn the ship around! Call a Coast Guard medevac chopper!"

My mother turned around from the chamber window. "Can't we just wait until Veronica finishes her first cycle before swapping Chloe in?"

Julian let out a furious, incredulous laugh. "A single recompression profile takes at least four and a half hours! She has active, ascending sensory loss! If we wait, she will never walk again!"

The crew shifted uncomfortably, their eyes darting between Julian and the Director.

Evelyn was the head of the institute. Frank controlled their funding and performance reviews.

Nobody was willing to blow up their career for me.

My mother hesitated. "If we call in a military medevac, the press will blow this completely out of proportion."

Julian froze. "Your daughter is about to be paralyzed, and you're worried about bad press?"

"This mission represents federal funding for the next five years!" my mother hissed defensively. "We cannot cause a public panic based on an unverified diagnosis!"

Julian grabbed my right leg, lifted it two feet in the air, and let go.

It dropped like dead weight, hitting the deck with a dull thud.

I didn't even flinch.

"Is that verified enough for you?" Julian snarled.

My mother finally knelt beside me. She placed a trembling hand on my forehead.

"Chloe... how bad is it really?"

"I can't feel my legs," I whispered, tears blurring my vision. "My back is burning. I’m nauseous." I stared into her eyes. "Mom, I’m terrified."

Her gaze wavered.

Suddenly, Veronica’s voice came over the chamber intercom.

"Director Vance... I just remembered something," Veronica sniffled softly. "Down there... Chloe refused to share her air with me. I begged her over and over before she finally let go of the regulator."

I whipped my head toward the chamber window in pure disbelief.

Veronica looked flushed, breathing calmly, showing zero signs of respiratory distress.

She buried her face in her hands. "Maybe... maybe she was just mad that I got to be on the lead camera..."

My mother’s hand slowly pulled away from my forehead.

She stood up, looking down at me with cold disappointment. "Is what she said true?"

"No!" I choked out. "She blew past the depth limit! She ripped off my backup regulator! I dragged her to the surface, and that’s why I missed my stops—"

"Enough!"

My mother snapped, her voice like a whip.

"Even now, you're trying to shift blame! Veronica was on the verge of death, and you’re still slandering her?"

I stared through the glass at the girl sitting comfortably in the chamber. "The one who’s dying is me."

My mother flinched as if stung, then exploded in anger.

"Don't you dare manipulate me with death! You’ve pulled this stunt since you were a child! A stomachache before exams, a headache before competitions, and now you’re pretending you can’t feel your legs! I have spoiled you rotten, Chloe!"

The ocean wind whipped across the deck.

It was freezing, but it didn't hold a candle to the ice in her voice.

I was born premature. I had weak lungs. She used to know that better than anyone.

When did my pain turn into drama? When did my agony become "attention-seeking"?

Frank walked over, keeping an eye on the camera monitors. "The chat is blowing up about the chamber drama. Move Chloe into the equipment hold. Don't let her contaminate public opinion."

Two crew members lifted my stretcher.

As they carried me past my mother, she didn't stop them.

She took a deliberate step back to clear the way.

The heavy steel door of the equipment hold slammed shut. Through the ventilation grate, the presenter’s cheerful voice boomed over the deck speakers:

"Veronica Stone is out of danger! After experiencing an equipment failure at extreme depths, she bravely assisted her dive partner back to the surface..."

Applause erupted across the ship.

Then came my mother’s voice over the microphone:

"Veronica represents the absolute best of our next generation of marine scientists. As for the other diver involved, the institute will handle the disciplinary measures internally."

The other diver.

She didn't even say my name.

In the dim hold, Julian ripped off his headset and grabbed my dive watch.

"I'm activating the satellite medical beacon," he said, his jaw clenched.

"She won't allow it," I whispered.

"I don't need her damn permission to save a life."

It was a hidden protocol I had programmed into the system myself. If three consecutive sensor readings confirmed acute neurological failure, it bypassed the ship's bridge and pinged the Coast Guard directly.

The red button on the module lit up.

"Once you press this, the institute won't be able to sweep it under the rug," Julian warned softly.

I closed my eyes.

My mother would hate me for ruining her livestream. She would hate me for embarrassing her.

But I was done being the obedient daughter.

I slammed my thumb down on the button.

Ten minutes later, the deafening roar of rotor blades shook the ship.

A Coast Guard rescue helicopter hovered directly above the Leviathan.