“The first cave’s at two o’clock.” As he strapped on his tanks, Doyle raised his chin to indicate direction. “About fifteen feet under.”

“Then let’s hit it.” Sawyer sat on the side, rolled back into the water.

No matter how often they’d tried and failed in the search, swimming with her friends always brought Annika pleasure. Today dread clawed at that pleasure, at the joy of dawn.

She would fight if a fight came. She would never, never shirk her duty. But the image Sasha had painted kept floating into her mind.

Today, when she circled the others in the water, it wasn’t in play, but to make certain everyone stayed close.

She saw the cave, and quickly, but didn’t arrow toward it. Instead she kept pace with the others.

She went into the mouth with Sawyer, and though she didn’t need it to see, found herself grateful for the light Bran made. There was a cleanness to it because it came from the good, and illuminated the fanning plants, the small fish that darted among them.

A broken shell, a shattered home, only increased the dread.

They didn’t fan out until well inside. Even then Annika watched her friends more than searched. Riley swam up a wall, peering into crevices, small holes, while Doyle went deeper, and Sawyer pulled himself up on a narrow ledge. For a moment she nearly panicked that she wouldn’t be able to keep them all in sight.

Then she saw a starfish, red as fire, sleeping on a rock. It soothed her, the peace of it, the prettiness. She swam closer, thinking to pet it, and realized it wasn’t sleeping.

Charmed, she cupped it in her hands, felt a warmth from it, and when it swam away, toward the mouth of the cave, she smiled. It seemed as if lights had sparkled in its wake.

She wanted to swim after it, to swim in those sparkles of light. But her friends . . .

Ashamed that, even for a few seconds, she hadn’t been vigilant, she turned in the water, saw Riley tap her watch.

So she did swim through the sparkles, though she lost sight of the starfish as Sawyer went first. But she felt that joy again, and wanted to go above, talk to Sawyer about swimming through the stars.

At the very moment it struck her, she heard the sighs, heard the song. Still distant, but closer than before. A guide, of course, a guide. And the sighs and songs calling them. Calling her.

Not this cave, but another. If she could catch the starfish, the guide, it would lead them. Excitement burst through her. She kicked her legs, reached out to touch Sawyer. He glanced back at her as he swam out of the cave.

And looking back at her, at the delight on her face, he didn’t see the ambush.

The fléchette hit him high on the right shoulder.

Annika heard the terrible sound, saw the blood spill into the water. She burst out of the cave like fury, only to have Sawyer shove her back and behind him as he reached across his body to draw his own gun with his left hand.

She didn’t think, but acted, punching out light from the bracelets, ripping it through the water to send men tumbling back. And Bran’s lightning joined them. A spear sliced out and into a man’s leg from Sasha’s harpoon.

It was blood and madness. Sawyer’s blood, the blood of men.

And the sharks came to hunt, just as in the painting.

She knew what to do, to stay close. And though her stomach twisted when one of the sharks closed those jaws around a man, she told herself they were the enemy. As predicted, that enemy turned away, to fire at the sharks.

Sawyer signaled, closed the hand of his wounded arm around his compass. Prepared to travel, Annika shot out more light. And as she felt the pull, the swirl, something struck her hip.

Sharp, shocking. Her vision blurred, and she slipped away.

Blind with pain, Sawyer collapsed on the deck of the boat.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Get us out of here. I’m not sure I’ve got another one in me.”

“Let me see.” Face grim, Bran dropped down beside him as Doyle yanked off his fins.

“Anni.” Though her hands shook, Sasha reloaded the harpoon. “She didn’t come back with us. She’s not with us.”

“What?” Shoving Bran aside, Sawyer lunged to his feet. “I had her. I had her.”

“She dropped away. I could see it—I couldn’t stop it. She—they—a dart in her hip. I couldn’t—”

She got no further. Sawyer vanished.

“Christ. I’m going back in.”

“We’ve got company.” Doyle’s statement stopped Riley from jumping back in the water.

“We’re not leaving them down there.”

“We’re not leaving anybody.” Doyle stepped out of the wheelhouse, grabbed his sword.

They swarmed out of the sky, swooping over the dive boat fifty yards away, diving toward theirs. Though blade and bullet were coated with Bran’s potion and burst dozens into ash, the pitched and ugly battle took precious time. Enough for them to helplessly watch the other boat speed away as they fought.

“They’ve got them!” Weeping, Sasha grabbed Sawyer’s gun, fired over and over. “We have to go after them.”

“They’ve defenses of their own.” As they destroyed the last of the birds, a gray fog rolled over the sea, swallowed the other boat. Bran threw light at it, but it bounced off, like a ball striking a wall. “Bitch.”

“We go after them anyway,” Riley insisted. “They don’t have that big a lead.”

“More than this boat can cover. And you’re bleeding, Gwin.” Doyle set down his sword, pulled the flap from the slice in her wet suit.