"Stay."

Elara should have run. But her grandmother's perfume filled her lungs, and somewhere in the coral walls, she thought she saw familiar faces—faces from old photographs. Fishermen lost at sea. Divers who never came back. All of them smiling. All of them nodding.

"El Barco Fantasma regresa," she muttered. The Ghost Ship returns.

A screen flickered to life. Text appeared: