Pri wrung out her hair. “No. I’m a historian. My grandmother was Afonso Costa’s daughter—Joe’s great-aunt. She never knew her father. I wanted to see his grave before anyone else.” She looked at Joe. “And I wanted to see if you deserved to know the truth.”
Saavira’s hand clamped over Pri’s wrist. For a long moment, they hung there, eye to eye through their masks. Then Pri smiled—a strange, sad smile—and pulled back.
And then he saw it: a broken mast, encrusted with barnacles, leaning like a cross. The Nossa Senhora .
“If we’re doing this,” Pri said, her voice low, “we do it my way. No shouting. No heroics. The currents shift every fifteen minutes.”
She gestured to her camera, then pointed upward. I have what I came for.
Inside, the darkness was absolute. Joe’s light found wooden ribs, shattered barrels, and a small, iron-bound chest wedged beneath a collapsed beam. Pri was already prying it open. Inside, nestled in blackened velvet, lay the conch—pale as bone, its silver scrollwork tarnished but intact. It was smaller than Joe had imagined. More fragile.
And then there was Pri. No last name, no explanation, just a fierce intelligence and a waterproof camera. She’d joined them three days ago, claiming to be a documentary filmmaker. But the way she studied the wreck coordinates made Saavira uneasy.
Ódice Abogados está especializado en diversas disciplinas legales, cuyo valor reside en un asesoramiento altamente cualificado y alineado con nuestros valores
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