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"Cut the tow line!" Lyra shouted as the deck slammed sideways under her boots.
Cassian caught the back of her coat before she went over the rail. His fist closed around the fabric at her throat and yanked her hard against his chest.
"You want us dead?" he barked.
"I want us free!" She drove an elbow backward. It hit his ribs.
He grunted but did not let go. Behind them, the tow cable shrieked through the forward winch. Every iron strand glowed red where the cartel ship dragged their little submersible toward the trench mouth.
"The cable snaps, we drop," Cassian said into her ear. "The cartel reels us in, we get boarded. Pick one."
"Your choices always this charming?"
"Only when someone tries to kill my crew."
"Your crew left us tied to a warship."
"They were ordered to run."
A rivet popped above their heads.
The sound was small. Almost polite.
Then three more blew loose in a row.
Steel plates buckled along the starboard wall. Black seawater punched through the seams and sprayed across the deck. The pressure gauge above the control hatch jumped past the red line.
Lyra’s smile vanished.
"We are below crush depth," she said.
"Not yet."
"The gauge says otherwise."
"The gauge is older than Brant and twice as drunk."
"That is not comforting."
"Good. Fear keeps people useful."
She twisted in his grip. Her blind eyes turned toward his voice, pale and sharp under the streaks of grease on her face.
Cassian had seen people look helpless before. Lyra never did. She looked like she was already measuring where to put the knife.
Her fingers found the metal clasp at his coat. She pulled it loose and shoved a brass seal into his palm.
"You still have not signed the pact," she said.
Cassian looked down at the seal. A thin line of her blood ran across the engraved sunburst. He had thought she cut her hand on the navigation rig. Apparently, she had done it on purpose.
"You planned this."
"I planned not to die attached to a cartel ship. There is a difference."
"You said the seal only works with two names."
"It does."
"And the cost?"
She stepped closer, boots sliding on the wet deck. Her shoulder brushed his chest. The contact lasted half a second, but Cassian felt the heat of her through the soaked fabric.
"You share the pain," she said. "You share the route. If one of us breaks the pact, the other gets control of the helm."
"That is not a cost. That is a hostage collar."
"You already put a pistol to my throat this morning. Do not start pretending you care about personal freedom."
Cassian’s hand tightened around the seal.
"If I sign, you can steer my ship."
"If you do not sign, the tow ship steers it for us."
A deep boom rolled through the hull.
The deck dropped three inches.
Lyra grabbed his sleeve. Cassian caught the rail with one hand and her waist with the other. Her body hit him, breath leaving her in a hard gasp. He felt her fingers knot in his coat.
"That was the aft ballast," Brant yelled from the hatch. "Captain, we have maybe two minutes before the outer shell folds!"
"You heard him," Cassian said.
Lyra did not move away. Her palm stayed flat against Cassian’s chest, right over the old iron plate sewn beneath his coat.
"You are wearing armor under that," she said.
"You are blind."
"I can hear the plate when you breathe."
His gaze dropped to her mouth before he could stop it.
Lyra’s chin lifted.
"What?"
"Nothing. Sign."
"Say please."
"No."
"Then drown proud."
Another rivet snapped. A bolt shot across the deck and buried itself in the wall beside Lyra’s head.
Cassian shoved her down. The bolt clanged past his shoulder. He landed over her, one knee braced between hers, his arm locked beside her face.
For one stupid second, the entire ship seemed to narrow to her breath against his throat.
Warm. Fast. Angry.
"Move," she whispered.
"When the hull stops throwing metal."
"Your hand is on my waist."
"I know."
"You planning to keep it there?"
"If you try to stab me, yes."
Her mouth pulled tight. "You are unbearable."
"You are alive. Focus."
She reached between them and slapped the brass seal against the deck plate. The engraved lines lit with a dull gold glow.
The glow ran up Cassian’s wrist like hot wire.
He hissed.
Lyra’s fingers found his hand. She pressed his thumb into the center of the seal.
"Say your name," she ordered.
"Cassian Vance. Captain of the ironclad Blackwake. Condemned by the Crown, hunted by the cartel, and currently being crushed because you enjoy making bad decisions."
"You can leave out the autobiography."
"You asked for my name."
"Now say what you want."
Cassian stared at her.
The ship groaned around them. Water sprayed through the bent seams. Somewhere below, machinery screamed as the tow cable pulled tight again.
"I want this vessel free," he said.
"And?"
"I want my death warrant erased."
"And?"
His thumb burned under hers.
"I want you to get me to the trench alive."
Lyra went still.
The heat under the seal sharpened.
"That is the pact," she said. "You give me the helm. You give me your blood if the resonance takes too much. You do not abandon me in the dark."
"You give me the coordinates."
"I give you the path. Not the destination."
"Why not?"
"Because if you knew where we were going, you would kill me before we reached it."
Cassian leaned closer. Her fingers were still wrapped around his. He could feel the small tremor in them. Not fear. Pain waiting to happen.
"You think I am that predictable?"
"I think you are a captain with a rope around his neck and a bounty on his head. Men like you sell anything that buys one more sunrise."
"There are no sunrises."
"Exactly."
The seal flashed.
A line of gold cut across Cassian’s palm. Lyra gasped at the same instant. The pain struck both of them, clean and bright, like a blade dragged along bone.
Cassian’s hand jerked. Lyra held on.
"Do not let go," she said.
"You could have mentioned that part."
"You would have complained."
"I am complaining now."
"Good. Keep talking. It helps me find the center of the ship."
He looked at her. "You use pain as a compass?"
"I use everything."
"What happens if you lose control?"
"Then you take it."
"And if I cannot?"
She smiled without humor. "Then we both become a story sailors tell when they are drunk."
The seal sank into the deck.
Gold lines raced outward beneath their hands, sealing the pact into the iron. A sharp pull caught behind Cassian’s ribs. He felt Lyra’s heartbeat at the same time—too fast, too close, beating inside his own chest for three hard knocks.
She sucked in a breath.
Cassian pushed up and hauled her to her feet.
"Pact is sealed," she said.
"You sound disappointed."
"I sound busy. Get me to the helm."
"You do not get to order me around on my ship."
"I just bought the right."
"You bought five minutes."
"Then stop wasting them."
He grabbed her wrist and dragged her through the hatch.
The control chamber shook so hard Brant had to wedge himself against the engine housing. He was a broad man with copper goggles and a wrench tucked through his belt. The wrench bounced against his thigh as he pointed at the front display.
"Tow ship is dropping anchors," he said. "They are trying to pin us over the trench."
"Can they hear us?" Cassian asked.
"They can hear the hull screaming. So, yes."
A voice crackled through the brass speaker.
"Blackwake, cut engines and prepare for seizure. Captain Vance, your sentence has been reinstated. Surrender the navigator, and the Crown may shorten your execution by one day."
Brant laughed once. "Generous bastards."
Cassian reached for the speaking tube.
"Tell the Crown to choke on the day."
Lyra turned her head toward him. "Do not answer them."
"Why?"
"Because they are not listening to your voice. They are listening for mine."
The speaker crackled again.
"Lyra Sterling, by order of the Radiant Inquisition, you are charged with heresy, theft of protected charts, and the murder of seven licensed navigators. Release the captain and kneel."
Brant’s grin faded.
Cassian looked at Lyra. "Seven?"
"Six."
"You want to correct the Inquisition now?"
"The seventh walked away. He just lied about it later."
"That is the part you are worried about?"
"Accuracy matters."
The hull gave another violent lurch. Their bodies slammed together. Cassian’s palm landed against Lyra’s lower back, keeping her from hitting the console. Her hand caught his shoulder. Her face ended inches from his.
He smelled metal, salt, and the bitter smoke from her burned gloves.
"Let go," she said, but her grip did not loosen.
"Stand up without falling."
"I can stand."
"You are leaning on me."
"You are in my way."
"You are welcome."
Her fingers pressed harder into his shoulder. "Move your hand."
Cassian did, slowly. His knuckles dragged over the wet fabric at her back before he pulled away.
Lyra turned toward the navigation pit.
"Brant, kill the aft stabilizers."
"That will send us straight down."
"Yes."
"Captain?"
Cassian looked at the depth gauge. The numbers spun past twelve hundred fathoms.
"Do it."
Brant slapped the lever.
The Blackwake dropped.
The tow cable snapped tight above them. The whole ship jerked upward for one breath, then the cable tore free with a thunderclap that punched through the chamber.
Cassian grabbed the edge of the console. Lyra remained upright, both hands hovering over the brass navigation dial.
"We are loose," Brant shouted.
"Not free," Lyra said.
"Difference?"
"Free means we choose how to die."
The depth siren began to howl.
Red lights spun across the chamber. Through the forward glass, the cartel ship’s search lamps carved white bars through the black water. The larger vessel turned above them, steel belly bristling with harpoon ports.
A heavy cable fired.
It missed their bow by yards and vanished into the trench.
"They are locking a second line," Brant said.
"Can we fire?" Cassian asked.
"Main gun is jammed. Torpedoes are asleep. I can wake one, but it will probably explode inside the tube."
"Probably?"
"I like to stay optimistic."
Lyra pressed her bare palm to the brass dial.
The metal flared hot.
She flinched. Cassian saw it and caught her elbow.
"What did you do?"
"Nothing."
"Your hand is burning."
"It is always burning."
"You could have said that before I signed a pact with you."
"You signed because you wanted your ship. Do not dress it up as concern."
The words hit harder than the pressure alarm.
Cassian released her elbow, but the pact pulled a thread of pain through his arm. Lyra felt it too. Her jaw tightened.
"You feel that?" he asked.
"Every time you lie."
"Then you must be in agony."
"Not yet."
A second harpoon struck the stern.
The impact threw Brant into the engine housing. The rear display shattered. Black water sprayed through the emergency seal, filling the chamber with freezing mist.
"They have our keel!" Brant yelled.
The Blackwake tilted nose-down.
Lyra’s fingers locked around the dial.
"There is a mine chain below us," she said.
Cassian stared through the glass. Nothing showed. Just endless black and the faint scatter of bubbles.
"How many?"
"Enough."
"Define enough."
"More than you can dodge."
"Then give me a route."
"I need the lights."
"No."
"Cassian."
"The search lamps will track us if I light the chamber."
"I do not need the chamber lights. I need the dial."
"You said you need light."
"I need the light inside the metal. Stop arguing and open the circuit."
He studied her face. Her blind eyes did not point at him, but her mouth had gone tight with effort. A thin line of blood appeared at the corner of her nose.
"What happens if you miss?" he asked.
"The mines tear us apart."
"And if I cut the lights?"
"Then I steer by pain."
"That is not an answer."
"It is the only one you are getting."
The ship dropped faster. The pressure gauge cracked. Brant crawled across the deck and slammed both hands onto the ballast controls.
"Captain, the stern harpoon is dragging us sideways!"
Cassian drew his knife and cut the emergency power feed.
Every light died.
The control chamber disappeared.
For a moment, the only sounds were the siren, the groan of the hull, and Lyra’s breathing beside him.
Then she grabbed his coat.
"Do not move."
"Was not planning to."
"Your hand."
"What about it?"
"Put it on the dial."
He found her by touch. His fingers closed over hers, and together they pressed against the burning brass.
Heat tore through him.
He saw nothing, but the pact opened a second channel in his mind. Not images. Pressure. Angles. A chain of hard points below them. Mines hanging in the dark like teeth.
Lyra leaned into his side, shoulder locked against his ribs.
"Left," she whispered.
Cassian pulled the ballast lever.
The Blackwake rolled.
Something massive scraped along the outer shell. Metal screamed. Lyra’s nails dug into his hand.
"Right. Now."
"You are late."
"I am blind, not patient. Right!"
He shoved the controls.
The submersible slid between two mines. One brushed the hull close enough to make every bolt rattle.
Brant swore in the dark.
A third mine drifted straight toward the glass.
Lyra snapped her head up.
"Down!"
Cassian slammed the dive lever.
The mine passed above them, chain scraping over the roof. Its trigger clicked.
Cassian reached for the emergency release.
"Do not touch it," Lyra said.
"It is armed."
"It is listening."
"Mines do not listen."
"This one does."
The click stopped.
The mine floated away.
Nobody spoke for three seconds.
Then Brant whispered, "I hate this trench."
"You hate every trench," Cassian said.
"This one has personality."
The pressure gauge needle hit the final mark.
The depth siren rose into one long, unbearable note.
Cassian reached for the main breaker.
Lyra’s hand caught his wrist.
Her palm was hot. Her breath touched his jaw as she pulled him close enough to speak against his ear.
"If you cut everything, we free-fall."
"I know."
"The ballast will not answer."
"I know."
"We may not find the trench floor."
"I know."
"Then why are you reaching for it?"
Cassian turned his face toward hers. In the dark, he could not see her eyes, but he felt the heat between them and the stubborn lift of her chin.
"Because the cartel has our keel, the mines have our route, and your Inquisition wants you alive enough to hurt."
"That almost sounded like concern."
"Do not get sentimental."
"You are going to kill the lights."
"I am going to cut us loose."
"And if I tell you not to?"
"You signed away that vote."
Her fingers tightened around his wrist.
"You arrogant—"
Cassian pulled the breaker.
The depth siren cut off.
The Blackwake dropped into the trench.
No engines. No lights. No tow cable. Nothing but the cold pressure crushing the iron shell and Lyra’s hand locked around his.
Cassian kept one palm over hers on the dead brass dial. Their shoulders touched. Her breath shook once, then steadied.
"Still alive?" he asked.
"Unfortunately."
"Good."
"Cassian."
"What?"
"Something is outside."
He turned toward the forward glass.
At first, there was only black.
Then two enormous blue eyes opened beyond the hull.
They were taller than the Blackwake. Wide as towers. Cold blue light spilled across the glass, catching every rivet and every terrified line on Brant’s face.
The creature did not strike.
It simply watched them fall.
Lyra’s grip crushed his fingers.
"Do not breathe," she whispered.
Cassian stared at the eyes.
One of them shifted.
The leviathan had seen him.
Lyra leaned closer, her lips almost brushing his ear.
"Captain," she said, voice thin and sharp, "why is that thing looking at you?"