Chapter Five
1218 Words
Dawn arrived bruised and reluctant.
Lux stood on the dock with her arms crossed, watching Rafael walk down the pier. He'd shown up. She'd secretly hoped he wouldn't. Not because she wanted him gone — because she wanted him here too much, and that hunger made her stupid.
He carried a canvas bag over one shoulder. No suit today. Just jeans, a thin sweater, and sneakers that had never seen salt. His hair was wet. He'd showered somewhere else. She tried not to imagine where.
"You're early," she said.
"You said dawn. This is dawn."
"I said dawn. This is nineteen minutes before dawn. There's a difference."
He stopped at the edge of the dock. Looked up at her on the boat's deck. The light hadn't fully arrived. His face sat halfway between shadow and glow.
"You going to make me stand here, or can I come aboard?"
Lux stepped aside. "We're not diving."
"Then why the wetsuit?"
She glanced down at herself. Black neoprene. Half-zipped. She'd slept in it. Not because she was eager — because she'd woken at three AM from a dream about tunnels and hadn't bothered changing.
"Confidence," she said. "You should try wearing some."
Rafael climbed the gangplank. His sneakers squeaked on the wet wood. He stopped close enough that she could smell his soap. Something clean. Something that didn't belong on a salvage boat.
"Today," she continued, stepping back, "we stay shallow. Twenty feet. A sand flat I know near the reef. You're going to flood your mask, lose your regulator, and simulate an out-of-air situation until your body stops screaming every time something goes wrong."
"I know how to do those drills."
"You know how to do them in a pool with an instructor who holds your hand." She tossed him a spare wetsuit. It hit his chest and fell to the deck. "Now you learn to do them in murky water with a current and a woman who won't let you surface until you get it right."
He bent to pick up the suit. Straightened slowly. His jaw had set in that way she was starting to recognize — the one that meant he was counting to ten inside his head.
"Anything else, Captain?"
"Yeah." She stepped into his space. Poked his sternum with one finger. "Stop calling me Captain like it's an insult. On this boat, it's a rank. You earn the right to say it with respect."
He looked down at her finger. Then at her face.
"And when do I earn that right?"
"When you stop acting like a man who's never been told no."
She turned her back and walked to the helm. Felt his gaze on her spine the whole way. Let him look. Let him wonder.
The engine coughed to life. She guided them out of the harbor while the sky shifted from purple to pink to something almost generous.
Behind her, Rafael zipped his wetsuit in silence.
---
The sand flat looked like nowhere.
Just water. Just bottom. A few sea fans swaying in the current. No wreck. No gold. No ghosts. Just twenty feet of Caribbean nothing.
Perfect for breaking a billionaire.
Lux dropped anchor. Cut the engine. The silence that followed was loud in a different way — the kind that made you notice your own pulse.
"Mask first," she said. "Flood it halfway. Clear it without surfacing."
Rafael sat on the gunwale. Pulled on his fins. Adjusted his mask strap. She watched every movement. Too slow. Too careful. He was thinking instead of feeling. That would get him killed.
They rolled into the water together.
The flat opened beneath them like a palm. Sandy. Bright. Nothing to fear and nothing to hide behind. She'd chosen it for that reason. No excuses here. Just skill or lack of it.
She signaled. Flood.
He tilted his head. Let water seep into the mask until it reached his nose. Then he pressed the top of the frame and blew through his nostrils. The water drained. The mask cleared. Textbook.
Lux nodded. Signed Again. Faster.
He did it again. Faster. Then again. Then again. On the fifth repetition, he didn't wait for her signal — just flooded and cleared in one smooth motion. She felt something shift in her chest. Pride. Annoying and unwelcome.
Regulator, she signed. Remove. Recover.
He pulled the mouthpiece out. Let it dangle. She counted seconds in her head. Five. Ten. His eyes stayed calm. He reached back, found the hose, replaced the regulator. Puffed twice to clear it. Breathed.
Fifteen seconds total.
She'd expected thirty.
They ran the drill seven more times. Then she added a twist — she turned off his air at the tank valve without warning. Watched his gauge drop to zero. Watched him reach for her spare second stage. Watched him breathe her air while their faces hovered inches apart.
His eyes didn't leave hers.
She signaled Surface. They rose together. Broke the water side by side.
"You knew that was coming," she said, ripping off her mask.
"No. But I've learned to expect cruelty from you."
"It's not cruelty. It's preparation." She treaded water. The current pulled at her fins. "Below two hundred feet, there's no second chances. No rescue divers. Just you and your training. I need to know you won't grab me and drown us both when things go wrong."
Rafael pushed his mask to his forehead. Water streamed down his face. His lips had gone pale.
"Would I have grabbed you?"
"No. That's what scares me." She turned and swam toward the ladder. "You're too controlled. Controlled people c***k without warning. I'd rather have a screamer I can calm down than a statue that shatters into pieces."
He caught up to her at the ladder. Placed a hand on the rung beside hers. Close. Too close.
"Then stop treating me like a client," he said quietly. "Start treating me like a partner. Partners don't test each other. They trust."
Lux looked at his hand. Then at his mouth. Then at his eyes.
"Trust is earned," she said.
"Then let me earn it."
He climbed the ladder first. She watched water slide down his calves. The wetsuit clung to his back. She hated noticing. Hated the way her stomach flipped when he looked over his shoulder at her.
On deck, she tossed him a towel and busied herself with the anchor.
Neither of them mentioned the way he'd breathed her air — slow, steady, like he'd been practicing for that exact moment his whole life.
---
The mangroves across the channel held a pair of binoculars.
Seb Perez lowered them slowly. Sweat dripped down his neck. Mosquitoes sang in his ears. He'd been watching since four AM, tucked into the roots like a crocodile waiting for something stupid to wander close.
He'd seen them surface. Seen her climb. Seen him follow.
Seen the way they looked at each other before breaking eye contact.
He pulled out his phone. Typed a message to the only contact that mattered.
They found the computer. Heading deeper soon. Need permission to move.
Three dots appeared. Then a reply.
Wait. Let them open the chamber first. Then take everything.
Seb smiled. His teeth were yellow in the dawn light.
He settled back into the roots and waited.
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