The Atlantic Ocean was not a polite body of water.
It was a violent, gray, churning expanse that slammed against the Montauk shoreline with a deafening, rhythmic roar. It was the sound of erosion. The sound of things being worn down, grain by grain, until nothing was left but the bedrock.
Liam Cross stood at the edge of the surf, the cuffs of his dark jeans soaked, his expensive leather boots ruined by the salt water.
He didn't care.
He was on his knees in the wet sand, digging.
"Deeper, Liam!" Ethan commanded, his small voice barely audible over the wind. "The moat has to be deep. Or the dragon will swim across!"
Ethan was a blur of energy, his navy blue coat unzipped, his chestnut hair whipped by the wind. He was holding a bright red plastic shovel with the same seriousness Liam us
