The ocean is not poetic. It is a heavy, suffocating blanket of salt and ice that doesn’t care about your stories or your heartbreaks. As the Vanguard groaned and snapped above us, the black water of the harbor claimed us with a violent, crushing embrace.
I was sinking.
My lungs were screaming, a burning fire in my chest that begged for air I didn't have. I held Toby to my breast, his small, limp body tucked under my chin. I could feel his heartbeat faint, like the wings of a dying bird against my ribs. I had saved him from the machine, but I was going to lose him to the deep.
This was my fault.
The ice in Antarctica, the blood in the villa, the scars on Silas’s face every sin I had committed to stay alive was now a lead weight tied to my ankles. I was sinking with my sins, and the ocea
