The Mediterranean was not the azure playground of the postcards; a hundred miles off the coast of Sicily, it was a black, churning void under a moonless sky. The temperature had plummeted to 9°C, and the salt spray felt like needles against Seraphina’s skin. They were positioned on the Aegis-II, a stealth-rigged littoral combat ship that rode the swells like a ghost.
"The Silence is directly beneath us," Vane said, his face illuminated by the harsh blue light of the sonar array. "Four thousand meters down. It’s built into the side of the Empedocles seamount. The thermal vents provide the power, and the pressure provides the security. Nothing gets down there without a Moretti hull-signature."
Seraphina stood at the railing, her eyes fixed on the dark water. The liquid mercury from the Par
