Evelyn sat alone in her cabin, the dim glow of her laptop screen casting soft shadows across the walls. Outside, the Arctic winds howled, rattling the porthole glass and creaking the ship's sturdy frame. The cold seemed to seep through the metal walls, curling around her ankles like an uninvited specter. She adjusted her headphones, their weight heavy against her ears, as she stared at the waveform on the screen. The recording was still playing, though she wasn't sure how many times she'd already listened to it.
The whispers were faint at first—subtle, almost imperceptible. But as she amplified the sound, they seemed to grow clearer, weaving a strange rhythm beneath the deep pulses of the ocean. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitant, before dragging the amplification slider up just a bit more.
Voices. No, not voices exactly. They were too distorted, too… wrong. Evelyn leaned closer, her pulse quickening as fragments of phrases began to emerge. They didn't form coherent sentences, but there was a cadence to them, something unmistakably deliberate.
She pressed her fingers to her temples, her breathing shallow. Her mind raced, flipping between disbelief and a gnawing sense of recognition.
"No…" she whispered, her voice barely audible in the stillness. Her hands clenched into fists, nails biting into her palms. "It can't be."
Her father's journal lay open on the desk beside her, its weathered pages filled with handwritten notes and crude sketches. One phrase, underlined several times in bold strokes, caught her eye: "A language older than the sea itself." She shook her head, as if the gesture could dispel the thought forming in her mind.
A sharp knock on her cabin door shattered the silence, making her jump. She yanked off her headphones and slammed the laptop shut.
"Yeah?" she called, her voice strained.
The door creaked open, revealing Drew's pale, angular face. His eyes darted around the room, taking in the cluttered desk, the journal, and the now-closed laptop.
"You hear it too, don't you?" he said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.
Evelyn sighed, leaning back in her chair. "What are you talking about, Drew?"
He ignored her question, moving closer. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "The whispers. It's not just noise. You know that as well as I do."
"It's interference," Evelyn replied, keeping her tone steady. "The ocean does strange things to sound waves."
Drew snorted, his lips twisting into a skeptical smile. "Interference? Come on, Rourke. You're too smart for that. This isn't random. It's a signal—a call."
His words sent an involuntary shiver down her spine, but she refused to show it. "You've been reading too many ghost stories," she said, forcing a smirk.
Drew leaned in, his voice lowering further. "You felt it, didn't you? That... pull. Like it's reaching out, trying to…" He trailed off, his gaze unfocused.
Before Evelyn could respond, the door swung open again, this time with far less drama. Naomi strode in, balancing a tray with three steaming mugs.
"Drew, stop scaring the boss," she said, nudging him aside with her hip. "Evelyn, you look like you've seen a ghost. Coffee?"
Evelyn took the mug Naomi offered, grateful for the distraction. "Thanks," she muttered, wrapping her hands around the warmth.
Naomi set the tray down on the desk and glanced at the open journal. Her eyes flicked to a stack of papers beneath it—sketches Evelyn hadn't noticed earlier. Naomi reached out, pulling one free.
"These?" Naomi asked, holding up a sheet covered in intricate, angular shapes. "Just some dreams I had. Weird, right? I don't even remember drawing half of them."
Evelyn's stomach dropped. The designs were hauntingly familiar—sharp spires, impossible curves, and structures that defied logic. They mirrored the faint outlines from the sonar images almost exactly.
"Dreams," Evelyn repeated, her voice hollow.
Naomi shrugged. "Yeah, I've been having these... vivid nightmares lately. Guess my brain needed to work them out." She frowned, tilting her head as she examined the sketch. "They look kind of like a city, don't they?"
Evelyn forced a nod, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Yeah. Strange coincidence."
Drew snatched the sketch from Naomi's hand, his expression intense. "It's not a coincidence," he muttered. "It's a connection. The city's already in our heads. It's—"
"Enough, Drew," Evelyn cut him off sharply. She took the sketch from him and slid it back under the journal. "We're all tired. Go get some rest."
Drew hesitated, his mouth opening as if to argue, but Naomi grabbed his arm and steered him toward the door. "You heard the boss," she said cheerfully. "Bedtime for Drew."
As the door closed behind them, Evelyn slumped in her chair, the tension in her shoulders unbearable. She stared at the journal, its pages still open to her father's cryptic notes.
A memory surfaced, unbidden. She was thirteen, standing on the dock as her father boarded a ship much like this one. His face had been alight with excitement, his hands gripping hers as he spoke.
"This discovery could change everything," he'd said, his voice brimming with hope.
The memory shifted, and Evelyn saw her mother, her expression shadowed with worry. They were in the kitchen, the faint hum of the radio filling the silence.
"Some doors should remain closed, Evelyn," her mother had whispered, her voice trembling.
Evelyn blinked, the memory dissolving as the ship lurched slightly. The journal's pages fluttered in the draft, as if urging her to look closer. She shook her head, standing abruptly. She needed sleep.
But sleep didn't come easily.
Her dreams were a tangle of darkness and light, shadowy figures with glowing eyes moving toward her. Their whispers grew louder, swelling to a deafening chorus that wrapped around her like chains. She tried to run, but her feet wouldn't move. The figures reached out, their hands cold and unyielding.
She woke with a start, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The room was silent, save for the faint creaks of the ship. But the whispers lingered, faint and insistent, as if they were still calling her name.