The Arctic Endeavor was quiet, the hum of the ship's engines a low, constant presence as Evelyn sat alone in her cabin. Her father's journal lay open on the desk before her, its worn leather cover stained with the passage of years. The desk lamp cast a warm, golden glow across the pages, illuminating his handwriting—bold, slanted, and filled with purpose. The words tugged at something deep inside her, a mix of nostalgia and dread.
She had read through the journal dozens of times since leaving port, but tonight it felt different. The tension from the crew meeting still hung heavy in her chest, Drew's cryptic warning replaying in her mind: It's already started. What had he meant? She shook her head, trying to focus on the task at hand. The answers, she told herself, lay here in her father's notes. She just needed to find them.
Flipping through the pages, Evelyn found herself drawn to the sections her father had labeled with stars and underlined phrases. "The city sleeps, but its heart beats still," read one line. Another spoke of a "force older than the earth itself." The descriptions grew more fragmented as they went on, a patchwork of observations, half-formed theories, and warnings.
"Some doors should remain closed." The phrase jumped out at her, scrawled in the margins of one page. Her fingers brushed over the ink, the weight of those words pressing down on her.
Evelyn sighed and leaned back in her chair, the leather creaking under her. Her thoughts drifted to her father's last days—how he'd become increasingly obsessed, withdrawn, convinced that he was on the brink of something extraordinary. She had been too young to understand the depth of his obsession, but now, sitting in this cabin with his journal in her hands, she felt the same pull. The city was out there, waiting, and it was calling to her just as it had called to him.
A faint knock at the door pulled her from her reverie. Naomi peeked her head in, her hair messy from sleep and a mug of tea in her hand. "Thought you might still be up," she said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. She set the mug down on the desk and glanced at the journal. "Still at it, huh?"
Evelyn nodded. "There's something here, Naomi. Something I'm missing."
Naomi leaned against the edge of the desk, crossing her arms. "Or maybe you're looking too hard. You haven't slept in… what, three days?"
"I'll sleep when we have answers," Evelyn replied, her tone sharper than she intended.
Naomi raised an eyebrow but didn't press. Instead, her gaze drifted to a stack of papers and photographs Evelyn had spread across the desk. "What's that?" she asked, picking up a faded photograph.
Evelyn hesitated. The photo was one she had found tucked between the pages of the journal earlier that evening. It showed her father standing on the deck of a ship, the wind ruffling his hair. He was smiling, his arm draped casually around the shoulders of another man. Evelyn had stared at the image for what felt like hours, trying to place the second figure. Something about him felt… familiar.
"I think it's from his last expedition," Evelyn said finally. "The one where he…" She trailed off, the words catching in her throat.
Naomi studied the photo, her brow furrowing. "Wait a minute. Is that… Drew?"
Evelyn's stomach flipped. "What are you talking about?"
Naomi handed her the photo and pointed to the man standing beside her father. His features were younger, less weathered, but there was no mistaking the resemblance. The sharp cheekbones, the intense eyes, the way he stood—it was Drew.
"That doesn't make sense," Evelyn muttered, more to herself than Naomi. "This photo is at least twenty years old. Drew would've been a kid."
"Maybe it's just a coincidence," Naomi offered, though her voice lacked conviction.
Evelyn shook her head, her mind racing. She thought back to Drew's behavior—the way he had seemed to know things no one else did, his obsession with the whispers, his cryptic warnings. It didn't add up.
"You think he's hiding something?" Naomi asked, her voice low.
"I think he knows more than he's letting on," Evelyn replied. She closed the journal and stood, the photo still clutched in her hand. "And I intend to find out what."
Naomi grabbed her arm as she moved toward the door. "Evelyn, wait. If you confront him now, it could backfire. You don't even know what you're accusing him of."
Evelyn hesitated, torn between her desire for answers and Naomi's cautious logic. "Then what do you suggest?"
"Watch him. See what he does, who he talks to. If he's hiding something, he'll slip up eventually."
Evelyn nodded reluctantly. Naomi was right. Confronting Drew without proof would only create more tension among the crew. She needed to be smart about this.
After Naomi left, Evelyn returned to her desk, the photo still in her hand. She turned it over, hoping for some clue, and noticed a faint scrawl on the back: "The beginning and the end."
The phrase sent a shiver down her spine. It felt more like a warning than a caption.
The hours ticked by as Evelyn pored over the journal and the photo, her mind spinning with questions. Who was Drew, really? Why had he joined the expedition? And what did her father know about the city that had driven him to such lengths?
As dawn broke over the Arctic horizon, Evelyn made a silent promise to herself. Whatever secrets the city held—whatever truths lay buried in its depths—she would uncover them.
But as she glanced back at the photo one last time, the man standing beside her father seemed to stare back at her, his eyes dark with something she couldn't quite name. It wasn't just familiarity she saw there. It was knowing.