The Arctic Endeavor rocked gently on the frigid waves, its lights piercing through the gray dawn that blurred the horizon. The ship was alive with the steady hum of machinery, a mechanical counterpoint to the suffocating stillness of the endless Arctic expanse. Inside, Evelyn was in the control room, poring over charts and sonar scans. The coffee in her mug had long gone cold, forgotten in the rising tide of anxiety that pressed against her ribs. The city below haunted her thoughts, but today, her concern was for Naomi.
She had noticed the change almost immediately—small at first, subtle enough to brush off as stress. Naomi had always been high-energy, her curiosity unrelenting, her jokes a balm against the growing unease of the expedition. But in recent days, that spark had dimmed. Now, there was a vacant look in her eyes, a distracted quality to her movements, as if she were listening to something no one else could hear.
Evelyn rubbed her temples, the tension building into a dull throb. She had planned to confront Naomi after breakfast, but Naomi found her first.
"Evelyn," Naomi's voice cracked like dry wood, raw and unfamiliar. She was standing in the doorway, her hair disheveled, eyes sunken and ringed with exhaustion. Clutched in her hands was one of her ever-present notebooks, its edges frayed from wear.
"Naomi?" Evelyn rose from her seat, concern flooding her chest. "What's wrong?"
Naomi stepped inside, her movements jerky, like a marionette whose strings had been tugged too hard. She placed the notebook on the console between them, opening it to a page filled with frantic sketches. The drawings were jagged and chaotic, spiraling spires, alien architecture, and twisting shadows that seemed to crawl across the page.
"I can't… turn it off," Naomi whispered, her voice trembling. She pressed her hands to her temples, fingers digging into her scalp. "It's like they're inside my head."
Evelyn moved closer, her gaze darting between Naomi's face and the drawings. "What are you talking about? What's inside your head?"
"The whispers," Naomi said, the words heavy with despair. She squeezed her eyes shut, her breathing shallow. "At first, I could only hear them through the hydrophones. But now… they're everywhere. When I close my eyes. When I try to sleep. Even now."
Evelyn placed a hand on Naomi's shoulder, grounding her as much as herself. "We'll figure this out, okay? Just hold on."
Naomi let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "Figure it out? Evelyn, I'm losing my mind." She gestured to the notebook, her hand trembling. "I don't even remember drawing half of this. It's like… like something else is working through me."
Evelyn stared at the notebook, her stomach twisting. The details in Naomi's sketches were impossibly precise, showing angles and structures that had no basis in human understanding. It mirrored the sonar images perfectly—too perfectly.
"Do you recognize this?" Evelyn asked, tapping one of the drawings, a sprawling structure that looked like a temple. "Have you seen it anywhere before?"
Naomi hesitated, her eyes darting to the floor. "Only in my dreams," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "But they're not dreams, Evelyn. They feel real. Like memories."
A shiver ran down Evelyn's spine. She thought of her father's journal, of the cryptic notes about the city's power to reach people, to call them. She had dismissed it as poetic exaggeration, but now…
"Naomi, you're not imagining this," Evelyn said, her voice firm. "Something is happening to us—this whole crew. We've all felt it, in some way or another. You're not alone."
Naomi's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Then why does it feel like I am?"
Evelyn opened her mouth to respond, but the words died on her tongue. What could she say? That they were in uncharted waters, grappling with forces they couldn't begin to understand? That she, too, felt the city's pull, a siren song that whispered promises and threats in equal measure?
Before Evelyn could find an answer, the door burst open, and Drew stormed in. His usual calm was gone, replaced by a wild intensity that set Evelyn on edge.
"You need to hear this," he said, his voice clipped. Without waiting for a response, he crossed to the console and switched on the hydrophone feed. A low, rhythmic pulse filled the room, punctuated by faint whispers. The sound was faint but unmistakable—a collective murmur just beyond comprehension.
"It's getting louder," Drew said, his gaze fixed on Evelyn. "And it's not just sound. I can feel it, like a pressure in my chest. Can't you?"
Evelyn exchanged a glance with Naomi, who nodded, her expression stricken. "It's not just me," Naomi said softly, her voice tinged with relief and fear. "You hear it too."
Drew's jaw tightened. "It's not just hearing. It's knowing. Like it's trying to tell us something."
Evelyn frowned, her mind racing. "Tell us what?"
Drew didn't answer. Instead, he turned the volume up, the whispers swelling until they filled the room. Evelyn closed her eyes, concentrating on the sound, trying to pick out individual words. For a moment, she thought she could hear her name—faint but insistent. She shook her head, her heart pounding.
"This is madness," she muttered, turning the volume down. "We're all just exhausted. The stress, the isolation—it's playing tricks on us."
"No," Drew said sharply. "This is real. The city… it's alive. And it knows we're here."
Evelyn stared at him, the weight of his words settling over her like a heavy blanket. "And what? It's trying to communicate with us?"
"Or control us," Naomi said, her voice hollow. She looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers as if testing whether they still belonged to her. "What if that's what happened to the others? The crews that disappeared?"
The thought sent a chill down Evelyn's spine. She thought of her father's journal, of the warnings scrawled in the margins. Some doors should remain closed.
"We need to stop," Naomi said, her voice breaking. "We need to leave before it's too late."
Evelyn looked at her, torn between the urge to comfort her friend and the burning need to uncover the truth. "Naomi, I can't. Not yet. This city… it's the key to everything. My father knew that. And now we do too."
Naomi's eyes filled with desperation. "And what if it's the key to our end?"
The room fell silent, the weight of her words pressing down on them. Evelyn turned back to the hydrophone feed, the whispers still faint but persistent. She closed her eyes, letting the sound wash over her, and for a moment, she felt it—a presence, vast and unknowable, reaching for her from the depths.
When she opened her eyes, Naomi was gone, her notebook left behind on the desk. Evelyn picked it up, her fingers tracing the jagged lines of the drawings. The whispers seemed louder now, closer, as if they were coming from within her.
She didn't sleep that night. Neither did Naomi.