Chapter 3

The freefall lasted only a heartbeat.

My body plunged downward. Instinct kicked in—hands clawing at empty air. My fingertips scraped rusted metal, then caught. The railing of the platform below.

Debris from the collapsed stairs tumbled past me, their dull thuds echoing through the deep. I clung to what was left of that railing, my arms screaming from the sudden strain.

"Excellent!" Maxwell's voice crackled through my earpiece. "Ladies and gentlemen, did you see that? That's what I call professional skill!"

Comments erupted:

[She didn't fall?!]

[Doubling down! Bet she's got ten minutes left, tops!]

[Maxwell, cut her oxygen! Let's see her act tough then!]

I hung there, struggling to control my breathing. The gas in my mask was thinner now, each breath bringing a burning sensation in my lungs and mounting dizziness.

I needed footing.

Swinging my body, I stretched until my toes barely reached a protruding metal bracket below. Once I'd steadied myself, I looked around. This seemed to be some kind of maintenance access—a half-open sealed door with faded lettering: "Tool Room."

I pried open the rusted latch with what strength I had left and squeezed through.

The space was cramped. An emergency equipment box was mounted on the wall, its red shell faded to dull gray. My heart raced with hope—maybe a working flare, or even a backup air tank...

I forced the lid open.

Inside was nothing but rotted wreckage. The oxygen lines had corroded into fragments, the flare gun was a solid block of rust, the backup batteries swollen and split, leaking black fluid.

This ship had been on the ocean floor for a hundred years. Nothing survives time.

"Find any treasure?" Maxwell's voice dripped with mockery. "That ship's been off-limits for a century. Did you really think any of that equipment would still work?"

I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms.

He knew there was nothing here. And he'd thrown me down anyway.

The bulkhead suddenly shuddered, more violent than before. The metal beam overhead let out a sharp groan as cracks began spreading across it.

"Maxwell, stop!" I shouted into the comm. "The structure's failing! You're accelerating the collapse!"

"There's that theory again." He scoffed. "Don't you think you're overusing that excuse?"

"This isn't an excuse!" My voice shook with rage. "The sonar frequency is hitting this ship's resonance point! Keep going and the whole area will come down!"

"Hear that, folks?" Maxwell raised his voice. "Dr. Alelia's making excuses again. She just won't admit she was wrong."

Comments flooded in:

[Still making excuses]

[She's dying and still won't give in]

[Don't fall for it, Maxwell]

[Bet she breaks in five minutes!]

Another tremor hit.

The beam above me gave way completely, crashing down beside me and throwing up rust-colored spray.

I dodged, but fallen cargo crates trapped me in the corner. My oxygen gauge dropped to 10%. Condensation was forming on the inside of my helmet, my vision blurring.

"Looks like you need some motivation." Maxwell's voice went cold. "Cut her backup oxygen."

"Maxwell, don't—"

Before I could finish, a soft click came from inside my mask.

The air thinned instantly.

I gasped, but nothing came. My chest felt like an invisible hand was squeezing it tighter and tighter. My lungs burned. Each breath was like swallowing broken glass.

"Alelia." Maxwell's voice echoed in my ear. "Just admit you were wrong and I'll let you out. Say you were jealous of Siren. Say your judgment was off. It's that simple."

My vision started to blur. Everything doubled. The ceiling seemed to spin.

Memories came flooding back.

Our wedding. Maxwell holding my hand, making his vows in front of everyone: "Alelia, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, I will love you, cherish you, protect you."

I remembered the sunlight that day. The tenderness in his eyes. The warmth of his lips when he kissed me.

But now he sat in his climate-controlled command room, cutting off my oxygen, watching me suffocate to death.

"She's almost done." Siren's voice carried a note of excitement. "Maxwell, her face is turning purple."

"Just wait." Maxwell's tone was calm. "She'll give in. She always does."

My consciousness was fading. My fingers went numb. My body began shaking uncontrollably. A buzzing filled my ears—my brain's distress signal from lack of oxygen.

Comments kept pouring in:

[Just give up already!]

[She's done, look how pale she is!]

[Bet's almost over! I won!]

[Ten million in the bag!]

My knees buckled. I collapsed onto the cold metal floor. My helmet hit the bulkhead with a dull thud.

Just as I thought this was where I'd die, the display screen flickered.

A prominent golden announcement flashed across it, blazing in the darkness:

[Platform-wide announcement: Anonymous user K.C. has placed a fifty-million-dollar bet that Alelia Oceans will survive.]