Chapter Eighteen

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

PEOPLE WERE PRETENDING harder today.

Laughter was louder.
Hats were worn a little higher.
Even the orchestra on the main deck played like their lives depended on it.

Because maybe they did.

Because when something’s wrong and you can’t admit it, all you can do is perform.
Pretend the crack in the glass is just part of the design.

But Evelyn wasn’t pretending anymore.

She met me near the lifeboats.

No hello. No kiss. Just her eyes, wide and steady.

“They’ve started locking doors,” she said. “Lower decks.”

I felt it in my chest.

“Did anyone say why?”

She shook her head. “No one says anything. But you can feel it. Everyone feels it.”

She glanced out at the ocean.

“There’s something out there.”

We walked the length of the ship, not speaking.

Not because we didn’t want to—but because we were listening.
To footsteps. To whispers. To metal groaning against itself.

We passed three locked doors.
Then four.
Then a hallway that smelled like oil and silence.

And then, without warning—

We heard it.

A sound from beneath.

Low. Distant.
Like something shifting under pressure.

And then again—louder.
Like a growl from the deep.

We froze.

Evelyn looked at me.
And for the first time, I saw fear.

Real, cold fear.

Not for herself.
For me.

“We need to leave,” she said.

And for the first time since I woke up here…
I wasn’t sure we could.