Page 299 of Hidden Depths

A black symbol had been tattooed across the side of his neck.

Not the anchor.

Not the serpent.

Coordinates.

Ward studied the numbers.

Then looked toward me.

“What’s located there?”

I read them once.

Then again.

My knees nearly gave way.

Because I knew those coordinates.

Every Sinclair sister did.

They belonged to a place Grandpa had forbidden us from sailing near.

A place that didn’t appear on any of his charts.

A place he had mentioned only once.

The night before he took his last voyage.

“Storm?” Ward pressed.

I looked toward the distant horizon.

“The Blackwater Trench.”

54

STORM

“The ocean remembers every secret entrusted to it. But sooner or later, the tide brings the truth home.”

— James Sinclair

“The Blackwater Trench?” Ward repeated.

His eyes stayed on me.

Waiting.

Behind us, the damaged fishing boat sat crooked on the reef.

Water climbed steadily over its stern.

The man with the tattoo was gone.

All three of them had disappeared from view.