Page 38 of Innocent Until Proven Witch

"There."

Every head turns. A fragment of wood bobs between the waves. Debris. My pulse quickens, and the vessel changes course immediately.

As we draw closer, movement catches my eye. I step forward. "People."

Row follows my gaze, his eyes widening. "Damn."

Several survivors cling desperately to a large section of wreckage. One woman waves weakly, another fisherman barely manages to keep his head above water. The crew springs into action, lines thrown, rescue hooks extended, hands reaching down. One by one, the survivors are hauled aboard.

The woman collapses onto the deck, coughing, shaking, alive. The relief spreading across the crew is immediate. Not everyone was lost. Not this time.

I kneel beside one of the fishermen, his lips blue, his hands trembling violently. "What happened?"

He drags in a shaky breath, his eyes remaining fixed on the sea, as though he's still watching whatever nearly killed him. "It wasn't natural."

The words come out hoarse, and I exchange a glance with Row. The fisherman continues. "The water changed."

"How?"

He swallows, hard. "It started pulling."

My attention sharpens. "Pulling where?"

The fisherman points toward open water. "The middle."

A chill moves through me. "The middle of what?"

His expression twists. "I don't know," he says, the answer sounding frustrated, terrified. "We couldn't see it."

Another survivor pushes herself upright. "I could."

Everyone turns toward her. The woman wraps her arms around herself, the memory clearly rattling her. "The water wasn't moving toward shore." She shakes her head. "It wasn't moving away either." Her voice trembles. "It was draining."

The word settles heavily over the deck..

I crouch closer. "What do you mean?"

The woman stares toward the horizon. "As if everything was being pulled toward one place."

Nobody speaks. The waves crash against the hull, the survivors remaining visibly shaken. The woman continues. "The current grabbed the boat." Her breathing quickens. "We couldn't fight it."

Another fisherman nods. "The sea was pulling us in like a drain." His hands tighten. "It wanted us to sink."

The statement should sound ridiculous. Instead it sounds horrifying. Because I believe him. Every person aboard does.

I gaze toward the water. The unnatural currents continue colliding, the same disturbance, the same pattern, only stronger. Much stronger.

A crewman approaches. "We need to head back."

He's right. The survivors need treatment, the sea is growing more unstable, and staying longer would be stupid. The rescue vessel turns toward Moonhaven, and nobody complains. Not even me. Because my attention remains fixed on the horizon.

The farther we travel, the more convinced I become. The attacks are changing. The Sea Sparrow was bad. The storm that nearly killed me was worse. This is something else entirely. The escalation is impossible to ignore. Someone is becoming bolder, more aggressive, more confident.

The realization calms deeply in my chest. Row joins me near the railing, his expression mirroring my own. "You look worried."

I stare toward the water. "I am."

He follows my gaze. "What are you thinking?"