Chapter 3: Vanishing
From the deck, it happened too fast to understand.
One moment, a child was laughing.
The next, both she and her father were gone.
The ocean churned violently behind the ship, sunlight scattering across the surface in blinding reflections. Crew members rushed into action—radios crackled, alarms sounded, and passengers crowded the rail, searching desperately.
But there was nothing to see.
No movement.
No sign.
The ship began its emergency turn. A rescue boat was deployed within minutes.
Still—nothing.
The longer the silence stretched, the heavier it became. Conversations faded. Hope began to thin.
By the eighth minute, the shouting slowed.
By the eleventh, it stopped entirely.
People no longer searched with urgency.
They stared.
Because deep down, they already knew what the ocean usually kept.
