The surface did not part for him gently.
It shattered.
Adam's head broke through in a violent surge, water cascading off his hair and shoulders as he dragged in air with a sound that was closer to a growl than a breath. His lungs expanded painfully, the first inhale scraping down his throat like broken glass. For a second he could not see, could not hear anything except the thunder of blood in his skull and the ragged pull of oxygen flooding starved tissue.
He did not release Morris.
He adjusted his grip, one arm locked tight across Hakeem Morris's chest, and turned toward the looming shadow of the wreck. Up close, the ship was even more grotesque than it had appeared from a distance. The torn hull yawned open along its side like a split ribcage, jagged sheets of rusted metal curling inward and outward at impossible angles. Barnacles crusted the lower edges in pale clusters. Strands of rotted netting clung to protruding bolts and hooks, swaying lazily with the movement of the water.
He kicked toward it.
Each stroke felt heavier now. The earlier buoyancy, the feather light velocity of adrenaline, had collapsed into something dense and trembling. His limbs obeyed him, but not with the same eager precision. They burned.
The edge of the torn hull rose before him, slick with algae and corrosion. He hooked one hand over a bent railing bar that jutted from the wreckage and hauled upward. Metal groaned under the sudden strain.
With a brutal heave, he lifted Morris first.
Water poured from his friend's clothes in steady streams as Adam rolled him onto the slanted interior plating of the wreck, the metal angled just enough to hold them above the surface. Morris's body hit with a dull, hollow clang. Adam followed a second later, dragging himself up and collapsing onto hands and knees.
Air.
He bent forward, coughing hard, chest spasming as he forced more oxygen into lungs that still felt too small. The night air tasted sharp, metallic from the wreck and faintly briny from the lake. Every breath was loud in his ears.
Beside him, Morris convulsed once and coughed violently. Water splattered onto rusted steel as he rolled onto his side, dragging air into himself in wet, panicked gulps.
For a few seconds there was nothing but the two of them breathing.
The cold hit next.
Water clung to Adam's skin in thin sheets, wind slicing across it and pulling heat away in rapid theft. His muscles trembled, not from fear now, but from the abrupt drop in intensity. The crash after the surge.
Morris pushed himself upright slowly, blinking hard. His pupils were normal at first, small and adjusting to the moonlight. He looked around in confusion, brow furrowing as he took in the warped metal around them.
"What…?" His voice cracked. "How did we…?"
The singing cut through his question.
It began soft, almost curious, but within a breath it sharpened. The melody slid across the surface of the water and wrapped around the wreck like mist. It was closer now, more focused, no longer scattered across distance.
Adam's head snapped toward the lake.
He felt it before he saw Morris react.
The shift was immediate.
Morris's pupils dilated so wide that the brown nearly disappeared. His expression emptied, curiosity draining away and replaced with something blank and intent. His shoulders straightened. His breathing steadied unnaturally.
He turned toward the water.
Adam lunged.
Morris moved with sudden violence, scrambling toward the torn edge of the hull. His hands slipped on rusted metal as he tried to climb back over, strength flooding him in that mindless trance.
"Not again," Adam muttered under his breath, voice tight.
Morris twisted, shoving at Adam's chest with surprising force. It would have knocked a human backward easily. Adam barely shifted.
The singing intensified.
It drilled into his ears like thin blades, each note precise and piercing. Pain bloomed along the sides of his skull, radiating down into his jaw. He gritted his teeth, vision tightening as the sound vibrated through bone.
Morris swung blindly, fist glancing off Adam's shoulder. Another shove, more desperate now, his entire body straining toward the water as if pulled by invisible strings.
Adam's patience snapped.
He caught Morris by both wrists, twisted, and drove him backward onto the metal deck with controlled force. The impact rang hollow through the hull. Morris thrashed beneath him, legs kicking, shoulders arching.
"Calm the fuck down.," Adam hissed, though he knew Morris could not hear him, not truly.
The singing swelled again, angrier now.
His ears screamed in protest. He could feel the delicate structures inside straining under the assault. A faint ringing layered beneath the melody, high and insistent.
Think.
He could not knock Morris unconscious. That risked something worse. He could not hold him indefinitely either. The trance lent him unnatural persistence.
The old man's voice surfaced in his memory, grainy and weathered from years of lake wind.
If they sing, you don't listen. You don't look.
Adam's jaw tightened.
If the voice draws you under…
Then block it.
Sailors carried wax for a reason. Ear plugs. Rags. Anything.
They were on a fishing vessel, even if it was little more than a corpse of one.
There had to be something.
He shifted, dragging Morris upright despite the thrashing. Morris fought like a cornered animal, muscles jerking in wild bursts. Adam wrapped one arm around his torso from behind and lifted him clean off the deck.
Too easy.
The thought flickered bitterly through his mind.
He staggered deeper into the torn interior of the wreck, boots scraping against corroded metal. The inside of the hull smelled of rust, old oil, and damp wood long since rotted into pulp. Moonlight filtered through jagged openings in fractured sheets, casting warped shadows across the interior.
The singing followed.
It seemed to slip through cracks and seams in the metal, saturating the air. Adam's head pounded. Each step felt slightly off balance, the melody tugging at some instinct he did not want to acknowledge.
They reached a slanted passage that led upward toward what had once been the main deck. Adam braced Morris against his hip and climbed, boots slipping briefly on algae slick patches before he adjusted.
They emerged near the upper deck, where the ship's controls sat exposed to the night. The wheel was cracked, one spoke missing entirely. The console was coated in a thick layer of rust and salt residue. Glass from shattered panels glittered faintly under moonlight like frost.
Morris jerked violently in his arms, nearly slipping free.
Adam spotted rope coiled near a collapsed crate, stiff and weather worn but intact. He dropped Morris hard onto the deck again and seized the rope.
Morris tried to roll toward the edge.
Adam pinned him with one knee and worked quickly, hands moving with efficient precision despite the ringing in his skull. He hauled Morris's arms behind his back and wrapped the rope around wrists, looping twice, then pulling tight enough to secure but not cut circulation.
Morris bucked.
The knot held.
The singing rose to a fevered pitch.
Adam flinched visibly this time, one hand flying briefly to his own ear before he forced it back down. He could not afford distraction.
He stumbled toward the cockpit enclosure, forcing the warped door open with a grunt. Inside, the air was stale and thick with the scent of old wiring and mildew. A single drawer hung half open beneath the console.
He yanked it free.
Inside, among corroded tools and brittle papers fused together by moisture, lay a small plastic container. He cracked it open with trembling fingers.
Ear plugs.
Bright orange against rust.
He exhaled something that was almost a laugh.
He returned to Morris, who was still straining against the rope, eyes wild and unfocused. Adam knelt and shoved one plug deep into his friend's right ear, then the other into the left, pressing firmly until they seated properly.
For a moment nothing changed.
Then Morris's movements slowed.
The tension in his shoulders eased gradually, like a wire being unwound. His breathing steadied. His pupils contracted slightly, clarity flickering back into them.
He blinked up at Adam, confusion replacing the frenzy.
"Why am I tied?" he demanded, voice loud and distorted from his own blocked hearing.
Adam let out an exhausted, breathless chuckle despite himself. The sound scraped out of him unevenly.
He leaned back and began untying the rope, fingers clumsy now as the adrenaline fully drained from his system. His limbs felt heavy. Each movement cost more than it should.
Morris rubbed his wrists once freed, looking around with wide eyes.
"What happened? Where are we? Did they pull us out here? Did you see them?"
Excitement threaded through his questions, curiosity blazing despite the obvious danger.
Adam opened his mouth to answer.
Then stopped.
The words hung uselessly in the air between them.
Morris still had the plugs in.
Adam stared at him for half a second before shaking his head slightly.
And that was when he noticed it.
The singing had stopped.
Completely.