Chapter 100: The Dark Water

The ocean's blue depths were unnervingly dark.

Sloane Bennett clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms as she glared at the empty lifeguard station. If she hadn't noticed the danger in time, Clara Whitmore might have—

"I just stepped away to use the restroom!" The lifeguard shrugged, cigarette dangling from his lips. His legs jiggled with indifference. "Since when is taking a bathroom break illegal? Besides, minor diving accidents happen all the time."

Smoke rings curled from his mouth as his gaze slid over Clara's drenched form.

A sea breeze swept past, making Clara shiver. Her slender frame trembled.

Sloane's eyes turned icy. She was ready to demand answers when Clara's coughing fit interrupted. The roar of helicopter blades forced her to prioritize getting her friend medical attention.

The sterile hospital scent stung her nose.

A nurse handed over dry patient gowns. Sloane insisted on a full examination. Only when the doctor confirmed it was just a minor sprain did she finally exhale.

The minty aroma of ointment lingered in the air.

During the helicopter ride back, Sloane confronted the hotel manager directly. His polished smile didn't waver as he sidestepped all responsibility.

"Clara Whitmore?"

Grant Holloway halted mid-step in the hallway. He'd just returned when the argument caught his ear. Those fragmented words conjured an image—a panicked figure trapped in the ocean's abyss.

His chest constricted.

That girl who needed his voice to fall asleep because she feared the dark—how terrified must she be now?

He quickened his pace toward the lounge, only to find Connor Hayes already kneeling by the sofa, offering Clara a steaming cup of tea with gentle hands.

"A full checkup would be safer." Grant steadied his breathing as he approached. "Holloway Medical Center has better equipment."

Connor didn't look up. "The report's right there. She needs rest, not more procedures."

"You trust some clinic's diagnosis?"

"Better than fake concern from performance artists."

The teacup clinked against the glass table.

Clara massaged her throbbing temples at their escalating tension. Snatching her jacket, she strode out and shut the door on their bickering.

* * *

Darkness surged like tidal waves.

Clara thrashed in her sleep, limbs leaden as if tangled in kelp. Suffocation tightened its grip until she jolted upright, pajamas soaked with cold sweat.