I wake to the sound of voices. Ester and Nelinha are standing over me, having a hushed argument. Somehow, I’ve slept through them getting up, hitting the showers, and getting dressed. Outside, it’s daylight. Socrates’s giant aquatic hamster tube is empty. He must be out hunting for breakfast. I can’t remember the last time I slept past dawn.

Nelinha notices my eyes are open. “Hey, babe. How are you feeling?”

I prop myself up on my elbows.

Top rests his chin on my leg and gives me his Get up! grunt. Everybody’s a critic.

I guess yesterday really happened. Harding-Pencroft is gone. Dev is gone. I’m at sea…literally and emotionally. How do I feel?

“I—I’m awake,” I decide. “What’s going on?”

Nelinha gives Ester a cautionary look, like, Remember what we talked about.

“The good news is he’s not dead,” Ester says.

Nelinha throws her hands in the air. “Ester…”

“Well, you told me to start with the good news,” Ester protests. “That’s the good news. He isn’t dead. Not yet.”

“Who… ?” A spark of hope flickers through my still-groggy mind. For half a second, I wonder if she could mean Dev. But Ester doesn’t let me dream.

“Dr. Hewett,” she blurts out. “Franklin found him unresponsive in his cabin.”

Dread washes through me.

“Show me.” My body somehow manages to find more adrenaline. I’m still in my cotton shorts and sleep shirt, but I don’t care. My heart pounds as we hurry down the corridor.

Gemini Twain guards the door to the sick bay. He looks as if he hasn’t slept all night. Inside, Franklin Couch and Linzi Huang stand on either side of Dr. Hewett, who lies unconscious on a hospital bed. He’s hooked to an IV and several monitors. The straps of his oxygen mask make his gray hair bristle like the fins of a lionfish. I’m no medic, but his vitals don’t look good on the displays. Top finds the sick bay smells very interesting…until Linzi shoos him away.

Linzi’s eyes are bloodshot, and a surgical mask hangs from her right ear. “We ran the most comprehensive blood panel we could with our onboard equipment. His liver function and complete blood count are both off. Blood sugar is high. Our best guess is late-stage cancer, maybe pancreatic, with type-two diabetes, but we’re not set up for advanced diagnostics, much less treatment. He needs immediate medical help.”

“Except Gemini here,” Franklin growls, “won’t let us put out an SOS.”

“The professor’s orders.” Gemini’s voice cracks on the word professor. “Complete radio silence no matter what. If Land Institute finds us…”

He doesn’t need to remind me of Caleb South’s warning. The Aronnax will send us all to the bottom of the sea. In the last twenty-four hours, I’ve heard a lot of things I had trouble believing. Caleb’s threat wasn’t one of them.

Hewett’s face is a map of pale blue veins and liver spots. I want to curse him for having medical issues now. He should have taken better care of himself. But, of course, that isn’t fair of me to think.