Page 54 of Ghoul Me, Maybe
That’s the first thing I feel when I hit the hull—cold, slick, unwelcoming. Like the Maiden remembers being broken and would rather drown alone than let anyone touch its bones again.
I scramble across the crumbling deck, soaked to the skin, boots slipping on algae-covered planks. Every step echoes with the creak of rotted timber and something deeper—somethingalive. The relic’s tugging me like a magnet hooked to my spine, each heartbeat leading me lower into the shattered skeleton of the ship.
I find it tucked into a crevice beneath a rusted rib of hull. Same eerie glow. Same faint hum. It pulses in my hand like it remembers me. Like it’s been waiting.
I don't say anything.
Not to it. Not to myself.
I just stuff it inside my jacket, zip up the pocket, and turn to go.
That’s when I hear it.
Voices.
Not echo. Not the wind.
People.
Boots on wood. Cloth shifting. Low murmurs, steady and practiced.
Then a flashlight beam cuts across the wreck like a blade of white fire.
I freeze, ducking low, breath caught in my throat.
Too many footsteps.
Too organized.
And then he speaks.
“Miss Vale.”
Polite. Smug.Absolutely out of place.
I rise slowly, heart pounding.
Grey stands on what’s left of the upper deck, his long coat unmoving despite the wind. Behind him are three others, dressed in black—gear fitted tight to their bodies like second skin. They don’t move like dockhands or hikers. They move like soldiers. The kind who don’t wait for orders to pull triggers.
“Well, hell,” I mutter.
He smiles. “I do appreciate your efficiency. Saves me quite the search.”
“You stalking me now, or just got really lucky with your offshore murder timing?”
Grey steps closer, his boots not making a sound. “Neither. You’re predictable, Sienna. That’s what makes you so dangerous. You always try to fix things yourself.”
“Imagine that,” I say, inching toward a broken beam. “A woman trying to clean up her own mess.”
“Not just yours,” he says. “Your father’s. The Captain’s. Everyone’s.”
I grip the beam like it’s going to sprout a gun. “What do you want?”
He gestures lightly.
The man on his left moves fast.
I barely duck the baton. It hisses through the air with a sound like angry bees. I kick his knee out and shove off him, stumbling down a slope of shattered boards.
