Page 22 of Cerban
Crossing the small room, I pulled my gear bag onto the bed and started sorting through it. My wetsuit was still damp from its hurried retrieval, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that I’d learned from last time.
One tank hadn’t been enough. I’d been careless, too eager to push deeper without accounting for the unknown. That mistake had nearly cost me my life.
So: spare cylinders. I jotted a quick mental checklist, the way I did when preparing dives for paying clients. Two primary tanks. One stage cylinder, clipped to my harness for emergencies. Backup lights. Redundant reels and line.
The routine of preparing for a dive steadied me, pushed away the dark memories. I could do this.
I had to do this.
And I wouldn’t go alone this time.
I swallowed hard, because I already knew who I wanted at my side. The same person who’d dragged me out alive, who’d held me against his chest when I thought the sea had claimed me. Cerban.
Even thinking his name made my pulse quicken. But I shook the distraction off and focused on the gear.
We'd never managed to continue our discussion about returning to the cave. Rainse had interrupted us. And both Rainse and Tyrone had made it very clear that they would not be carrying messages back and forth between us again. They were trying to protect us, I knew that, but I hated not being able to talk to Cerban.
Wait. I was an idiot. I almost slammed my head against my forehead at my sheer stupidity. Of course I could talk to him, now that I was back in my own place. This wasn't the eighteenth century where people had to rely on letters to talk to each other. There was such a thing as a phone. And because this was a fancy resort, every room had not just a phone, but an entire videocall system - including staff apartments. I smiled to myself and searched for the aliens' accommodation in the directory.
My finger hovered over the call button, my heart hammering.
This was ridiculous. I’d faced sharks with less nerves than I had for this.
Before I could chicken out, I tapped the screen. The ring tone pulsed softly in my little apartment, echoing like a sonar ping.
After three beats, the feed flickered to life. Cerban appeared, shoulders filling the frame, his face shadowed but unmistakably him. His gills fluttered once, then stilled.
“Maelis,” he said, low and rough.
“Hi,” I managed, trying to sound casual even as my heart leapt. “Sorry to… surprise you. I realised I could just call.”
For a moment he only looked at me, as though memorising my face. Then, softly: “I am glad you did.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks. “I’m… back in my apartment. Tyrone says I’m fine. Paul gave me the week off.”
“I know,” he said. “Rainse told me.”
I fiddled with the edge of my wetsuit. “I can’t stop thinking about the bubbles.”
His expression darkened slightly. “Maelis–”
“No, listen.” I leaned closer to the screen, urgency creeping into my voice. “I’m not asking you to watch me nearly drown again. I’ve made a checklist. Spare cylinders, backup lights, emergency lines. I’ll be prepared this time. But I can’t do this without you.”
"It is not just danger. I'm not supposed to leave this building, let alone go for a dive with you. If we're discovered... it won't end well."
"I know," I said quietly. I knew what I was asking of him. "But... something is drawing me back to that cave. I can't explain it. I need to go back. I need to know what these bubbles mean. What causes them.
Don’t you want to know what made them?”
His gills fluttered once, his jaw tight.
“I want to know,” he admitted at last. “But I want you safe more.”
I hesitated, then pressed my hand to the screen as if I could reach through to him. “Then come with me. Help me make it safe. Together.”
For a long moment he didn’t move. Then his massive hand lifted, mirroring mine from the other side of the glass. “You are stubborn,” he murmured.
“Occupational hazard,” I said with a weak smile. “Dive instructor.”
