The sight of the submarine means only one thing.

The Atlanteans have found a group of ten individuals, alone in the middle of the ocean, who will make excellent and convenient subjects for whatever bizarre experiment they are trying to conduct.

There is no way to swim upward without getting caught.

It is impossible to swim through the tunnel—the only place where the submarine can’t follow us—without getting attacked by a monstrous, man-eating crab.

There is nowhere left to run.

The submarine slows, the stream of bubbles fading to a trickle.

“Darin!” Locklyn’s voice bursts into his consciousness like a conch shell blast in his ear. “Darin, what do we do?”

She and most of the others have drawn together in a huddle behind him, the braver ones gripping weapons. Kai is off to one side, soothing the chittering dolphins.

Darin looks into her eyes, which are a navy so dark they are almost black. She is looking to him for guidance. For wisdom. For strength. And he has nothing left to give. Words won’t come, but no one will touch her while there is breath in his body.

“Darin.” She darts toward him, her slim fingers closing around his wrist, arresting his movement. He meets her eyes, expecting to see his own despair mirrored there, but there is something different. Hope. “You’re a good leader,” she says simply, and the grid of hopelessness that immobilized him shatters.

Renewed energy surges through him. “Listen to me!” Darin calls and every face swivels toward him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the submarine come to a full stop, floating a hundred yards away. He has minutes. Maybe seconds.

“Everyone follow Ginevra!” Turning to the young queen, he speaks to her as quickly as possible. “Take them to the mouth of the tunnel and wait for me there.”

She whips around and zips toward the underside of the submarine, her white tail shining like a beacon as she shouts, “Come with me!”

The others follow her. All but Kai and Locklyn.

“Go!” Darin commands.

“You cannot fight them alone.” Kai’s voice is surprisingly gentle for such a large Merman.

Locklyn nods. It is clear from the look in her eyes that any attempt to reason with her will be futile.

Darin adjusts his thinking. “All right. The Atlanteans make glass spheres that explode on impact. I’m sure there are some on that submarine. To get past the crab and the stonefish, we need some. You both hide before the submarine door opens. I’ll draw off the attackers who come out. Go in and steal as many spheres as you can find. Then follow the others.” The round door in the submarine’s side begins to jiggle. “Go!” he gestures urgently.

They both dart toward the submarine. Locklyn plasters herself to the bottom, and Kai crouches between the metal fins.

The silver door slides sideways, and a Merman emerges.

He is tall and his skin is so pale, it appears luminous in the dark water. His irises glint scarlet above the bridge of his hooked nose. His colorless, webbed feet move lazily through the water, holding him in place.

An achromos. Who is also a Crura.

Behind the first, another Merman and a Merwoman emerge. Their tails are a vivid, poisonous green, and they hover on either side of the Crura like bodyguards.

“I would drop that,” the first Merman says in a conversational tone, motioning to Darin’s knife. Pure white hair swirls around his surprisingly young face. He is holding a long metal rod in one hand and a fine mesh net in the other.

“That seems unwise,” he replies, keeping his tone as light and casual as the other’s.

“Come, come,” the Merman says kindly. “We know the rest of your group swam off. So, I’d rather this was quick.”

“I’m sure you would,” he says.

The Merman doesn’t respond. Instead, he lifts the metal tube to his lips and blows hard. Before Darin can move, something pricks his neck, right above the collar of his shirt.

He can barely see the end of the minuscule silver dart protruding from his skin. There is no doubt it is drugged. Which means he has very little time.

With one tug, the dart comes free and he flings it away. He zooms off through the water, using every stroke of his golden tail to propel him away from the pursuit he can sense rather than see.

Distance grows between him and his pursuers, the sounds of the hunt fading. But black dots crowd the edges of his vision. The movements of his tail are becoming weaker and more erratic.

He just needs to get out of sight of the submarine.

For Locklyn.

His vision turns hazy, but he can still see her face clearly. Feel the warm pressure of her fingers around his wrist, infusing him with her strength when he had none of his own. Hear her voice, repeating over and over . . .

You’re a good leader.

You’re a good leader.

You’re a good leader.

His ears ring. It feels as though someone is closing in behind him, and he lashes out, but his fists find only water.

The ocean seems to be solidifying around him and he thrashes against it, trying desperately to move forward. The black spots swarm his eyes, but he continues to struggle, straining forward. Every inch he travels increases the likelihood Locklyn will escape.

Just a little farther.

Just a little . . .

. . . farther . . .

. . . must keep . . .

. . . going . . .