The hatch slammed shut behind them with a metallic echo that carried through the corridors like a heartbeat. Amal twisted the lock, then braced her shoulder against the door as another impact rattled the ship. Dust fell from the ceiling; the emergency lights flickered.
"Is everyone in?" she shouted.
Julien coughed from the corner, clutching his side. "All clear… for now."
Soufiane was the last to descend, dripping seawater, his eyes wide with something Zahira couldn't read — not fear, not shock, but recognition.
"What did you see?" Zahira asked, voice trembling.
He hesitated before answering. "Something watching us. Big enough to block the moonlight."
Amal frowned. "Another ship?"
Soufiane shook his head slowly. "No. Bigger. And it moved like it wasn't bound by the sea at all."
For a long moment, no one spoke. The only sound was the thrum of the engines and the deep, rhythmic pounding of waves against the hull. Then Mouna whispered, "Are you saying it's… alive?"
Soufiane didn't reply. He didn't have to.
---
The group gathered in the lower control room, lit only by the dim emergency lamp swaying from the ceiling. Amal unfolded the worn nautical chart they had scavenged weeks earlier. The paper was crumpled, edges stained with oil and salt.
"We're somewhere south of the French coast," she said, tracing a trembling finger down the line that led toward the Mediterranean. "If we can hold course, we'll reach calmer waters by dawn."
Julien gave a dry laugh. "If the hull doesn't split first."
Zahira knelt near the wall, pressing her palm to the metal. It was warm. Too warm. "It feels like the ocean itself is boiling."
Soufiane was silent again. He stood near the narrow porthole, staring into the black water outside. Every now and then, something brushed the glass — something long, pale, and deliberate.
He murmured, "They're guiding us."
Amal spun to face him. "Guiding us where, Soufiane? The Mediterranean? The bottom of the sea?"
He met her glare calmly. "South. Always south."
Julien exhaled sharply. "That's insane."
"Is it?" Soufiane asked. "Every time we tried to change direction, they hit harder. When we pushed south, they only followed. What if they want us to leave?"
The words hung heavy in the air. Zahira's stomach twisted. The idea was absurd — yet something deep inside her, some instinct carved by months of running and fighting, whispered that he might be right.
---
A loud creak tore through the hull, making everyone flinch.
Mouna rushed to the pressure gauge. "The breach is widening! We have to pump the lower deck before—"
Her words cut off when the light above them flickered once, twice… then died completely.
Darkness swallowed them.
Someone cursed softly. Amal fumbled for her flashlight and clicked it on — a thin beam cutting through the black, glinting off faces tight with fear.
Julien moved toward the engine room hatch. "I'll check the generator—"
Soufiane grabbed his arm. "Wait. Listen."
They all fell silent.
From beyond the metal walls came a sound that didn't belong to the sea — a slow, rhythmic scraping, like claws against steel. Then another. Then dozens, circling.
Zahira's breath caught. "They're on the hull."
Amal tightened her grip on the flashlight. "How the hell can they breathe down there?"
Soufiane's voice was quiet but steady. "Maybe they don't need to anymore."
---
Minutes stretched like hours. Every vibration felt like a heartbeat too close. Zahira could hear Younes whimpering softly in his sleep in the adjacent room, unaware of the terror building around him. She wanted to go to him, but her legs wouldn't move.
Amal crouched by the radio, fiddling with the dials. "If there's anyone still listening out there…" Static. Only static. She slammed her fist down. "Nothing!"
Julien sighed. "Even if there was, no one's coming."
"Don't say that," Zahira snapped.
He looked at her with weary eyes. "You know it's true."
Her chest tightened. She hated him for saying it — because it wasn't cruelty; it was honesty.
Soufiane crouched beside her, resting a hand briefly on her shoulder. "We've made it this far, Zahira. We'll make it farther."
She nodded weakly, forcing a breath. "We always do."
---
The scraping outside stopped. The silence that followed was worse.
Amal aimed the flashlight toward the porthole, its beam trembling slightly. The glass reflected only her face — pale, hollow-eyed — until something moved behind it.
A figure pressed against the glass from the outside, its skin stretched tight, mouth opening in a soundless scream. Amal dropped the light, stumbling back.
"Soufiane!"
He was already moving, rifle raised, shouting orders — "Everyone, get away from the hull!" — but before they could react, the entire ship lurched violently.
A massive impact tore through the lower deck. Metal screeched, bolts snapping one by one. The floor tilted. Water gushed in from the corridor, black and foaming.
Zahira screamed, grabbing for the wall as she lost her footing. Amal caught her arm, dragging her upward.
Soufiane yelled over the chaos, "Seal the hatch! MOVE!"
Julien and Mouna pushed against the heavy door, forcing it shut just as the corridor behind them filled with water. The latch clanged into place — but they all knew it was temporary.
Zahira collapsed against the wall, soaked and shaking. "We're trapped."
Soufiane wiped the saltwater from his face, eyes burning with determination. "Then we find another way out."
Amal glared at him. "There isn't one!"
Soufiane pointed upward. "There's always a way."
The ship creaked again, tilting farther. Overhead, the ceiling groaned — and from somewhere above, something massive moved, as if crawling over them.
Zahira's voice was barely a whisper. "It's not done with us."
Soufiane looked toward the ceiling. "No," he said softly, almost to himself. "It's leading us where it wants."
Outside, lightning flashed — for an instant illuminating the black silhouette in the distance: a vast figure standing half-submerged, arms raised toward the storm, waiting.
And the ship began to turn.