“Remove her,” one of the guards murmured.
Jonathan raised his hand. “Wait.”
The dock fell quiet.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Grace,” she answered softly.
“And Grace,” he said gently, “boats don’t sink because of dreams.”
She swallowed. “My dad used to say they talk before something bad happens. You just have to listen.”
For a brief second, something flickered in Jonathan’s mind—a faint memory of a report years ago, warnings dismissed, an engineer labeled “overcautious.”
He shook the thought away.
But then—
Crack.
The sound came from the yacht’s lower deck. A sharp, splintering noise, like metal under strain.
Jonathan froze.
Another sound followed—louder this time. A dull pop echoed from within the hull. Crew members exchanged confused glances.
“What was that?” someone shouted.
Then came shouting. A deckhand ran toward the dock, panic overtaking professionalism.
“Sir! There’s water coming in from the aft compartment!”
The words slammed into Jonathan’s chest.