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"This is not the Queen."

Mera's face drops. How long has it been since their capture by these creatures of the night? An hour? Two? Three? And all the while Atlantis is running out of time and Mera . . . no, it was a mistake to allow her to accompany him.

Tall figures of wreath and flame seem to glow around them. They could just as well be spirits were it not for the burn marks they leave. And they seem particularly obsessed with Mera.

There is a great hissing sound and then one turns to Orm with milky white eyes.

"Orm Marius, you are King of Atlantis?"

He swallows. "I am."

"And you have brought your Queen here?"

"She is not my Queen," Orm says. "She was my betrothed . . ."

"No, no, no . . ." More and more restless they appear and the water is frothing with the torment of their frustration. "This is not Aeryn Jarsethis. This is not your wife!"

He is confused. How has the knowledge of Aeryn come all the way down here? Mera seems to stare into nothing, her eyes unseeing.

"Let her go," Orm growls.

"What?!"

"Let Mera go, she's of no use to you," Orm repeats. "She is only at Alantan, I am the King, I am the one you need to talk to."

There is a moment where they are lingering over her. Where even as her eyes catch the ocean floor, he half expects to hear himself screaming as they sever her head from her body. The leader removes his hood and Orm gasps as he beholds the greasy skin, the remains of a face devoured by time.

"Let her go?" The figure smiles and his henchman rattle with laughter. "Let the King's command be done!"

The knife glistens in the darkness. Crunching into Mera's chest, clean through her heart. Biting his teeth so hard the blood mixes with the water for they know, both of them, that she is not dying. Not yet. She's choking on the acid sweetness of her own blood.

"When the poison reaches her heart," the Leader murmurs, "we will indeed let her go."

"You have just signed your death warrant."

"If you obey our command, no one will see the dark of death this night."

Our? Suddenly the walls seem to get a whole lot closer. "What do you want?"

"We want information."

"About what?"

"About the key to our freedom. Tell us about this Aeryn."

The red and blue lights once seemed to hold the promise of rescue. How many times did she linger there with the Captain, watching the lights pass by their house time and time again and they never came.

What a bad joke that now she's guilty of first degree murder and they're finally coming to get her.

Gliding to the shore line, she strips off her jacket, lifting it up to her nose. Putrid green blood stains the wrists, it makes her frighteningly heady. But when she sniffs it once, it's everywhere. And she senses the same confusion that was Daniel.

Rustling the garment, a phone falls out. It is Evelyn's jacket. But the damn thing is smashed beyond repair. Cracking the case forward just an inch reveals an engraving in the back of the phone. With the same number Daniel gave her. What the hell is going on?

Prickling skin. She clutches the jacket suddenly, suddenly it is too close. She feels isolated, and studied all at the same time.

"Aeryn . . ."

The police sirens are always in her head when they are not directly being sounded. The whisper of the grass across the rocks of the cliff, past the cars, behind the roads . . .

"You sense it . . ."

Dare she answer? Or is this just the first pebble in an avalanche of insanity?

"I sense evil," she whispers back. "Why did I not feel it before? It's everywhere."

"We have purged the bodies of your attackers. But on their heels . . ." The voice drops to a whisper. "On their heels comes a hunter far more deadly."

"Then the hunter is close."

"Yes child." The sirens get louder. "You must become . . . invisible."

The night. The pitch black of the ocean. It terrifies her. But something far worse is coming from behind the vehicles, something that she would not dare wait to see.

"Grow a pair," she murmurs to herself. "You did it once. You can do it again."

"Hurry . . . he has the scent . . ."

Tossing the phone and the jacket into the ocean, Aeryn dives into the murky deep.

The sea feels ill. Weakened. Tearful. If it is even possible. Even as it wraps around her, spurring her onwards. The sea connects to every land to every country, to every district. The same rancid scent that covered her attackers now floats to her nostrils. It's disgusting. But if she wants to get better, it is the very scent she has to follow.

Pleading thoughts to the ocean. It bubbles and spurs her off into the waves.