The acceptance letter sits in my lap as the ferry cuts through gray water toward Meridian Point. Dr. Carson Reid's signature bleeds across the bottom—the same elegant scrawl that signed my sister's death certificate five years ago. I memorized every word of that certificate. "Accidental drowning during authorized research expedition." Authorized. As if his negligence could be sanitized with bureaucratic language. As if Maya's life could be reduced to an unfortunate footnote in his illustrious career. The research facility emerges from the fog like a sleeping giant—all glass and steel perched on volcanic rock, waves crashing against its foundations. The Meridian Institute for Marine Research. Carson Reid's kingdom. And for the next six months, my hunting ground. "First time at Meridian?" The ferryman's voice startles me. "Yes." I fold the letter carefully. Dr. Sloane Chen, Bioluminescence Research Fellow. It took me three years to earn the credentials that would get me through these doors. Three years of graduate work I never wanted, studying subjects that felt like swallowing glass, all to get close enough to the man who killed my sister. "Isolated place," he continues. "Beautiful, but isolated. Some folks can't handle it." I can handle anything if it means finally getting justice for Maya. The facility is smaller than it appears from the water. Thirty researchers, maybe forty. Intimate. Perfect. I'll be close enough to access everything—his files, his correspondence, his dirty secrets. Dr. Helena Voss meets me at the dock, her silver hair whipping in the wind. "Dr. Chen! Welcome. We're thrilled to have you. Your work on photophore evolution was remarkable." "Thank you." The research was real, at least. I may have pursued this field for revenge, but somewhere along the way, I fell in love with the creatures themselves—those impossible organisms that make their own light in the crushing darkness. "Dr. Reid is in meetings all day, but you'll meet him tomorrow. His son, however, is eager to meet you. You'll be sharing lab space." My stomach drops. "His son?" "Kai Reid. He's been running our deep-sea bioluminescence project solo for months. Brilliant, but..." She lowers her voice. "He doesn't work well with others. You're the first fellow he's agreed to collaborate with." I didn't know Carson had a son. Five years of research, and I missed this crucial detail. Helena leads me through corridors that smell like salt and ozone. "Here we are. Lab Seven." The space is chaos—monitors everywhere, tanks glowing with ethereal blue-green light, equipment I don't recognize. And in the center, a man with dark hair and darker eyes, forearms covered in chemical stains, staring at a screen with absolute focus. "Kai, this is Dr. Sloane Chen." He doesn't look up. "The photophore specialist. You wrote that paper arguing for convergent evolution in ostracods." "You read my work?" "I read everything." Finally, he turns. His eyes are storm-gray, intense, searching. Nothing like his father's cold blue. "You're wrong, by the way. About the ostracods." "Excuse me?" "I'll prove it to you." The corner of his mouth lifts—not quite a smile, but close. "Welcome to Meridian, Dr. Chen. Try not to slow me down." Helena leaves us with an apologetic shrug. I should hate him on principle. Carson Reid's son. But as Kai turns back to his screen, fingers flying across keyboards, surrounded by the ghostly light of creatures that thrive in darkness, I feel something unexpected. Curiosity. This could be a problem. ---