Game over.
Her questions tumble out like a waterfall, quick and unstoppable, her face alive with wonder.
For a moment, I hesitate. My throat tightens because the images return too quickly, blood spreading like a cloud beneath the water, Owen’s screams echoing across the deck, the flick of a fin cutting the surface before everything was dragged below. To me, the sharks are not magic or adventure. They are death, sharp and merciless. But I look down at Connor and Carmen, their eager faces waiting, and I know I cannot give them that truth. Not yet. Not ever, if I can help it.