“Shit!” Samuel’s voice tore through the chaos, raw and shaking. He gripped the rail with one hand and Stella’s wrist with the other, his knuckles pale from the strain. The ship tilted again, harder this time, throwing students across the floor like loose objects. Plates shattered. Glass exploded. Someone slammed into Samuel’s back, nearly tearing Stella from his grasp.

  “We need to find Newton and head for the boats!” he shouted, his voice fighting against the screaming and the metallic groaning of the dying ship.

  Stella nodded, but fear had already taken over her face.

  On the lower deck, Newton clung to the door handle with both hands. The metal was slick beneath his fingers. Cold water rushed around his legs, rising past his knees, his waist, his chest. His teeth chattered violently, but it wasn’t from the cold.

  It was fear.

  His eyes darted wildly.

  “I think it is happening,” he cried, his voice cracking.

  Theo, sprawled across the floor, lifted his head weakly. His hair clung to his face. “What is happening?”

  Newton’s lips trembled. A sob escaped his throat before he could stop it.

  “Like the days of the Titanic,” he choked. “It is happening again. The ship is sinking. Many of us are going to die.”

  The words hung in the air, heavy and final.

  Kael’s face collapsed. His fingers clawed uselessly at the rising water.

  “Oh my God!” he cried. “I am too young to die!”

  Brian cursed under his breath, his tough mask finally breaking. His arms shook as he tried to pull himself up.

  “I knew this sea trip was a bad idea,” he groaned. “We have to get to the boats immediately.”

  But the ship answered with another violent shake.

  The floor jerked.

  The walls screamed.

  Water burst in like a living thing, slamming into them with brutal force.

  Newton lost his grip.

  The ocean swallowed him.

  Cold.

  Heavy.

  Merciless.

  He kicked instinctively, his arms thrashing as he fought to stay above the surface. His lungs burned. His heart pounded so hard it hurt.

  Amalia.

  The thought flashed through his mind like lightning.

  He began to swim.

  He didn’t know where he was going.

  He just swam.

  His arms grew weaker.

  His vision blurred.

  The screams around him faded into muffled echoes.

  The light above him grew dimmer.

  His chest tightened.

  His mouth opened.

  Water rushed in.

  Fire exploded inside his lungs.

  His body convulsed.

  The strength left his arms.

  Darkness crept in from the edges of his vision.

  His fingers twitched once.

  Then stilled.

  And Newton Hill sank into the deep.

  In California, Amalia sat alone in her room, surrounded by silence that felt heavier than noise. The wedding was over. The laughter, the music, the endless movement of people had all faded, leaving behind an emptiness she could not escape. Meerah was gone now, carried away into her new life, leaving Amalia behind in a house that suddenly felt too large.

  She sat on the edge of her bed, her fingers holding a photograph.

  All of them were in it.

  Newton stood at the center, awkward and stiff, his smile unsure but real. Samuel had his arm thrown over Newton’s shoulder. Stella leaned in from the side, laughing at something outside the frame. And Amalia stood beside Newton, closer than she realized at the time.

  She traced Newton’s face gently.

  Her lips curved.

  “I hope you guys are enjoying your trip,” she murmured.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Her voice sounded small in the empty room.

  She let out a soft chuckle, though it carried no joy.

  “I am sad and bored here without you,” she corrected herself quietly. “I can’t wait for fifteen days to be over.”

  She hugged the photo to her chest and leaned back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

  The locket around her neck rested cold against her skin.

  Then:

  “Amalia! Amalia! Amalia!”

  Her mother’s voice tore through the house.

  It was wrong.

  Too loud.

  Too sharp.

  Too afraid.

  Amalia’s heart skipped.

  She shot up instantly.

  “Mom!” she called back, panic already rising in her throat.

  “Come over here!” her mother shouted again. “You have to see this!”

  Amalia ran.

  Her feet pounded against the wooden floor as she rushed out of her room and into the living room.

  The television was on.

  The volume was loud.

  Too loud.

  Her mother stood frozen in front of it, her hand covering her mouth.

  Amalia followed her gaze.

  Then she saw it.

  Her school logo.

  Saint Theresa High School.

  Her stomach dropped.

  The news anchor’s voice filled the room.

  “Breaking news. A ship carrying one hundred and twenty-five students of Saint Theresa High School has sunk in the Atlantic Ocean around the Bermuda Triangle. As of this moment, only a few staff members have been sighted. None of the children are within sight, and the ship itself has not been located.”

  Amalia’s breath stopped.

  Her fingers curled against her chest.

  The room spun.

  “Oh my God…”

  Her knees gave way.

  She collapsed onto the couch.

  “My friends are on that ship!” she screamed.

  Her voice broke apart.

  Her mother rushed to her side, grabbing her shoulders.

  “Calm down, honey,” she said quickly, though her own voice trembled. “Do not panic yet. The authorities are searching for them.”

  But Amalia wasn’t listening.

  Her ears rang.

  Her heart hammered so violently she thought it might burst.

  Newton.

  Samuel.

  Stella.

  Her mind showed their faces one after another.

  Newton’s shy smile.

  The way he had held her hand at the port.

  The way he had kissed her before running into the ship.

  Her fingers flew to the locket around her neck.

  She clutched it tightly.

  “No…” she whispered. “No…”

  The news continued.

  “Discovery information shows that both airplanes and boats have disappeared around that axis before now. Experts believe there may be unusual magnetic forces in that region capable of disabling navigation systems and causing vessels to vanish without a trace.”

  Vanished.

  Without a trace.

  Amalia’s chest tightened painfully.

  Her breathing became shallow.

  Her mother wrapped her arms around her, but Amalia barely felt it.

  Her eyes stayed fixed on the screen.

  As if staring hard enough could bring him back.

  The news did not stop.

  It played again.

  And again.

  And again.

  Rescue ships.

  Helicopters.

  Search teams.

  Maps.

  Circles drawn over empty ocean.

  Three days passed.

  Three long days.

  No ship.

  No students.

  No Newton.

  Amalia stopped eating.

  Stopped sleeping.

  Stopped speaking.

  She locked herself in her room.

  The photograph lay on her bed.

  She sat on the floor beside it, her back against the wall, her knees pulled to her chest.

  Her eyes were swollen.

  Red.

  Burning.

  She held the locket in her hand.

  “I told you to come back,” she whispered weakly.

  Her voice trembled.

  “You promised…”

  Her throat closed.

  Tears spilled down her cheeks again.

  Outside her door, the world continued.

  Cars passed.

  People talked.

  Life moved forward.

  But inside her room, time had stopped.

  She bowed her head.

  And cried.

  Still hoping.

  Still waiting.

  Still praying that somewhere, somehow, her friends are alive.

  Newton Hills opened his eyes slowly, as if his body feared the world it was returning to. Light stabbed into them immediately. Harsh. Blinding. He winced and turned his face away, his cheek pressing against hot ground that burned his skin. His throat felt raw. His lungs ached. Every breath scraped like broken glass inside him.

  For a few seconds, his mind was empty.

  Then it came back.

  The ship.

  The alarm.

  The water.

  The drowning.

  Newton jerked upright with a violent gasp.

  Air rushed into his lungs. He coughed instantly. His body folded forward as water burst from his mouth. He gagged and spat, his chest heaving uncontrollably. His hands trembled against the ground, fingers digging into sand that slipped through them.

  Sand.

  He froze.

  His eyes widened.

  Sand?

  He forced himself to look around.

  Bodies.

  They were everywhere.

  Students lay scattered across the ground like discarded dolls. Some faced down. Some faced the sky. Some were twisted in unnatural positions. Their clothes were soaked. Their faces pale.

  Fear wrapped around Newton’s spine.

  “Oh my God,” he whispered hoarsely. “I didn’t die.”

  His voice cracked.

  He coughed again, forcing more water out of his lungs.

  His heart pounded harder.

  He pushed himself to his feet, though his legs shook beneath him. His eyes moved frantically from body to body.

  “Where are my friends?” he said.

  He stumbled forward.

  His vision blurred from panic.

  Then he saw him.

  Samuel.

  Newton rushed to him and dropped to his knees.

  “Samuel!”

  He grabbed Samuel’s shoulder and shook him.

  Nothing.

  Newton pressed his trembling fingers against Samuel’s neck.

  There.

  A pulse.

  Weak.

  But there.

  Relief hit him so hard it almost broke him.

  “Samuel,” he whispered.

  He placed both hands on Samuel’s chest and pushed.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Three times.

  “Come on!”

  He hit his chest again.

  Samuel’s body jerked.

  Then he gasped violently, sucking in air like a man reborn.

  He rolled to his side, coughing water onto the sand.

  “Am I dead?” Samuel croaked.

  Newton let out a broken laugh.

  “No,” he said, his voice shaking. “You’re alive.”

  Around them, more movement began.

  More coughing.

  More gasping.

  More cries.

  Students were waking.

  The dead were not dead.

  Stella suddenly sat upright with a sharp inhale.

  Her eyes darted wildly.

  She grabbed her throat.

  Then she saw Newton and Samuel.

  “We are alive!” she shouted.

  She crawled toward them.

  Newton grabbed her.

  Samuel grabbed her.

  The three of them held each other tightly, their bodies shaking.

  None of them understood how.

  None of them cared.

  They were alive.

  Then:

  “Where are we?”

  The voice cut through the moment.

  Everyone froze.

  Slowly, they looked around.

  Really looked.

  Endless sand stretched in every direction.

  No ship.

  No ocean.

  No wreckage.

  No water.

  Just desert.

  An empty, silent desert.

  Heat shimmered in the distance.

  The sun hung above them like an executioner.

  Fear crept in.

  Cold and sharp.

  “Where is this place?” Brian cried.

  He stumbled to his feet, turning in circles.

  “I need to call my father. Anybody with a phone?”

  Hope flickered.

  Students began checking themselves.

  Pockets.

  Waists.

  Shoes.

  Nothing.

  No phones.

  No watches.

  No devices.

  Nothing.

  Panic spread instantly.

  “We are stuck in a desert!” Theo shouted, his voice breaking. “With no elders among us! How are we going to get home?”

  His words hung in the air.

  Heavy.

  Terrifying.

  Some students began crying.

  Some screamed.

  Some stood frozen, unable to process reality.

  Newton’s breathing became uneven.

  This wasn’t possible.

  They sank in the ocean.

  They drowned.

  They should be dead.

  So how did they arrived here?

  “System Activated.”

  The voice appeared inside his head.

  Newton froze.

  His heart stopped.

  A bright screen appeared in front of him.

  Floating in the air.

  Transparent.

  Impossible.

  NAME: NEWTON HILLS

  HUMANITY: 99

  TOLERANCE: 20

  SPEED: 10

  NINJA SKILL: 0

  Newton’s mouth fell open.

  His hands trembled.

  He couldn’t breathe.

  Was he dreaming?

  Was he dying?

  Was he losing his mind?

  Then Stella screamed.

  “Am I running mad,” she cried, her voice filled with terror, “or you all can hear and see what I am hearing and seeing?”