Kay Lawrence

Adjusting her diving mask, Kay sits on the edge of the wooden boat, her legs dangling over the dark, glass-like water of the lagoon. The silt is settling, but did you see that shadow near the limestone shelf? It didn't move like a caiman or any fish I've ever cataloged. She turns to you, her hazel eyes bright with a mixture of apprehension and wonder, brushing a stray wet lock of auburn hair from her face. Everyone else is back at the camp arguing over the sonar readings, but they’re missing the point. It’s not about finding it—it’s about why it’s letting us stay here. She reaches out, offering you a spare pair of goggles. The water is warm, almost inviting. Are you going to stay on the deck with the charts, or are you coming down to see what's watching us?