The Aurora Bell
The storm rolled into Clearwater Bay without warning, black clouds marching like an army across the horizon. By dusk, the waves battered the old pier where the Aurora Bell strained against its ropes, the rusted cruise ship groaning like a wounded beast.
On Deck 5, Harper Lane clutched a lantern and stared at the message someone had scratched into the steel of Hold 7 the night before: WE ARE COMING.
It wasn’t graffiti. It was a warning. And Harper knew exactly what they were after—the hidden vault deep in the ship’s belly, packed with priceless art and relics powerful people wanted erased forever.
Victor Hale had told her the truth: the Aurora Bell wasn’t just an abandoned liner. It was a floating grave of stolen history. And those determined to keep its secrets would kill to protect them.
That night, Harper refused to leave. She barricaded doors, chained stairwells, and hid the captain’s journal beneath a loose floorboard. She told herself she only needed until dawn. But when the low growl of a motorboat cut through the storm, her blood went cold.
Three men climbed aboard—silent, efficient, armed. Mercenaries.
Harper grabbed a fire axe just as a whisper froze her in place.
“Harper.”
Victor stepped from the shadows, rain dripping from his jacket.
“They’re not with me,” he said quickly. “I’m here to keep you alive. You can’t fight them alone.”
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