Leave a light on the horizon.

The order was to maintain radio silence. We had spent years learning which voices to trust, and the last few hours learning how little that meant.

At dusk, a signal lamp began to blink from the edge of the fog. Human. Uneven. Someone was sending by hand.

No coordinates. No claim to these waters. Just four words, over and over.

“Are you still there?”

Across Northstar’s bridge, nobody spoke. Beyond the glass, something pale moved beneath the black water.

The captain reached for the lamp controls.

“Tell them we’re here.”

For the first time that night, the horizon held more than a threat.