Chapter 2 — The Proposal

Ryan

The knock at Ryan’s door broke through the low hum of the industrial rigs on the horizon, a sound he had spent the better part of the morning trying to ignore. It came again—firm, persistent, but not aggressive—cutting through the stillness of his small house. Ryan sat in the corner of his modest living room, his fingers skimming the cracked glass of the compass on the mantel. He stilled, tilting his head slightly, listening.

No retreating footsteps. Whoever it was, they weren’t leaving. Ryan sighed, setting the compass down gently, as if the visitor might hear the reluctance in the movement. Pushing himself up from the worn armchair, his boots scraped softly against the wooden floor as he moved toward the door, each step measured and deliberate. Seven steps. He gripped the cool metal of the doorknob and paused, his thumb brushing over its smooth surface. There was a faint shift outside—gravel crunching underfoot. A woman.

With a resigned sigh, Ryan opened the door.

“You’re Ryan Carter, right?”

The voice was female, sharp yet controlled, with a thread of urgency she was trying to mask. It had the kind of authority that didn’t wait for permission but wasn’t unkind. Ryan tilted his head slightly, noting the faint rustle of fabric as she shifted her weight. Confident, maybe even impatient. He leaned casually against the doorframe, his tone neutral.

“I might be. Depends on who’s asking.”

“Alex Morales,” she replied smoothly, her name carrying the same deliberate cadence he remembered from the town meeting. “I’m with the Ocean Research Station. We need to talk.”

Ryan didn’t respond right away, letting the silence hang. People revealed more in their impatience than in their words. He heard Alex exhale softly, the gravel under her boots crunching again as she adjusted her stance.

“Mark already spoke to you,” she continued, her tone shifting slightly, softer but no less firm. “I’m guessing you told him you weren’t interested.”

“You’d guess right.”

“Well, I’m here to change your mind.”

Ryan stiffened, though he kept his posture relaxed. Folding his arms across his chest, he straightened slightly. “Whatever he told you, he’s wasting your time. I’m not—”

“Not what?” Alex interrupted, stepping closer. “Not capable? Not interested? Or just not willing to care?”

The words pierced through him with precision. Ryan’s grip on the doorframe tightened, the rough wood pressing into his palm. He didn’t need to see her to feel the intensity of her gaze—it pressed against him like a weight.

“Look,” Alex said, her voice steady but threaded with something raw, something vulnerable she was trying to bury beneath her conviction. “I get it. You’ve been through hell. Mark told me enough to know you’ve got every reason to turn your back on the ocean. But here’s the thing—it hasn’t turned its back on you.”

Ryan inhaled sharply. Her words hit harder than he’d anticipated, stirring something he’d tried to bury long ago. He opened his mouth, ready to dismiss her, but Alex pressed on, her tone gaining momentum.

“The Abyssal Archway isn’t just a cave system. It’s a living, breathing ecosystem, and it’s dying. The rigs, the pollution, the seismic activity—it’s all connected. And if we don’t act now, the damage will be irreversible. The coastline, the reefs, the marine life—it’ll all be gone.”

Her words painted unwanted images in his mind: luminous waters dimmed to lifeless gray, vibrant ecosystems choked by toxins. He didn’t want to see it, didn’t want to care—but the images refused to leave.

“And it’s not just the ocean.” Alex’s voice softened, but her urgency remained. “It’s the people who call this place home, the communities who rely on it to survive. What happens to them when the water’s poisoned, when the fish are gone? We lose more than just the caves. We lose everything tied to them.”

“What does any of this have to do with me?” Ryan asked quietly, his voice low, almost resigned.

“Because you’re the only one who can help us,” Alex said, stepping closer again. The faint scent of salt and wildflowers clung to her, carried by the same wind that ruffled Ryan’s hair. “Mark told me what you can do—your instincts, your knowledge of the ocean. No one else has that, Ryan. And frankly, we don’t have time to find someone else.”

Ryan turned away, gripping the doorframe harder than he meant to. “You don’t understand. I’m not… I’m not the person you’re looking for. Not anymore.”

“Bullshit.”

The word landed with a sharp finality, cutting through the space between them. Ryan froze, startled by the force of her conviction.

“You don’t get to decide that,” Alex said, her voice unwavering but not cruel. “You think you’re broken, that you don’t have anything to offer anymore. But I’ve seen people like you—people who’ve been knocked down so hard they think they can’t get back up. And you know what? They’re wrong. Just like you are.”

Her tone faltered, just for a second, as if the weight of her own words had brushed too close to home. Ryan turned back toward her, narrowing his pale blue eyes. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Maybe not,” Alex admitted, her voice softening. “But I know enough to see that you still care. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be standing here, listening to me.”

Ryan hated how right she sounded. He hated how closely she was cutting to the truth he’d fought so hard to bury. He could feel the cracks in the walls he’d built around himself, cracks her words were widening with every syllable.

“You don’t have to decide now,” Alex said, the edge in her tone tempered by something gentler. “Just… come to the station. Meet the team. See what we’re working on. If you still think you can’t help, fine. But at least let yourself see what’s at stake.”

Before he could respond, Alex added, her voice quieter now, “I know what it’s like to feel like you’ve failed. To think the damage is too big to fix. But if you turn away—if we all turn away—what’s left? If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for the ocean you used to know.”

She stepped back, the gravel crunching under her boots. The wind shifted, carrying the faint hum of the rigs to Ryan’s ears again—a low, insidious reminder of everything he wanted to ignore. He hesitated, his thoughts churning like the restless waves below Seaward Bluff.

“Fine,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good,” Alex replied, her tone steady once more. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Her footsteps faded down the gravel path, leaving Ryan alone with the quiet hum of the rigs and the distant crash of waves. He closed the door slowly, leaning against it as the silence settled around him once more. Running a hand through his hair, his fingers brushed against the salt that still clung to it, the faint reminder of the ocean’s pull.

He stayed there for a long moment, the weight of Alex’s words pressing against him. The compass on the mantel called to him in its own way, its cracked glass catching the faint light seeping through the curtains. He reached for it again, his fingers tracing its engraved details as if searching for answers.

The ocean’s voice was louder now, resonating in the hum of the rigs and the rhythm of the waves. Memories of bioluminescent waters and dives through glowing caves surfaced unbidden, mingling with Alex’s quiet plea.

For the first time in years, Ryan wasn’t sure if he could ignore it any longer.