His phone went off at 3:30.

He showered and went to the coffee shop next door, ordering a cup of coffee and a bagel with egg and bacon. He asked the woman how come they were open so early, and she said, “It’s a port, boats always want to leave at dawn. Don’t ask me why.”

“Probably they leave in the dark so they won’t be as terrified.”

She smiled. “I don’t understand why anyone should go out there.”

“Me neither, but I’m headed out.”

“Keep yourself safe,” she said, as if she really cared. That was comforting, it was good to hear someone tell him to be safe, like wishes might manifest as true.

He stared down Pier Avenue at the harbor. It was dark except for the occasional lamp spreading a round glow on the docks and roofs and glistening water. Circles of light. Pools of gentle sparkling light. It looked peaceful, not menacing. Simply a black landscape, not even water at all. What would it be—volcanic rock, a black sand beach? Trouble was he could hear the water lapping, the ting-ting of metal and ropes banging and rocking.

Beckett was not fooled—things rock on the water.

He stood for a long time. You’ve got this, this is nothing. The water is always there, always will be there.

But it wasn’t a pep talk that propelled him to the docks, it was a necessity: Anna, you have to go find Anna. She needs you. You need her, you just have to go.

In front of the Port Authority he stood on a small pile of sandbags while he checked the dock map. He needed to go to the right, down three floating docks, then take a left on Dock C and walk out about a—a long, long way out over the water.

He stepped onto the first of the docks. It swayed a bit under his foot. He held onto the railing and took another step and another.

Ten steps in and he passed another person. “Hello, how are you.” He hoped his voice sounded calm and normal despite his full sweat and desperate grip on the railing. His gait lurched—step, step, let go of the railing, grab ahead, step, step, lunge. He came to Dock C and the railing ended abruptly.

What the hell were people supposed to hold as they walked perilously out to sea? And not just out over depths, houses were down there, eery looming detritus, people’s belongings, and...and dead things just below the surface. It was like the water was haunted.

Beckett closed his eyes. He took two steps, opened his eyes, oriented himself, and took two more slow steps. Opening and closing his eyes and adjusting he slowly made his way down the dock. He could do it if he couldn’t see where he was going.

He finally stepped onto the closest dock of the H2OPE, a big research vessel. Between the dock and the boat was a large square rooftop about twelve inches down under the water. Upward-directing lights illuminated the edges. It glowed. He stood for a second trying to decide how to get from the dock to the boat.

From the ship, through the darkness, someone called, “Beckett Stanford?”

Beckett considered turning back for shore, but decided he didn’t want to see how far away the shore was. He called back, “Yes, um, how do I get across?”

“Walk—wait I’ll send someone.”

Beckett stared down at a lamp, glowing pink under the surface of the water, like a face, skin—He closed his eyes until he heard a splash ahead. A young woman was wading across the expanse of the submerged roof. She walked purposefully, courageously, and spoke with an upbeat familiar, “Hey Beckett! Leap out and down. Don’t drop—go out, if you go down into the space, you’ll tweak your ankle something fierce or worse.”

Beckett stepped to the left, proffered a foot, thought twice about it, and stepped to the right, put his other foot out, then withdrew his leg and crouched to spring. Then rethought his position.

The young woman cocked her head to watch.

Beckett backed up two steps, ran and leaped, landing a full two feet past where he needed to go.

She said, “That’s exceptionally enthusiastic of you. Captain Aria didn’t tell me you were army.” She said it like an accusation.

“Oh,” Beckett said, following behind her as they waded through the calf-deep water.

The boat was big and low, white and black. There was a painted sign on the side, a heart in a blue circle.

The young woman grabbed the bottom rung of the ladder and hoisted a leg, her ponytail swinging. “My name is Rebecca, head of research. I hate to say it, since you seem so incompetent, but you’ll be answering to me.” She hoisted herself onto the deck of the ship.

There was nothing left for Beckett to do but climb.