The Abyss Surrounds Us (The Abyss Surrounds Us #1)(3)

Tomorrow, my life begins.





2


When it comes time to say goodbye, I hug my brother first.

Tom tugs the end of my ponytail, and I thump him on the back in return. “If you never come back, I get your room, right?” he asks when he lets me go.

“If I never come back, you get my morning shift,” I tell him. He flashes me an impish grin and tries to ruffle my hair. Tom’s two years younger than me, but he’s six inches taller and he never lets me forget it.

The dock around us is choked with tourists, some waving to people already on the Nereid, others fiddling with their luggage. They’re decked out in the season’s brightest colors, all of them determined to make the last month of summer count. Apparently two weeks on a boat is the best way to do that.

I turn to Mom and Dad, who sweep me into a hug before I can get a word in. “Be safe out there,” Mom mutters in my ear.

“Of course I’ll be safe,” I tell them. “I have Durga.”

She releases me, but Dad holds on tighter. Over his shoulder, I watch Mom shepherd Tom back toward the parking lot, and the anticipation pooled in my stomach swells.

Dad takes a step back, one hand still on my shoulder, and reaches into his pocket. He draws out a little blue capsule, and I feel every molecule in my body screaming at me to run. Dad must catch the panic in my eyes—he squeezes my shoulder and holds out the capsule. “Cas, it’s fine. It’s going to be fine. This is just in case.”

Just in case. Just in case the worst happens. The ship falls. Durga fails, I fail, and the knowledge I carry as a Reckoner trainer must be disposed of. That information can’t fall into the wrong hands, into the hands of people who will do anything to take down our beasts.

So this little capsule holds the pill that will kill me if it comes to that.

“It’s waterproof,” Dad continues, pressing it into my hand. “The pocket on the collar of your wetsuit—keep it there. It has to stay with you at all times.”

It won’t happen on this voyage. It’s such a basic mission, gift-wrapped to be easy enough for me to handle on my own. But even holding the pill fills me with revulsion. On all of my training voyages, I’ve never had to carry one of these capsules. That burden only goes to the full-time trainers.

“Cas.” Dad tilts my chin up, ripping my gaze from the pill. “You were born to do this. I promise you, you’ll forget you even have it.” I suppose he ought to know—he’s been carrying one for two decades.

It’s just a rite of passage, I tell myself, and throw my arms around his neck once more.



I board the Nereid with a suitcase full of trainer gear trundling behind me, a travel bag slung over my shoulder, and a growing sense of optimism as I spot Durga’s shadow lurking beneath the ship. A trail of bubbles against the hull marks where she rests her snout against the metal, her body pressed up against the keel.

I don’t think it’s possible to love someone as much as a Reckoner loves her companion ship.

Once I reach the main deck, I lean against the rail and watch my family make their way back down the dock. As I look on, Tom turns, shielding his eyes against the afternoon sun as he tries to spot me. I wave my hand once, then tip him a little salute. Tom salutes back, and I can feel the jealousy radiating off him from here. Like me, he’s been waiting his whole life for the day he gets to do this on his own.

A firm hand taps my shoulder, and I turn to find a mountain of a man towering over me. He’s dressed in a smart uniform, but his gut tugs at the waist in a way the jacket clearly wasn’t tailored to handle.

“Miss Leung,” he says, extending a hand as large as my head. “Welcome aboard the Nereid. We’re very pleased to have you. I’m Captain Carriel.”

I take his hand and give it the firmest shake that I can manage. “Glad to be of service, sir.” I’m not sure if you’re supposed to call the captain of a cruise ship “sir,” but I figure it can’t hurt since the guy’s paying my salary.

“I have a key for your bunk.” He hands me a card on a lanyard, which I loop around my neck as I gather all my gear back up. “I’m guessing you’ve got it all handled from here though, huh?”

I can’t figure out if he’s joking or if he actually has this much trust in me. It’s difficult to tell when you’ve never seen a person do anything but smile.

The Nereid thrums to life as I drag my gear down to

the lower decks and find my assigned bunk. It’s cramped, and the dull rumble from the ship’s engines is constant down here, but there’s a tiny window in my room that looks out on the sea. As we undock and turn for the open waters of the Neo

Pacific, Durga swims at our side. She lifts from the waves, water sloughing off her back, her forelegs carving through the sea as she keeps the Nereid ’s pace. She seems much more cheerful now that she’s reunited with her companion vessel, and as I unpack, I feel even more of the worry lift off my shoulders.

Once my phone connects to the ship’s uplink, I post a quick status update to put my parents at ease. Then I gather my gear and make my way through the narrow service hallways to the trainer deck at the ship’s aft. Up above, I can hear the thunder of feet, the shouts and shrieks of the passengers celebrating the start of their vacation. For me, the work is just beginning.