The ship screamed. Metal twisted against metal. Rivets popped free, pinging off the walls while the hull ground steel against steel deep below.

  Frankie gripped the iron pipe until her knuckles turned white. Cold sweat slicked her palms, making the metal slippery. Ten feet away, the Captain stood watching them. He looked solid, but the light bent around him. Waterlogged uniform dripping, he stared with hollow eyes. Each drop of water falling from his coat hit the deck with a wet plop that Frankie could hear even over the ship’s screams.

  “Move,” she said.

  Ted and Dee Dee hauled Damon toward the passage leading below decks. His feet scraped the metal, head lolling, amber eyes half-lidded. He was still gone, lips moving around soundless words.

  The Captain raised a hand. Deliberate. Slow.

  Frankie smelled the ozone a split second before the overhead lights blew out. Darkness swallowed the bridge, broken only when the red emergency strips stuttered to life. The corridor bathed in a blood-colored haze. The shadows stretched instantly, wrong and reaching.

  “Go!” Frankie shouted. She shoved Ted forward.

  They ran.

  The corridor ahead buckled as if the ship were inhaling. Pipes overhead burst with a high-pitched shriek.

  Steam blasted across the passage.

  Frankie threw an arm up. Dove through the white heat.

  Skin blistered. Healed. Blistered again.

  Dee Dee screamed and dove sideways into an alcove, pulling Ted and Damon down with her. The steam cleared.

  The Captain stood in the doorway they had just passed. He hadn’t walked. He hadn’t rushed. He was simply there.

  “He’s herding us,” Dee Dee said. She wiped blood from the cut on her forehead. “He’s closing off the exits.”

  “I noticed,” Ted said. He hoisted Damon’s weight back onto his shoulder.

  They moved again. Faster now. Frankie’s boots pounded the deck. Sharp, shallow bursts of breath.

  The passage split ahead. Left toward the cargo hold. Right toward engineering.

  Camella’s translucent form flickered at the junction. Her expression desperate.

  “There! The stairs—”

  BOOM.

  A fire door slammed down from the ceiling. Three tons of steel sealed the left path. The impact sent vibrations up Frankie’s legs. She spun around.

  The door blocked the cargo hold route.

  “He wants us in engineering,” Frankie said. “Don’t let him steer us.”

  She pounded the metal. Solid. “Get to the service hatch! I’ll circle back!”

  Another door dropped behind the group. Then another behind Frankie. The sound slammed through the hull. Thunder.

  Silence followed. No, not silence. The ship was alive. Walls shifted. Floors tilted.

  Frankie ran. The corridor twisted right, forcing her deeper into the ship’s gut. Emergency lights sparked and died. Strobing darkness.

  Camella kept pace. Flickering.

  “He commands every door,” the ghost girl said. Her voice thinned. “You can’t fight the ship.”

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  A section of the wall to Frankie’s right peeled inward. Bolts sheared free. Frankie threw herself sideways. Her shoulder cracked against the deck as the wall collapsed exactly where she stood seconds before. A mangled mass of rusted steel chewed up the floor.

  She scrambled up. Hissing. Her fangs descended.

  She closed her eyes.

  The smell of rust sharpened. Metallic and old.

  She heard it. Ted’s heartbeat, a frantic drum against his ribs. The wet, ragged sound of Damon’s breathing.

  Two decks down.

  The Captain stood at the end of the corridor. Mist curled around his boots. His face showed no anger. Only duty.

  He didn’t speak. He just watched.

  Frankie snarled.

  She charged. She moved faster than a human could track. A blur. She swung the iron pipe at his head.

  It passed through his torso. Smoke. Memory.

  The momentum carried her forward. She stumbled. The pipe clattered against the wall.

  The Captain raised his hands.

  The corridor imploded.

  The ceiling buckled inward. A massive generator—ancient, rusted—tore free from its housing above. Frankie heard the rivets pop.

  She dove. Rolled hard over jagged debris.

  The generator crashed down. It crushed the floor plates. Dust and noise shock waved through the hall.

  She didn’t stop. She couldn’t.

  She scrambled over the blockage. Hands found purchase on jagged edges. The way back was sealed.

  She found a service stairwell. Took the steps three at a time. Vaulted the railings. The air grew colder here. Damp. The smell of the ocean choked the narrow passages.

  She burst into the lower corridor. A narrow tunnel of pipes and grating.

  At the far end, movement.

  They were alive. Ted was half-carrying Damon. Dee Dee trailed a few steps behind, favoring her left leg.

  “Dee!” Frankie shouted. She sprinted toward them.

  Dee Dee turned. Relief washed the grime from her face. “Frankie—”

  Frankie saw it.

  Above Dee Dee’s head. A heavy ventilation unit. The bolts holding it to the ceiling were vibrating.

  Snap.

  One bolt sheared. Then another.

  “Move!” Frankie screamed.

  Dee Dee tried to lunge. Her bad leg buckled. She went down hard. Hands slapped the wet grating.

  Frankie reached out. Too far.

  The machinery fell.

  It struck Dee Dee’s leg. A wet crunch.

  The scream tore from Dee Dee’s throat. Raw. Agonizing. She thrashed. Hands scrabbled at the heavy metal pinning her to the deck.

  “Dee!” Ted lunged forward. He dropped Damon to reach for her.

  A boom. Air displaced. The door was just… there.

  A steel blast door slammed down between them.

  CLANG.

  The floor jumped under Frankie’s boots. She skidded to a halt. Slammed her fists against the cold steel.

  She was on the side with Ted and Damon. Dee Dee was alone on the other.

  “Dee Dee!”

  She could hear her friend through the metal. Sobbing. Gasping.

  “Frankie—my leg—I can’t move it—”

  “Hold on! We’re going to get it open!” Frankie turned to Ted. “Help me!”

  The Captain appeared.

  He stood beside the door. Dense. Solid. Cold radiated off him.

  “You are separated,” he said. Flat. Final. “You will not reach the hold.”

  Frankie swung the pipe again.

  It hit the wall behind him. He flickered out of existence. Reappeared a foot to the left.

  Ted kicked the door. Roaring. It rang hollow. Damon slumped against the wall, amber eyes staring at nothing.

  “Open it!” Ted shouted.

  The Captain raised his hand.

  The lights died completely.

  Darkness pressed against Frankie’s eyes. Heavy. Suffocating.

  “Dee!” Frankie screamed. She clawed at the door. Nails scraped sparks against steel. “Dee, keep talking to me!”

  From the other side, the sobbing stopped. Frankie pressed her ear to the cold metal.

  “She is alone now,” the Captain’s voice came from the dark. “And they are coming for her.”

  Then Frankie heard it. Through the thick steel.

  Wails. High. Hungry. The sound of dozens of voices. The lost souls of the Star of India.

  “No,” Frankie said. “No, no, no—”

  She slammed her fists against the door. The metal groaned but held. Her knuckles split.

  “Dee Dee!”

  One last cry came from the other side. Faint.

  “Frankie—”

  Silence.