The water closed over him once more, but this time it felt heavier, the silence pressing harder against his ears. Marcus kicked downward, the knife gripped tight in his hand, bubbles spiraling upward with each deliberate exhale. His eyes never left the dim outline waiting ahead. The shark hadn’t moved. It hovered like a ghost in the water, enormous and unnerving.
Marcus slowed his approach, every nerve in his body urging him to turn back, yet some deeper pull pushed him closer. The knife seemed pitifully small against the mass of muscle and teeth before him. He drifted nearer, the details sharpening with each kick — the coarse rope cutting into pale skin, the harpoon bolt embedded cruelly near the tail.