The darkness inside the wreck was different than outside. Thicker. Vivid.
Petr turned on his headlamp, but the light seemed to be refracted—as if the darkness was swallowing him before he could hit the walls. Still, he could see enough.
The cabin was well-preserved. Too well-preserved. A table, two chairs, a map taped to the wall—everything in its place, without a deposit of mud, without seaweed, without years of decay.
And in the middle of the table — a glowing ball.
Not a lamp. Not a flashlight. A sphere—transparent, as big as a fist, with light pulsating inside like a heartbeat.
Peter reached out his hand to her.
Don’t touch it.
A voice. Clear. Inside his own head.
He turned around instinctively—there was no one behind him. Only the closed door he had entered through. He tried to open it.
She didn’t go.
He slowly turned back to the table. The sphere was still pulsing. And now—now Peter saw something else in it.
Face.
His own face. But from a different angle. As if someone standing behind him was looking at him.
Peter turned around a second time.
This time someone was behind him.
A tall figure, moist, translucent—and yet with eyes that looked directly at him with an expression that was not hostile.
It was an expression of… relief .
It was as if the figure had been waiting for a hundred years. And finally — finally — someone came.
The figure opened its mouth.
Next: What she told her — and why Petr refused to say a single word to Martin about what he saw after returning to the surface.