Unseen Currents
The trouble with water isn’t that it hides what’s beneath the surface—it’s that it shows you everything. You can see straight down to the bottom: every turtle, every manatee, every prehistoric alligator drifting through the depths. Ghost Glass Springs didn’t let you look away.
After checking in, we had a few hours before dinner. Raven suggested we explore the grounds—establish ourselves as normal tourists while we surveilled the property. The February air carried just enough chill that I kept my jacket on, but the Florida sun still warmed my face as we followed a winding trail along the spring’s edge.
“It’s peaceful here,” Raven said. Not a wasted observation—he was calibrating, just as I was. Establishing a baseline before chaos erupted.
I nodded, eyes on the clear water. It showed too much for comfort. Sunlight flickered across the surface through the overhanging cypress trees, their gray-brown trunks rising from the shallows like ancient sentinels. Spanish moss trailed from the branches, swaying with the breeze.
We followed the path until we reached the first warning sign: NO DIVING. Bold red letters on weathered wood. Hard to miss. Beneath it, smaller print spelled out the penalties for unauthorized entry. The tone wasn’t bureaucratic. It felt urgent, almost desperate.
“They’re serious about keeping people out of the caves,” I said.
“With good reason.” Raven pointed toward an informational plaque nearby. It detailed the underwater cave system—over fifty miles of mapped passages, some reaching depths of 300 feet. “Experienced cave divers have died here.”
I started to reply, but something pulled my attention. A black feather drifted on the water’s surface, circling in a slow-turning eddy near the bank. Every hair on my forearms stood up.
“Raven.” My voice sounded tight, even to me.
A feather. Just like the one Rune had left for me in Savannah.
A calling card.
He followed my gaze, then looked up, his face relaxed again. “Cypress,” he said, pointing toward the branches overhead where several crows perched, watching us with gleaming eyes. Another black feather rested in the grass just a few feet away.
I let out a slow breath, annoyed at myself for the jolt of adrenaline. The last time I’d seen a crow feather, it had been deliberately planted to mess with my head. This time, coincidence. Probably. Maybe. God, I hoped so.
“Maybe I’m too tightly wound,” I admitted.
“You’re vigilant,” Raven corrected, calm as ever. “Different thing entirely.”
We followed the path to a small dock where a tour boat was loading. A sign read: GHOST GLASS SPRINGS WILDLIFE TOUR – 1 HOUR. Several families were already on board, cameras in hand.
Raven didn’t hesitate. “Good cover. Better reconnaissance.”
We paid for tickets and climbed aboard, taking seats near the rear where we could observe without being conspicuous. One man stood out—mid-thirties, sandy hair, hiking boots too clean for the terrain. He boarded just ahead of us and took a seat near the back, eyes alert despite the casual clothes.
My spidey senses flared for a split second. We weren’t the only ones who didn’t want to be conspicuous.
The tour took us through the wide spring basin and into the narrower upper channel—manatees gliding like giant gray potatoes beneath the surface, alligators drifting near the edge of the waterweed, and dozens of bird species that made the other tourists murmur in delight.
But I’d angled myself sideways on purpose, more interested in the sandy-haired man than the wildlife. When Captain Mike pointed out the main cave system—over 185 feet deep, with miles of underwater passages—the man’s questions turned sharp.
I leaned forward slightly, peering over Raven into the depths. The water was unsettlingly clear—maybe thirty or forty feet of visibility before the blue-green gave way to black. Just enough clarity to catalog every potential danger below when what you really wanted was the merciful obscurity of murky water.
“Is that where people dive?” a voice asked from behind us.
I turned slightly, just enough to glimpse him without being obvious. Late thirties, close-cropped sandy hair, and a military bearing he probably couldn’t shake if he tried. His expression was focused. Intent. And his eyebrows looked like fuzzy caterpillars camping out above his eyes.
“Not without serious credentials and permits,” Captain Mike replied. His tone shifted, the tour-guide cheerfulness giving way to something firmer. “These caves are dangerous. More than a dozen certified divers have died in similar systems around here. The state keeps access tightly controlled.”
“But if someone has certification from elsewhere?” the man pressed. “I’ve done cave dives in Mexico—Cenotes and such.”
His questions weren’t a tourist’s. They were rehearsed, the careful kind someone had coached into him—and the coach hadn’t been honest about what he was walking into.
“This isn’t recreational territory, sir. You’d need specialized cave diving certification, mixed gas training, and written permission from the state. This is a protected natural area.”
He glanced toward the shoreline, then back to the man. “There’s a conservation dive team here tomorrow morning, actually. They do regular monitoring of the system—scientific stuff. If you’re genuinely interested, you might catch them before they head out. But I wouldn’t count on them taking you along.”
The man nodded, absorbing the information with quiet confidence. Not discouraged. Calculating. That steady focus had a military flavor, calm and practiced.
He didn’t notice me, fortunately. I was busy pretending to be amazed by a pair of turtles sunning on a log behind him.
I caught Raven’s eye and tilted my head slightly toward the man as I stretched my neck and shoulders. He gave the smallest nod. He’d noticed, too.
The boat completed its loop and eased back to the dock. As we disembarked, I kept a quiet focus on the sandy-haired man. He lingered near the rear, letting the others off first. I couldn’t read his thoughts, but emotions leaked out whether people wanted them to or not, especially to someone like me.
“That guy,” I murmured once we were a safe distance away. “Something’s off about him.”
“One tourist asking about cave diving doesn’t put him in Rune’s network,” Raven said, always the voice of reason.
“I know,” I admitted. “Logically, I know that.”
“But?”
“But he’s carrying something heavy. Emotionally, I mean.” I searched for the right shape to what I’d sensed. “Not just curiosity. Pressure. Like someone gave him a mission he can’t afford to screw up.”
Raven gave a slow nod. “Worth watching.”
We kept exploring, following trails through the surrounding woods for the next few hours. The February sun slid lower in the sky as we walked, shifting from overhead to a slant that cast long shadows through the pine trees. The cooler weather had its advantages—fewer reptiles, fewer insects. I’d been to enough Florida parks in summer to appreciate the difference.
“At least we don’t have to watch for cottonmouths,” I said as we stepped into a particularly shady stretch. “I’d rather face Rune’s whole network than step on one of those.”
“Bold statement.” His mouth twitched, almost a smile. “But I don’t disagree.”
We stuck to the beaten paths, our boots crushing dead leaves and fallen pine needles. The woods were quiet, except for the occasional bird call and the distant rush of water. But beneath the stillness, a low thrum of unease began to rise in me.
By late afternoon, with shadows stretching long across the trails, it had become impossible to ignore.
“Something doesn’t feel right,” I said, pausing where the path forked.
Raven stopped beside me. “The mission?”
“All of it. The air feels… charged.” I pressed a hand to my sternum, where the feeling gathered. “Like something’s already happening—and we just can’t see it yet.”
I focused, trying to untangle the mess. My own anxiety about the mission. My hyperawareness of Raven—the way I kept noticing how effortlessly he moved through the world, how steady his presence felt. All the things I’d sworn not to think about after Charlie’s betrayal reminded me why workplace romance was a terrible idea. The usual undercurrent of worry simmered beneath it all.
But beneath that was something else. A spike of focused anxiety that didn’t belong to me.
Someone else’s fear.
It wasn’t fear of getting caught. It went deeper than that. The kind of fear that comes from stepping into something truly dangerous. The kind that knows failure could be permanent.
And it was tied to the book we were guarding. Same energy signature I’d been tracking all day—the one I’d learned to recognize during surveillance. Pulling tight around the edges of our mission.
Shit.
“She’s not here,” I said quietly, “but her influence is. Rune.”
The sun had begun its descent, painting the sky in watercolor shades of orange and violet. Shadows lengthened across the path, and with them, my anxiety spiked.
“We should head back,” I said, already turning.
With each step toward the inn, the tension rose. Not physical movement—something energetic. A surge of intent, sour and close, like a stranger breathing on the back of my neck.
And then I knew. It all fit together at once. Dru had called this a hot mission from the start, and now I knew why.
The danger wasn’t coming. It was already here.
“The book,” I gasped, and then I was hauling ass back to the inn.
I didn’t wait for Raven, didn’t explain. Just tore through the woods, branches lashing at my face, leaves crunching beneath my boots. Behind me, I heard him call my name, but I couldn’t slow down.
Not when I was this sure. My gift didn’t do maybes at that volume.
I burst from the tree line onto the manicured lawn of the inn, startling a couple taking sunset photos. I hit the steps two at a time, shoved through the heavy front doors, and sprinted across the lobby toward the reading room.
A grandfather and his middle-school grandson looked up from their checkers game as I flew past. Somewhere behind me, a travel vlogger froze mid-livestream to stare.
By the time I reached the reading room, I was breathing hard, my pulse loud enough to drown out Raven calling for me to slow down.
But I knew before I even looked.
The shelf where we’d seen the fake Liber Umbrae Nominium stood empty.
The book was gone.
Fuck.
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