Instead, she closed her eyes for a split second. She remembered her father, a retired army officer, who taught her that fear was just a chemical. "Breathe," she whispered. "Action is the antidote."

She collapsed on the shore, shivering and bleeding from a small cut on her palm, but she placed the flag at Rohit Shetty’s feet.

"I'll go," whispered Aisha, raising a trembling hand.

In the middle of the bay, a massive, dilapidated Spanish galleon sat half-submerged. Its rotting masts leaned like crooked fingers. From the deck, a single, frayed rope ladder descended into the churning, shark-patrolled water.

Rohan stood up. "She’s not coming back."