The ocean floor was silent, save for the rhythmic, unsettling hum of the USS Nocturne , a modified experimental submarine traversing the deepest trenches of the Atlantic. Commander Elias Thorne checked the sonar again. Nothing. But the atmosphere inside the sub was thick, smelling faintly of ozone and crushed lavender, a scent that defied the sterile, metallic smell of the ship.

Rostova spun around, her eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. "They are beautiful, aren't they, Commander? The ones outside."

"They know we're here, Elias," a voice whispered directly into his mind—a voice that felt warm and terrifyingly inviting. "Join us."