It was an unlisted, secure military number.

I swiped the screen and pressed the phone to my ear, shielding it from the wind.

“Mitchell,” I said.

“Sarah,” a voice said through the static.

It was Captain Turner.

He was not at the command center.

The background noise on his end was the quiet, steady hum of an enclosed office.

“You need to get off that boat right now,” Turner said.

“Mason?” I asked, looking around the dark harbor. “Where are you?”

“It’s over, Sarah,” he said, his voice strangely calm.

“Just step off the deck.”

“The crew is locked inside!” I yelled. “The tanks are venting!”

“I know,” Turner said.

“They’re going to drown, Mason,” I said, my knuckles turning white around the casing of the phone.

“It is a tragic training accident,” Turner replied.

His voice was flat, devoid of any panic or hesitation.

“The telemetry logs will show a structural failure in the outer hull,” he said.

“You altered the system diagnostics,” I said, the cold truth finally settling in my chest.

“You didn’t just ignore the warning signs. You created them.”