They found her journals waterlogged, pages salt-stained and illegible — save for the sketches: spirals of coral, spines of sea creatures, notes in the margins written in a language no one could place.
She wore her findings as offerings. Gold and silver links like chain-spun tidepools, and at the centre, a single bead of coral — deep red, like something still alive. She claimed it was reclaimed, not harvested. She claimed the reef gave it freely, in exchange for silence.
When she vanished off the coast, there were no distress calls. Only the steady pulse of sonar, and a humming in the deep.
Some say she went looking for the mother-reef — the one that sings, the one that remembers — and that what she wore was not decoration, but pact.
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