The memory crashes back like a tidal wave—cramped space, dim flickering lights, and the slow realization that their situation was getting worse by the second. Jack had stood at the tiny sink, splashing water on his face, oblivious to the fact that their fresh water supply was nearly gone. Rose had pounded on the door, already irritated, only to step inside and be hit with a stench so awful, so unforgivable, that murder had briefly crossed her mind.

Jack chuckles at the thought. “You were so close to throwing me out of that sub.”

Rose crosses her arms, shaking her head. “Jack, I still haven’t forgiven you.”



The memory is as vivid as ever—the horror on Rose’s face, the way Jack had tried (and failed) to play innocent, and the awful realization that they were stuck in that smell with nowhere to escape. It had been the closest Rose ever came to committing a crime in deep-sea isolation. Jack had laughed at first, but when she lunged for him, he knew she meant it.

Jack smirks, shaking his head. “Come on, it wasn’t that bad.”

Rose shoots him a glare. “Jack, I would’ve rather drowned.”

Jack opens his mouth to argue but stops. A new memory flashes in his mind—one even worse. He glances at Rose, eyes wide.