The Purchase!
The Aurora Bell
The storm rolled into Clearwater Bay without warning, black clouds marching like an army across the horizon. By dusk, the waves battered the old pier where the Aurora Bell strained against its ropes, the rusted cruise ship groaning like a wounded beast.
On Deck 5, Harper Lane clutched a lantern and stared at the message someone had scratched into the steel of Hold 7 the night before: WE ARE COMING.
It wasn’t graffiti. It was a warning. And Harper knew exactly what they were after—the hidden vault deep in the ship’s belly, packed with priceless art and relics powerful people wanted erased forever.
Victor Hale had told her the truth: the Aurora Bell wasn’t just an abandoned liner. It was a floating grave of stolen history. And those determined to keep its secrets would kill to protect them.
That night, Harper refused to leave. She barricaded doors, chained stairwells, and hid the captain’s journal beneath a loose floorboard. She told herself she only needed until dawn. But when the low growl of a motorboat cut through the storm, her blood went cold.
Three men climbed aboard—silent, efficient, armed. Mercenaries.
Harper grabbed a fire axe just as a whisper froze her in place.
“Harper.”
Victor stepped from the shadows, rain dripping from his jacket.
“They’re not with me,” he said quickly. “I’m here to keep you alive. You can’t fight them alone.”
The mercenaries spread through the ship, flashlights slicing the dark. Harper and Victor slipped through shadowed corridors.
“They’re after Hold 7,” he warned.
“Then we stop them,” Harper replied.
“No,” Victor said. “We sink the Aurora Bell. Take the treasure down with it.”
Seventy-five million dollars—gone. Harper thought of her mother’s medical bills, of the life this fortune could save. But she also heard the threat etched in steel: WE ARE COMING.
By the time they reached the lower decks, the mercenaries had already breached the vault. Crates of stolen masterpieces glittered in the beam of their flashlights. Harper’s heart ached, but she understood—some riches only invite ruin.
Her decision came fast. She sprinted to the engine room, pulling levers and releasing valves she had memorized during her nights of exploration. Metal screamed as seawater roared into the ship.
Gunfire echoed. Victor fought to hold the men back as the water climbed past their knees.
“Go!” he shouted.
They fled upward as the Aurora Bell shuddered violently. Furniture skidded across decks, chandeliers crashed, and the ship tilted toward its grave.
Rain slashed Harper’s face as she and Victor cut the ropes of the last lifeboat. Lightning flashed across the ballroom windows, revealing what looked like shadowy passengers watching silently from another age. Then the Aurora Bell groaned, split, and vanished beneath the storm.
By dawn, the sea was calm again. Exhausted and soaked, Harper collapsed on the shore. Victor sat beside her, bleeding but alive.
“It had to be done,” he said quietly. “Some things aren’t meant to be found.”
Weeks later, Harper returned to her garage job, grease on her hands and bills still stacking on the counter. Life hadn’t magically changed—but she had. She no longer dreamed of salvation through treasure. She had faced greed and walked away.
Sometimes at night, she imagined the Aurora Bell resting on the ocean floor, its secrets finally at peace. And though part of her still mourned what was lost, another part whispered the truth she’d earned in blood and saltwater:
Not every ship is meant to be saved. Some are meant to be left behind.
