Read Degrees of Wrong for Free Online

skirmished around in pursuit of them. A small, lone shark regarded us with curiosity, pacing back and forth along the bottom, but keeping his distance. I wondered if we’d interrupted his morning hunt.
    The pod crept deeper and deeper into the vastness following the slant of the sea floor, and as the brilliance of the sun faded, the inside of the vessel grew darker. Fewer and larger fish dominated the scenery now, and the dim light shimmered silver on their bodies. The mud floor seemed bereft of life, with the exception of an occasional crab or bottom-feeding fish.
    In the distance, the outline of something large and unmoving sat on the bottom, and I wondered with a flush of excitement if it was an old shipwreck. I imagined where the mast would have been, and thought I saw the silhouette of centuries’-old cannons. Although it was my imagination running wild, this was a welcome diversion.
    A soft light beneath our benches illuminated the cabin, and the conductor enlisted a spotlight to help him navigate the sea floor. The light wandered to and fro in careful vigilance in front of us.
    I glanced around the cabin, gauging each person’s expression against my own inner turmoil. There were five men and three women, and none of them appeared to be as mortified as me. Of course, none of them had sassed the captain of the ship—or head-butted him, for that matter. And probably none of them had Lt. Horan and his “special treat” waiting for them when they boarded. If I had to guess, I’d estimate a good hundred percent of them had breakfast too. Which explained why they all seemed content to be traveling toward a warship.
    Two men up front conversed too low for me to hear. Two women pointed out to sea, chattering to each other in a language I didn’t understand. I looked past them into the blackness but saw nothing of interest.
    Ebony stared ahead completely engrossed, so I studied her without fear of being noticed. Her straight, almost-white hair was pulled into a ponytail, and her bangs pointed down to her large blue eyes. The dark of the cabin accentuated her pale skin.
    Mid assessment, she turned in my direction, startling and embarrassing me. Eyeballing me like a watchful mother, she seemed to ascertain I’d calmed down—somewhat. “My name is Ebony,” she said.
    It seemed like a moot point to tell her I already knew her name, that it was partly the reason a certain cleft-chinned princess had my father’s laptop. But apparently not everyone present knew her name. The conversation up front stopped short as the tension of eavesdropping saturated the air.
    She shrugged in either oblivion or apathy—I couldn’t tell which. “My mother was mistaken as to the time of conception and had already signed the birth certificate before the cesarean section. She was as surprised as anyone.”
    I heard a few hushed snickers but kept my eyes focused on hers—it was my duty not to laugh, since it was me she’d addressed. Then she laughed. “I thought for sure that’d get a rise out of you. But you’re all somber and serious, like you’ve been kidnapped.”
    I sighed with the irony.
    “Are—are you okay?” she asked. I realized I hadn’t spoken a solitary word since I’d left the dock. Judging by the amount of trouble I was already in, it seemed like a good game plan.
    “Yes,” I answered.
    “You’re nervous, aren’t you?”
    “Yes.”
    “Are you a new recruit?”
    “Yes.”
    Ebony had a gift for asking redundant questions. She’d witnessed my confrontation with Captain Marek firsthand—she could already see that protocol wasn’t my specialty.
    “Do you want me to stop asking you questions?”
    “No.” Yes.
    “What’s your name?”
    “Elyse.” No doubt she knew this already. No doubt all these eavesdroppers knew it. Scrambling for a subject other than me, I took a stab at redundant questions myself. “So, you weren’t kidding then? Ebony is your real name?”
    “Yes it really is.” She laughed.