Luma floated just inside the wide green-blue chamber of Seaglass Coral Cove, where ribbons of kelp swayed like curtains and broken coral arches made little doorways in the sand. She was helping Tavi and Mira watch the sleepy sea lantern near the far wall. The sea lantern was usually a soft, steady glow, the kind that made night feel safe. Tonight, it blinked.
Flash. Flash-flash. Pause.
Luma leaned forward. “That is not a bedtime blink,” she said.
Tavi, tucked in his cream-and-coral shell, peeped, “Maybe it is talking.”
Mira’s bright eyes widened behind her kelp-green scarf. “Or counting,” she whispered. “Or warning.”
The next flash came through a curtain of kelp, then vanished behind a coral arch with tiny barnacles that looked like sleepy eyes. Luma swam left, then right, trying to find where the message began. But every time she thought she saw the lantern clearly, the kelp drifted in front of it again.
Flash. Flash. Long pause. Flash.
The pattern did not feel random. It felt like it was aiming somewhere, as if the lantern wanted them to look past the pretty light and follow it.
Luma’s tail gave one small twitch. If this was a real warning, someone in the cove might need help right now. She could stay here and keep studying the blinking from the safe, open chamber — or follow the signal deeper between the kelp rooms and coral arches, where the path kept changing.
What happens next?
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