Hundreds of miles away, the Atlantic breeze whipped across the research docks in Maine, carrying the sharp, briny scent of low tide. Lucia Moretti stood on the outer gantry of the marine institute, steadying her tripod against the rising wind as she adjusted the lens of her digital recording equipment.

Her phone buzzed in her coat pocket. Pulling it out, she saw a photo message from Dante: a snapshot of the newly planted courtyard maple trees at the West Side center, bursting with vibrant green leaves, captioned simply, “Growing right on schedule. Wish you were here.”

Lucia smiled, typing a quick reply before looking back out toward the rolling gray expanse of the ocean. The academic world was vast, rigorous, and entirely divorced from the dark underworld her family had once dominated. Yet, she had never felt disconnected from her roots. The Moretti name, once synonymous with fear, now represented a fellowship of resilience across generations—from her grandmother’s quiet survival to Vincent and Claire’s monumental redemption.

Footsteps echoed sharply on the metal grating behind her. Dr. Harrison walked up, holding a weather report tablet.

“Submersible deployment is green for fourteen hundred hours, Lucia,” the director said. “Are your sensor arrays ready for the trench mapping?”

“Every single probe is calibrated and locked,” Lucia answered, turning with a bright, confident smile. “Let’s go see what the deep ocean has to tell us today.”