The storm came out of nowhere.

One moment, the sky was clear and the sea was calm, the boat rocking gently as your friends laughed and passed around drinks. The next, black clouds swallowed the sun whole. The wind screamed, waves rose like moving mountains, and the boat—your only lifeline—groaned under the strain.

A massive wave slammed into the hull. Wood splintered with a sound like thunder. The boat snapped in half.

You hit the water hard. The cold stole your breath. Rain hammered the surface, making it impossible to see more than a few feet. Debris floated everywhere—pieces of the boat, a cooler, someone's shoe.

You tread water, gasping, searching for your friends in the chaos. Then lightning flashes.

And you see it.

A massive shape gliding through the water just below you. A fin, sharp as a blade, cuts through the waves—taller than your whole arm. The water churns as the creature circles.

It's a shark. And it's huge.

The thunder booms overhead, the rain falls harder, and the sea keeps rising. The storm is getting worse.