At twenty, Adeline Assalas lost her father, famed shark biologist Chris Assalas, during a mission to find the deadly shark, Lilith. Only Adeline, her stepmother Sophia, and another team member survived, but grief tore them apart.
Three years later...
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"WAS THIS an unusual case?" The reporter's voice pulls Adeline's attention to the television in her living room. She inches closer to the screen, her eyes narrowing as they fix on the image, and she lifts her coffee cup to her lips, savoring the warmth of the freshly brewed drink.
On the screen, the camera cuts to another man—someone new. Adeline's fingers freeze mid-sip. He's in a police uniform, his arms crossed over his chest, and his piercing green eyes seem to look straight into the camera, as if they can see right through the glass and into her living room. There's a certain sharpness about him, but also something oddly beautiful in his composed features. She has to admit it, even if she's not looking for that sort of thing.
"We find these kinds of shells all the time in the Seine," he says, his voice steady and authoritative. "With our colleagues from the Central Lab of the Police Prefecture, we've already fished out about a hundred. The two who found this one did the right thing by reporting it."
Adeline's eyes drift away from his face for a moment, glancing at the headline on the screen: "Bomb Shells Discovered in Seine – Just Days Before Paris Triathlon."
It's all anyone is talking about today. Two teenagers, out fishing near the Seine, had pulled up an old bomb shell, and it's sent Paris into a mild panic, especially with the triathlon set to take place in a matter of days. The authorities are scrambling to calm everyone down.
"Excuse me," the officer on screen mutters, touching his earpiece. He pauses, listening to instructions. Adeline watches as he clears his throat and looks back at the interviewer. "I have to go. She'll take over from here."
With a slight smile, he walks away, and the camera pans to a woman stepping into his place. She's also in uniform, brisk and professional.
"Hello," the woman says, flashing a brief smile. "I want to reassure everyone that these shells didn't have ignition systems. There is no immediate danger."
Adeline sighs, feeling the tension seep out of her as she clicks the TV off. The news, while dramatic, wasn't exactly surprising.
She sets her cup of coffee down on the table in front of her and heads back to her bedroom. Her bare feet barely make a sound as she walks across the wooden floor, the silence of the apartment pressing in on her. She pulls off her pajama top and tosses it onto the bed, slipping into a plain grey shirt and pulling on a pair of black sweatpants. She tugs a black cap over her short, dark hair, adjusting it in the mirror before glancing at herself. Casual, just as she prefers.
Adeline Assalas doesn't like standing out, not in her personal life, and especially not at work. It wasn't always this way. Once, she thought she'd live in the spotlight. Growing up as the daughter of Chris Assalas, one of the most respected marine biologists in the world, she was used to hearing his name in headlines. And once upon a time, she believed she'd follow in his footsteps without a hitch.
