The Descent
We descended the first time on the fourth of January, and the water held the color of a bruised pearl. The reef was sleeping. We left a coin on the second ledge, and a tin compass beside it, and a note written in indigo ink that said begin — a single word, undersigned, unsealed.
At twelve fathoms the light failed. We continued anyway, because that is the year's first instruction: do not turn back at the first cold register of the dark.