A pause, then lower, almost ashamed, as though the next words cost him something he could not get back:
"We need to talk to him."
For one dangerous second Aldrich said nothing. The boat rocked. Water slapped against the hull. The only light came from the instrument panel, painting his face in cold blues and greens.
Then—
"Damn that creature."
The curse came out low and hot with real venom. Not theater. Not performance. The genuine fury of a man who had planned everything except this. Because now this was no longer a controlled abduction. No longer a private pressure game played in the dark beneath the sea. No longer a surgical strike meant to extract information and return a kingdom to order.
It was becoming the kind of war kings lose thrones over.
---
