Costa-pri...: Saavira Gungali-pramod Maravanthe-joe

“It’s not just about finding it,” she said, tapping a weathered map. “It’s about not drowning before we do.”

And then he saw it: a broken mast, encrusted with barnacles, leaning like a cross. The Nossa Senhora . Saavira Gungali-Pramod Maravanthe-Joe Costa-Pri...

Pri wrung out her hair. “No. I’m a historian. My grandmother was Afonso Costa’s daughter—Joe’s great-aunt. She never knew her father. I wanted to see his grave before anyone else.” She looked at Joe. “And I wanted to see if you deserved to know the truth.” “It’s not just about finding it,” she said,

Pramod nodded, though his eyes lingered on her. “She’s right. I’ve fished these waters since I was a boy. The wreck is in the trench near the Gungali Rock—the one that looks like a twisted conch from above.” Pri wrung out her hair

And then there was Pri. No last name, no explanation, just a fierce intelligence and a waterproof camera. She’d joined them three days ago, claiming to be a documentary filmmaker. But the way she studied the wreck coordinates made Saavira uneasy.