A violent yank snapped the braided hemp signal line taut around Lu Chen’s left wrist.
A second rhythmic jerk tore at his forearm.
One. Two. Three.
The three-tug signal.
Slow. Deliberate. The decoy rhythm Old Diver Zhao had warned of in the divers’ shed.
Before Lu Chen could reach for his belt knife, a sharp, scissor-like snip shook through the dense water.
Snip!
The tension vanished.
