Into the Drowning Deep (Rolling in the Deep, #1)

by Mira Grant

“Dr. Toth, what aren’t you telling us?” Tory asked. “Too much,” said Jillian again. “Help Dr. Wilson.” With that, Tory was apparently dismissed, as the good doctor knelt in front of Luis.

I am not a big fan of Dr Toth's excessive mystery and short answers. She may be a genius, but she's a rude genius.

I’m going to die, she thought frantically, and tried to force her body into a proper diving stance, arms out, legs together, head bent at a protective angle. It was the only thing left that she could do. She dropped along the length of the Melusine, hit the water, and was gone.

...and died, because that is the only way this would actually go.

“Ah,” said Jacques. He walked forward, stopping just shy of the cot, hands fluttering in front of him like wounded birds. “Ah,” he said again, and it was a sound of protest, not of understanding; it was the sort of sound a man who had just received a grievous wound might make, too small and soft to be anything but fatal.

This is darkly poetic.

Proving they existed was my life’s work. We know they exist now. One more mystery of the sea has been solved. I never said I wanted to protect or preserve them. Honestly, as long as I get a few to take apart at my leisure, I don’t care if the navy wants to roll in here and nuke them all into the mythology they swam out of.” Luis stared at her. “That’s not what you said before.” “I was talking to an audience before,” she snapped. Theo smirked. “People always did think of you as the conservationist in the family,” he said. “Most people don’t know me very well,”

I know the situation calls for destruction, but I honestly think Toth is not a good person to begin with.

“Soon, Michi, soon,” Jacques breathed, and began firing. He was still firing when the first wave of sirens washed over him, bearing him down to the floor. His last shot passed through three sirens before ricocheting off the ceiling, finally coming to rest in the nearby wall. He did not scream. He didn’t need to.

I mean, this is about as romantic and noble an end as he could have had.

The movement was two pale shapes, like starfish, pressed against the glass. Olivia squinted. Not starfish; hands. Not siren hands either; human hands. Human hands. She knew those hands. Olivia gasped, recoiling from the screen. “That’s Tory,” she said, through the hand that was clamped over her mouth, blurring and blocking her words. “She’s in the pool. How do we get that wall up?”

Like. No. Absolutely not. Tory would have been done for.