Wilder Girls meets Outer Banks where a group of scuba diving friends stumbles across lost treasure, a legendary cave, and a new type of power… that comes at a price.
Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Out of Air by Rachel Reiss, which is out May 13th 2025.
The deeper you go, the darker you fall.
Phoebe “Phibs” Ray is never more at home than when she’s underwater. On a dive six months ago, she and her four closest friends discovered a handful of ancient gold coins, rocketing them into social media fame. Now, their final summer together after high school, they’re taking one last trip to a distant Australian island to do what they love most – scuba dive.
While diving a local reef, Phibs discovers a spectacular underwater sea cave, rumored to be a lost cave with a buried treasure. But when Phibs and her best friend Gabe surface from the cave, they notice that they’re undergoing strange changes. Oozing gashes that don’t heal. Haunting whispers in their heads… Something has latched onto them, lurking beneath their skin, transforming them from the inside out.
When treasure hunters arrive, desperate to find the location of the cave and hold Phibs’ group for ransom, she’ll do anything to keep her friends safe. In the process she learns that, of all the dreadful creatures of the sea, she might be the most terrifying of them all.
CHAPTER 2
We were diving on a sandy flat in the Keys, filming stingrays, when I sensed something. A primal, unquestioning compulsion—a need—to swim toward a cluster of dark stones. As I approached the rocks, I noticed two of them were slanting toward each other. I stretched my stomach over them and fanned my hand to clear the sand wedged in the middle.
Then I saw it.
Caught between the rocks, half-covered in the hard-packed sand, was the edge of a rusted tin. My fingers circled the rim and I pulled at it, unearthing it from the seafloor. And when it rested in my hands, I realized it wasn’t empty.
I tipped it over and sand, small rocks, and shards of seashells fell out. Then when I shook it, I heard a rattling. I peered inside, as something caught the light and shimmered.
My heart hammered in my chest. My inhales quickened as I flipped the tin over, cupping my fingers under the narrow mouth. Breathless, I watched as a handful of sparkling coins
tumbled into my palm.
Five of them.
The edges were rough and uneven, and markings I couldn’t recognize circled the perimeters. A large cross with even proportions and slatted ends stamped one side of each coin. My
skin tingled as the realization set in.
Gold.
The word plunged through my mind in free fall. I gasped, my breath dissolving in bubbles. Resting in my hand, five coins of various sizes shined in the rays of sunlight piercing the water. I knew that gold never oxidizes, even if it’s been on the seafloor hundreds of years, and the coins gleamed as brightly as the day they were minted.
Stories of ancient coins are not uncommon in the Keys. Pirates are said to have used the whole atoll in a hiding game. A shell game of treasures.
And on that day I found five extremely rare Spanish coins over four hundred years old with a Jerusalem cross on one side and the Philip II coat of arms on the other.
Five coins. One for each of us.
What was most thrilling—even more exhilarating than the moment I discovered the gold—was the second right before it. The moment I tipped the tin in my hand knowing something would be inside. Something significant. And I was the one lucky enough to find it.
It gave me an importance I’d never felt before.
The discovery of the coins shot us to local fame, and then national outlets started to reach out for interviews. Influencers picked up our story and our Salt Squad social media numbers
skyrocketed within weeks.
But what I didn’t realize was the ocean had given me a gift I’d never recover from. A lost treasure that would cost me nearly everything.
And now, on a dive six months later and thousands of miles away, I feel the same urge I did that day in the Florida Keys. The same compulsion that lured me to the slanted rocks,
straight to the buried coins.
I hover in place, floating alongside the wall.
I should ignore it. I know what happened last time. If I could go back in time, I would’ve let that feeling drift away, let the ocean keep its secrets, and let the relics of the past stay where they belong. Buried and forgotten.
But despite my best intentions, I can’t resist it. I find myself being pulled in a new direction. The thrill of the discovery beckons, gripping me like a tenacious vine and yanking me from Gabe and Will. I can’t ignore it. Can’t turn away. Anticipation pumps through my body as I’m drawn to the sheer wall.
The swell grows rougher, pushing against me. My mask shifts, seawater slipping through the seals. It fills up along my cheeks, blinding me. I take a deep breath, clear out the water,
and press my mask firmly against my face until it suctions. I blink, my vision sharpening.
I study the vertical reef, not knowing what I’m looking for. Soft coral moves in the current, and hard coral hangs static like immovable barnacles on the volcanic stone. Decorator crabs line up on a ledge and peek out, their claws poised in front of them, ready to strike. Flat-bodied nudibranchs with bright stripes and dizzying dots cling to the rough stones.
As I glide alongside the wall, a couple of Christmas tree worms protrude from the reef in a spiraling crown of spikes. My fingers hover near and they snap back, retracting into their burrows and out of sight.
Adrenaline pulses through my limbs. That strange pull I felt months ago, and now just seconds ago, brought me to this exact place. But nothing’s here. I exhale, ready to put it behind me and join the boys ahead, but then I pause.
I grip my camera in one hand as I brush aside some sediment stuck to the side of the wall. A wild burst of energy races up my spine, chilling my fingertips.
I see something.
There’s the thinnest of cracks running sideways along the wall.
It’s nothing more than a faint ridge, a jagged hairline fracture barely penetrating the dark rock. Even staring straight at it, it’s easy to overlook.
But now it’s all I can see.
I’ve always had an unexplained knack, a strange sixth sense when it comes to the ocean. I often spot what appears invisible, like a camouflaged salmon-colored pygmy seahorse no bigger
than a lentil bean. Or a flat snow-white flounder buried beneath a faint layer of light sand.
But today is different. Just like that day months ago, I’m filled with the strange sensation that the sea is calling to me. That there’s something it needs to show me.
My body buzzes as my free hand traces the tiny gap in the stone. I run my fingers along the wall, trailing it as I kick against the drift.
An invisible force shoves me to the side. There’s a whoosh in my ears and my equilibrium falters. The surge increases and slams against me again, as if with the sole desire to push me against the unforgiving wall. But I don’t let it. I kick, my thighs tensing against the water, my calves straining as I follow the ridge.
I’m descending deeper, losing track of my depth. I’m fixated on the fissure. The urging inside me intensifies as the crack widens from the width of a hair to a fingernail, and continues growing.
There’s a sharp, sudden rattling.
My gaze snaps from the wall out into the blue where Isabel hovers over 40 feet above me. Her long fins face down, her hair spread out in all directions. She’s shaking a bottle with pennies to get my attention. Her eyes are wide. Frightened.
She whips her head wildly back and forth, her hair still suspended around her face, writhing like strands of seaweed. Then she crosses her arms in a giant X across her chest with her fists closed.
It’s the sign for danger.
From Out of Air by Rachel Reiss. Copyright © 2025 by the author, and reprinted with permission of St. Martin’s Publishing Group
