Say yes. We handle everything.

Black sand at six in the morning, and the only prints on it are yours and the ones belonging to whoever carried your tanks down. A reef pass where seven hundred sharks hang in the current, waiting on a tide nobody told you about. A wreck that starts where the beach ends. But those mornings belong to whoever is already standing in them, and no grid of four hundred boats has ever told you which one is which. Therefore we went and found the people who wake up inside them — the ones who get in the water with you instead of waving you off the dock. Everything around the diving is built the same way. Every bed. Every meal. Every ride from the airport. One price. Your wallet never comes out again.

You have done the other version. Standing on a dock at seven in the morning working out what the tanks came to, whether lunch was in it, what the taxi is going to be on the way back. But nobody has ever come up off a good dive thinking about arithmetic. Therefore we folded every number into one number, and there is nothing left to carry down to the boat except your own gear. If anything goes wrong out there, it is ours. In writing.