I feel my fists clenching as I think about what happened to her—and how I didn’t stop it from happening. My fingernails press painfully into my palms. I hate what happened to Victria—what almost happened to Amy. I . . .

“I just went for a little swim,” Amy says, laughing.

“I can see that,” Victria says. I’m glad that it seems like Amy has been there for her at least. And, perhaps, Bartie. He might be a chutz and a traitor to boot, but at least he’s been a friend to Victria. More than I’ve been.

“What’s that?” Bartie asks, pointing to the ground.

“Oops.” Amy bends over and picks up two pale green med patches and shoves them back into her pocket. They must have fallen out as she dressed.

“Why do you have Phydus patches?” I ask, frowning. My first instinct is anger—she’s the one who’s been so solidly against Phydus—but it immediately melts into concern. I think about Evie, clawing at the walls of the ship. Do the walls crush Amy in the same way? Is Phydus getting her through the nights, when I don’t see her?

Amy’s eyes shoot to Victria, and silent understanding passes between them. “I picked some up. I thought . . . if I needed them. . . .” She glances at me, takes in my scowl. “Not for me!” she protests.

My frown deepens. She means she intended to use them as a weapon, in case someone attacked her. Someone like Luthor.

“Whatever’s done is done,” Amy says, and something in her tone tells me that she knows more than she’s saying. “So,” she continues in her most charming voice, trying to distract me, “is there a way to drain the pond?”

I raise one eyebrow, and I can tell that Amy understands my unspoken question: should we be doing this in front of Victria and Bartie? She lifts her shoulders slightly, and I know she means that there’s really no reason not to show them. If this works, everyone on the ship will find out about it anyway.

“What is going on?” Bartie says, half his voice demanding, half laughing.

“There’s a way off the ship!” Amy shouts gleefully.

“In the pond?” Victria asks.

“Not in it. Under it.”

Victria casts an incredulous look at Amy, as if wondering if Amy’s as crazy as she sounds. “The way off the ship is underwater?”

“It can’t stay underwater.” Amy laughs. “That’s why we have to drain the pond.”

Victria looks over to me. “Am I the only person who thinks this whole conversation is loons?”

“If you want to drain the pond,” Bartie says, “there’s a pump over there.” He points across the water to a small black box cleverly hidden by a hydrangea bush.