Gem collapses. Dev kicks his gun across the deck.

I step back, my heart in my throat. Gem’s second P226 quivers in my hand like a dowsing rod.

My brother glares at me. His hair has its usual cowlick crest along the front, but I don’t find it endearing anymore. It looks like something dark and menacing is trying to push its way out of his skull. Somehow, he must have repaired the skiff well enough to intercept the Varuna. Where the rest of his boarding party went, I have no idea, but Dev by himself is enough of a problem. Water trickles down the black neoprene of his wetsuit. It’s the same one he wore the last morning we dove together—emblazoned with the logo of the HP Shark captain. I tighten my grip on the gun.

Dev sneers, tossing aside his wrench. “You’re really going to shoot me? Go ahead.”

God, I want to. I know the bullets are nonlethal. I hate that my trigger finger is rebelling against me. But Dev is still my brother. No matter what he’s done, I find shooting him at point-blank range very difficult to manage.

“I thought so,” he growls. “Stupid little girl, you’ve ruined everything.”

Then he charges at me.

The two of us have had the same combat training, but Dev has had years more practice.

He grabs my wrist, slapping the gun from my hand, then steps in and twists, attempting to throw me over his shoulder. I use the “boneless toddler” defense, collapsing so my entire body weight works against him. He shuffles, off-balance, and I turn my fall into a backward roll, leveraging Dev’s own grip to pull him with me. He sails over my head and crashes into the starboard gunwale.

One point for Ana.

My wounded side is on fire. I can feel warm blood trickling down my belly. I struggle to my feet. Dev rises, looking unperturbed.

“You’re wounded,” he notes.

He has the audacity to sound concerned. His earlier words still drip in my mind like hydrochloric acid. Stupid little girl.

“You’ve already lost, Dev.”

“I don’t think so. We’ve got enough tech and data now to make our next Aronnax a Nautilus-killer. And I don’t think your friends will be bothering this boat with your poor sick professor on board.”

He attacks with a flurry of punches that forces me back to the port railing.

I block, parry, and dodge, but my limbs are growing heavy. My head feels like it’s floating on my neck.

I sidestep and trap Dev’s arm, hoping to dislocate his elbow. But he knows that move too well. He sinks on one leg and sweep-kicks me off my feet. I roll out of the way and come up just in time to block his next kick.

He backs away, giving me time to breathe. “We don’t have to fight, Ana. We’re still family.”

My weakness is making him calmer, kinder. I hate this about him. He likes me being his needy little sister—the junior Dakkar.