“Like what?” I watched Daniel slash his arms across Hannah’s gestures, like clearing a screen. He looked out of control. No, more like totally in control but deaf to any purpose except his own. While Hannah railed at him, he turned away toward Sea Sprite, barked a few words at Julian, then went sternward to open a storage locker behind the cargo seat. He lifted out a soft-sided carry-all, its contents shifting inside, and set it on the dock. He looked to Julian with a jerk of his chin toward the darkness of the open bay door. Julian returned a slow not-on-your-life wag and returned to battening down his restive Macys. Every twitch of his slim body said he was way past ready to be out of there.

With a warning shout, Hannah ducked away from the doorway, her bow raised. Daniel threw himself in the other direction, tucking and rolling across the dock till he fetched up against the building wall.

Hannah yelled to Julian, “Go! Go!”

Sea Sprite roared to life and swerved away from the dock, spewing wake, as bullets spattered the concrete and two half-naked men charged out of the bay, blinded by drink and daylight, firing at random. Poppy and I dragged our Macys into Zephyr’s wheelhouse and laid everyone low. Sea Sprite vanished east on 35th.

“Least someone’s awake in there,” Poppy murmured.

“Awake, maybe. But sober?”

The pair—one big, one small—were staggering around, as if propelled by the rhythmic kick of their automatic weapons. Lead sprayed right, left, high, low, but not for long. Hannah’s bow took them down silently and in seconds. The close-range impact sent both men sprawling on the dock. Behind me, the Macys were whimpering again.

I hushed them, mostly to settle my own rising panic. Where there were two Adders, there were likely a whole lot more. But I eased upward for a better view. I’d never laid eyes on a real Adder before.

Poppy peered over my shoulder. “Don’t look like much, do they?”

Had to agree. Other than being well armed and wearing nothing but some sort of decorated loin wrap, these fellows were disappointingly ordinary. No paint, no masks, no puffed-up body armor. No different from Rousseau’s lads.

“Maybe they’re newbies? Stuck on guard duty and missing the fun upstairs?”

“Short career,” Poppy said. “And getting shorter . . .”

Daniel had scrambled to his feet while Hannah covered him from the edge of the bay. To my horror, even before checking for signs of life, he grasped the nearest arrow shaft, jerked it free, and moved on.

“Ow!” hissed Poppy. “No wasting time, your guy.”

Mine? No. This was some other Daniel Nathan. Not the one I knew.