The engine died again, and this time no amount of yanking and beating and swearing could get it running again. Samm and Marcus took the first turn at the oars, pulling hard toward the shore, and soon the green line became dotted with white: a wide harbor filled with boats. They reached the first line in just half an hour: large yachts anchored far from shore, covered stem to stern with seagull droppings. Kira wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“I was hoping to trade up for a new boat, but these are unusable.”

“They’re too big anyway,” said Samm, stowing his oars as their boat bumped gently against the stained hull of another. “We can’t row them, and I assume none of us knows how to sail.” They shook their heads. “At the very least we can stop and look for supplies.”

“Okay,” said Kira, “but not this one. I don’t want us getting … bird flu, or bird diarrhea, or whatever that stuff will give you.”

Samm nodded.

They rowed to the next boat, then the next, working their way farther into the harbor until finally finding a yacht that looked clean enough to board—still filthy, but not as bad, and their options were running out. They maneuvered around to the back, where the name Show Me the Money III was emblazoned across it in faded letters. Marcus gripped the stern while Samm climbed aboard.

“The rest of you wait here,” said Samm. He climbed over and descended into the depths of the yacht, and Marcus leaned close to Kira.

“What do you think?” he whispered. “Do you still trust him?”

“He hasn’t done anything to change my mind,” said Kira.

“Not directly, no,” said Marcus, “but that story was… I don’t know. It’s a lot to take in.”

“At least it’s plausible,” said Jayden. “We’ve always wondered why the Partials turned around and left eleven years ago, and why they’ve never attacked us since. If they’re too busy fighting one another to bother with us, that makes a little more sense.”

“I’m still suspicious,” said Marcus. “Something about this place doesn’t feel right.”