The tug sailed steadily out in front of them, and the Bullets on board took turns keeping watch on the Beacon. Even knowing it was a safety measure, to ensure the ships didn’t collide, they were left with the nagging worry that their cover had failed and they were allowing themselves to be hauled into the same prison that held her crew.

“What are those?” Caledonia asked, squinting against the piercing shine of Slipmark where a few dark shapes appeared to hover over the ocean. “Fueling stations?”

Even as she asked, she knew it was wrong. The structures were rounded with flat tops and bottoms, and they stood out of the water on tripods. Fueling stations would be anchored but buoyed to rise and fall with the tide. These were fixed in place where the rising tide would nearly cover them, which made them useless for nearly any function Caledonia could imagine.

“Tide cans.”

“What does a tide can do?” The shapes gained depth and dimension as they drew near. In the sides of each, narrow slits dripped rust down curving walls.

Pine hesitated, his eyes lingering on the cans. He answered in a flat voice. “You go inside, and they lock the door. When the tide comes in, the cans fill. But not all the way. There’s room to breathe, and you’ll tread water for as long as you’re able. Or until you choose not to.”

Words abandoned Caledonia. The tide was racing in, slapping at the bottom of each tide can while water slowly dribbled from the narrow windows. This far from shore, the tide rose and fell by several feet. Easily enough to fill those cans without submerging them entirely. Twice a day, anyone inside them would be forced to tread water for several hours, or drown.

“How do we know—” Caledonia’s voice failed her.

“Your crew’s not inside them,” he assured her. And when her expression begged for an explanation, he left his mending behind and came to join her at the rail. “Flags are positioned along the top when the cans are occupied. And taken down one at a time as they die. Torture only works if everyone else knows it does.” Pine’s hands tightened on the rail, his knuckles flashing white. “Those were a gift of the Steelhand.”

There it was again. The name that Sledge, Triple, and now Pine had spoken with dark reverence. Whoever the Steelhand was had left a mark on her friends as surely as this place. Her own life had been marred by Aric’s ever-present shadow, but she’d escaped that particular trauma.

“I shouldn’t have asked you to come here,” she admitted.

“Maybe we were never meant to leave,” Pine murmured, eyes shifting to what lay just beyond the tide cans. “Maybe we’ll never leave again.”

A shiver snuck down Caledonia’s spine.