The crew was as silent as a forest, their bodies tense and rigid as trees, their haunted eyes trained on the wall that had once held them prisoner before sending them into the world as Bullets. Their fear nudged at Caledonia, but she watched that wall with hope strangling her heart. On the other side of it was her crew and her ship, and if she was careful, smart, and lucky, she’d get them all back very soon.

The tug released three pulses of its horn, announcing their arrival.

Caledonia and Pine turned and together made for the bridge. They found Sledge and Harwell ready by the radio, the receiver in one of Sledge’s hands and the ship’s code book in the other.

The radio crackled. “Beacon, send your flag when ready.”

Harwell snatched the code book, rapidly flipping through the pages until he found what he was looking for and offered it to Sledge.

“You’re sure?” Sledge asked.

“Enough to risk my life,” Harwell answered with tempered alarm.

“This is Beacon,” Sledge began, holding the receiver to his mouth. “Flag reads ‘Copper-Eight-Three-Trigger-Nine-Nine.’”

The radio clicked off. Silence followed.

“Are we nervous?” Caledonia asked.

“Yes,” Sledge answered in a whisper. “But this is procedure.”

Another moment passed before the radio clicked again. “Beacon, you’re clear to dock.”

Sledge beamed at Harwell, who released a shaky breath. It was a small victory, but this entire plan was built on small victories.

“Stand by for outbound vessel before you approach,” the Bullet continued.

The radio fell silent just as the massive walls of Slipmark harbor began to bend outward, creating a gap between the two sections.

A ship nosed through the clawlike arms, and Caledonia’s stomach pitched. She ran from the bridge to the deck, only stopping when her hands hit the rail. For a second, she held on to her denial, but once the ship sailed fully into view, there was no question.

It was the Mors Navis.

Her ship skimmed across the water like a bird gliding across the sky. She was elegantly sculpted and skinned in dark gray metal with paler seams marking past injuries and repairs. At the very end of the quarterdeck, the sun sail shimmered like the scales of a great black fish, soaking up light in flashes of deep red and the brightest gold. Down the centerline, all four mast blocks were closed with the masts safely snapped inside.

She sailed gloriously, and she was covered with Bullets.

No sooner had the ship cleared the walls than the tug revved her engines and pulled the Beacon in its wake. Toward the harbor. Away from the Mors Navis.

Caledonia stood in place while her thoughts reached across the painfully small stretch of sea toward the ship that had raised her. She’d left her once, thinking she would never see her again, trusting her to carry her girls safely. Now she was being taken from her.