And then I’m free. Relatively speaking. Still chained to Swift, but Murphy takes a second to blink, and that’s all we need. Swift’s arm slips from my mouth to my shoulders as she drags me into a sprint. But we’re not headed down the docks, toward the heart of the Flotilla.

No, Swift hauls me off the edge of the platform, and for the third time today, we’re falling.

We plunge underwater, and immediately Swift starts swimming for the shadow of the pier, drawing me into the dark. The harbor is bitterly cold in the shade, and when we finally come up for air, my breath comes in shudders.

“Would you stop jumping off shit for like, three seconds?” I hiss between my chattering teeth. I shouldn’t be joking, but I don’t know what else to do. Why is Fabian Murphy on the Flotilla? What’s an IGEOC agent doing in a pirate colony?

Whatever the reason, two things are for certain. Murphy’s on an uplink right now, and I’m no longer a dead girl walking.

Swift treads water, reaching down to her belt and pulling out her radio. She shakes it a few times, then lifts it to her lips. “Hey boss, we’ve got a situation. Some random on the docks recognized Cas.”

“Are they still there?” Santa Elena’s voice cracks through the radio, echoing off the floorboards above us. The light that streams down between them traces dappled patterns in the waves.

“Not sure. We’re in hiding now.”

“Get back to the ship. I’ll call everyone else in. We’re off this raft in an hour.”

When the comm clicks off, Swift deflates, and I know exactly what she’s thinking. She’s going to miss dinner. She isn’t even going to get a chance to say goodbye. Her already-spare time at home has just been taken from her in a matter of seconds, and it’s all my fault. In the half light that weaves through the shadows, I can see the tears welling up in her eyes as she bobs, keeping her head just above the water.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“They’re gonna think I’m just like Mom,” Swift croaks. Her hair falls over her face in a messy wet mop as she dips her head, trying to turn away from me.

“We could get someone to send a note to them. We could explain—”

She lifts her left wrist, marked by red welts from the cuffs, and gives it an emphatic shake, still avoiding my gaze. “Too risky. Captain would gut us.”

“Fuck the captain.”