“Code, quit bothering the shoregirl,” Varma says as he approaches us. “Doubt you’re even her type.”

He’s not wrong.

“Just seeing if she wanted to have a bit of fun, yeah?” the other lackey replies.

I glance down at the measuring tape, at the other training accessories scattered across the counter. They’ve all been chosen so carefully, but it’s more than that. They’ve been chosen with specific knowledge of what it takes to raise a Reckoner pup, knowledge beyond what they’d pick up from rumors, research, or observation. Santa Elena has a source in the industry—that much I know for sure.

I wonder how much these guys know.

As the captain’s lackeys, they must be privy to her dealings. Maybe even present for them. And even if they have good reason to want me dead, they’re friendly and happy right now. There’s a chance that if I ask about this, they’d answer.

And I almost do.

Before the words escape my lips, I catch myself. There’s a lot I can gain from this information, but there’s so much more I can lose. If they get an inkling of the plan that’s curdling in the back of my head, my chances of enacting it will plummet. I need them to continue underestimating me. I can’t draw attention to myself by asking questions.

But Varma has noticed that I nearly said something. His eyes sparkle expectantly, waiting.

“Why do you call him Code?” I blurt. A harmless question, one that gets me nowhere.

Varma chuckles. “It’s ’cause that’s what he thinks in. He gets to sit up in the navigation tower with Lemon all day, whispering to the little machines while the rest of us are out here busting our asses.”

Code’s lips twist into something that’s not quite a smile, but not quite a scowl either. He tolerates Varma’s easy grin for a second, then crosses back over to where Lemon and Swift are hauling Chuck back in by the bungee lines.

“You don’t gotta act so skittish around us, shoregirl,” Varma says, giving me a playful shove on the shoulder.

“Yeah,” I tell him. “I kind of do.”

He shrugs as if it’s my loss and jogs over to the edge of the deck, stooping to offer a hand to Chuck as she crawls out of the churning water. She’s doing most of the grunt work herself, but she takes it to humor him. He pulls, yanks, and tugs until she rolls onto the deck, cackling like a lunatic. Swift and Code are already at her feet, prying the board off while Lemon unclips the bungee lines.