Swift nods. “Minimum thrust on my count. Three. Two. One.”

The ship lurches forward, and I glance over my shoulder again to catch the jets of mist as Bao surfaces behind us, already nosing forward to keep up. It doesn’t take much. A few strokes of his legs, and a hundred and fifty tons of young Reckoner is on our tail. He’s been growing at an alarming rate, and he’s nearly half the size of the ship now. For a moment, I feel a flash of pride surge through me, like my kid’s just won first place in a fifth grade track race.

Swift rolls her head until her neck pops, and I notice Chuck and Varma exchanging glances. This is usually where things go south. When Swift has manual control of the engines, she can’t keep them steady.

Her hand shifts from radio to throttle, then back to radio again—she’s forgotten to hail the engine room and instruct them to make the switch. “Swift to engines, prepare to transfer control to me on my mark.”

“Ready,” the radio cracks.

“Three. Two. One.”

The Minnow bucks so forcefully that I stagger forward, grabbing a handrail to stop myself from stumbling into Lemon and Code. Our pace slows to a drift, a low rumble shaking the tower beneath us.

“Engines to helm, adjust to match engine spin immediately or relinquish control, confirm decision,” the engineer demands.

Swift lunges for the throttle and throws it down. The machinery underneath us groans, but the engines catch, and the ship lurches forward again. “Swift to engines, adjustments made.”

The ladder from the belowdecks rattles, and two seconds later, Santa Elena clambers up into the navigation tower to join us. She’s got her hair pulled back and that one coat on, the long black number that makes her look especially commanding.

“Captain on deck,” Code mutters to Lemon, and there’s a joke inside those words, something that makes her mouth twitch into a tiny smile.

“I had a feeling it was you,” Santa Elena says as she circles around Swift. She folds her hands behind her back, peering out the rear window to catch a glimpse of Bao.

Swift keeps her head down, her gaze focused on the controls.

I can feel myself tensing up in the captain’s presence. I press back against the wall I’m leaning on and pray that her attention doesn’t swing my way, that she doesn’t question my presence on the bridge. We haven’t talked about Bao’s training in weeks. Any time she feels the need to give orders, they come through Swift. I don’t know if she’s noticed the stagnation, and I know I’m going to pay dearly on the day that she does. But until then, Swift’s bad driving is more than enough to distract her.

“Orders?” Swift asks the captain, letting one hand slip from the wheel.