Santa Elena glances down at the compass on the dash. “Eastern heading, cruising speed.”

We’re heading West right now. Swift grits her teeth and yanks the wheel hard. Everyone in the tower reaches for a handhold as the ship swings around, its hull plunging deeper into the ocean as we lean into the maneuver. Swift pumps the throttle forward a tad, giving us a boost of extra speed that sinks us hard and sure into the turn.

I would have thought that the captain’s presence would throw Swift off, but she’s piloting better than ever with Santa Elena breathing down her neck. I guess there’s something about the pressure that she exerts on her crew. When the captain’s not around, they don’t feel as compelled to perform. But when Santa Elena’s eye is on you, you’re at your best or you’re out, no questions asked.

Swift hauls the boat straight as we line our sights on the eastern horizon. She cranks back the throttle and lets the engines spin down to cruising speed.

Then a plume of mist jets out of the sea in front of us, and a primal fear grips me so tightly that I almost lunge forward and wrest the wheel from her.

We’re headed straight for Bao.

Swift’s hands shake on the wheel, and Santa Elena leans in close. “Graze him,” she says, like it’s a joke.

“No,” I breathe, before I can think better of it, and the captain’s attention snaps around to me.

“Problem, Cassandra? Your beast not smart enough to get out of the way?”

“He hasn’t been trained to respond to threats—I don’t know how he’ll respond. I don’t know if he’ll respond.” It’s a fight to keep my voice even, a fight I’m desperately losing. I can’t give orders, can’t tell Swift to deviate or slow or anything that I want to scream into her ear. I can only stare down Santa Elena, doing my best to hold her fiery gaze, and pray that she doesn’t extrapolate from what I just blurted.

“Swift?” the captain calls.

“Yes, boss?”

“Hold course.”

I push myself off the wall and dive between Code and Lemon, stumbling up to Swift’s side. I’m waiting for someone to step forward and yank me back, but no hand lands on my shoulder and no shove comes to push me away from her. “Slow down a little, at least. Could you do that?” I hiss.

She glances at Santa Elena, who nods back.

Swift strains against the wheel, her grip sliding just a bit as she reaches for the throttle and cranks the ship back into a drift. We’re still bearing down on Bao, but we have time on our side now. “I’d appreciate it,” she grunts, “if you didn’t breathe right in my ear.”