“You hit him hard, we’re dead. You glance off him, we might live, but it’s doubtful.” I watch Bao out the front windows, see him stop and wait, his head weaving back and forth as he tries to make sense of his imprint ship heading straight for him.

Reckoners aren’t born with fighting instinct. They’re trained into it. He won’t attack the ship. He wouldn’t—it’s not in his nature. But a spark of doubt ripples through me as I see him snap his beak and blast another spurt of air through his blowholes. Bao’s always fallen on the less predictable end of the spectrum. Maybe today’s the day he shows us what an unregulated Reckoner truly is.

Grazing him wouldn’t be enough to put a dent in the ship, but his claws are razor sharp, definitely strong enough to slash the hull. Nothing that will sink us, but Santa Elena’s put us on a collision course that could get the Minnow crippled.

We’re seconds away from impact as his head disappears below the boat’s stern, and we’re bearing just a little too far starboard for my taste. “Port,” I snap at Swift.

She doesn’t adjust. Her hands are frozen on the wheel.

I slam down my hands over hers and yank left. The floor lurches underneath us as the ship swings, and out of the corner of my eye I spot Santa Elena flailing for a handhold. An indignant squall echoes out from below us, but there’s no thud of impact and no shriek of claws on metal. We’ve steered clear.

But I haven’t.

Santa Elena grabs me by the throat before I have time to flinch. My feet lift off the ground as she twists and slams me back against the wall, and my world goes dark for a second. A wave of pain crashes over my head, but through it I can see the captain’s bared teeth leering in my face.

“Maybe I’ve let you get too comfortable,” she hisses, fingernails digging into my skin.

I struggle to breathe, my throat convulsing under her grip.

“You don’t touch her controls. You never touch my ship like that again. Next time it happens, I cut a finger off. Each time you go against me, you lose another finger. When you’re out of fingers, you’re out of luck. Am I clear?”

I nod, just a twitch of my head. “Perfectly,” I choke. “Ten chances it is.”

She blinks, and then the sharp-toothed smile is out. She’s impressed. Her hold loosens, and I slump against the wall, my lungs working like bellows to heave in the air that I’ve lost. For a moment, my vision spins.