And just as the thought is settling in, just as the hope is kindling in my chest, I feel the chill of metal around my wrist and hear the light snap as the handcuffs lock into place.

Should’ve expected that. But Santa Elena doesn’t ask for my other wrist to bind to the one already locked in. Instead, she beckons Swift.

“Oh no,” Swift protests.

“She’s been your charge from day one, Swift. That isn’t changing just because she’s getting off the boat for a bit.”

“Boss, you can trust me to make sure she doesn’t run off. C’mon, this is the first time I’ve had leave in months. I’m going—”

“I take risks, Swift, but not stupid ones. Give me your hand.”

And two seconds later, I’m handcuffed to the one person on this entire boat that I can’t even look in the eye right now. Chuck and Varma whisper to each other over in the corner, and I can see them barely holding back their laughter. They stand up straight when the captain’s glare finds them.

“Both of you are on treasury duty today,” Santa Elena says. “Make sure salaries go out before we dock—I really don’t want a mutiny on my hands in the most popular port this side of the meridian.”

They accept their orders with quick, cocky salutes and plunge down the ladder. I hear a cackle float from below as their footsteps patter away.

Santa Elena turns back to us. “Report time is noon tomorrow. Cassandra, if you somehow get it in your head that you’re going to make an escape attempt, know that I will hunt you down and bleed you out, and there are only so many places to hide on a floating city. Enjoy leave.” She claps me on the shoulder, then disappears down the ladder.

“Well,” Swift huffs.

There’s not much else to say. And Santa Elena hasn’t even given us the luxury of cuffing us after we descended the ladder. Truly her sadism knows no bounds. Swift and I end up working it so that we go down side by side, wedged together in the tiny chute, which is uncomfortable, to say the least. Several times I elbow her, and I bet she thinks I’m doing it on purpose by the end. But the fact of the matter is, it’s really hard to go down a ladder handcuffed to someone you don’t want to talk to.

When we get to the bottom, Chuck and Varma are waiting for us with several cloth bundles slung over their shoulders. Varma holds one up. Swift’s name is scrawled on it in blocky, childish print that I recognize as her own handwriting immediately. “Your winnings,” he says, tossing it to her.