A normal person would appreciate the vivid blue of the Adriatic, the colorful villages nestled on the coast of the even larger Krk island as we skim past, bright houses clustered like pockets of pebbles toppled down a hill. Would be fascinated with the almost perfectly round islet in the bay of that larger island, and the captain’s explanation about the monastery that occupies it.

But as the captain takes it upon himself to chatter at length about the island’s two-thousand-year-old walls and mile-long bridge connecting it to the mainland, all I can think is that, despite hunching against the gunwale, I feel far too exposed.

That, and I didn’t have nearly long enough with Goran—the only living tie to my mother I’m aware of, and the only one capable of even beginning to answer my questions.

I pray he lives long enough for me to find my way back. The minute it’s safe, I’m there.

It occurs to me then that I’m neglecting the one piece of information I do have.

The one Ivan died to get to me.

I tear open the envelope to discover a single item: a key on a loop of string. It’s new and unremarkable except for an engraving on one side: SOME RISE BY SIN, SOME BY VIRTUE FALL.

I peer inside the envelope, but there is nothing else. I glance at Claudia, who has been watching me. If she’s curious, she hasn’t asked, and for that I’m grateful. She may be intent on punishing me for abandoning her or Katia or the underground as a whole, but she’s no sadist. After being the least informed person in any discussion I’ve had for days, I need this moment.

I consider the engraving, but of course it doesn’t ring a bell, and turn the key over four or five times in my hand.

I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with this or where it came from, let alone what it goes to. And I kick myself for not opening the envelope in front of Goran so I could ask him.

Eventually, I knot the string around a belt loop and tuck the key in my jeans.

Half a mile off the turquoise coast of Rabac, Claudia points in the direction of a beach behind a posh hotel. She makes a brief phone call as the boat motors toward an inlet just past a rocky finger. The moment we pass from view of the beach she glances at me, and tosses the phone overboard. Piotrek’s fedora follows. The captain kills the motor, and an instant later she has shed her shoes and stepped onto the gunwale. Her eyes glint at me in the first hint of a real smile I can remember.