He dug his fingers into the sand, squeezing until his knuckles ached. “Roar is the right man for it.”

Silent and lethal, Roar was the closest thing he had to an assassin. He also had the fine, perfect features of a Dweller. He could pass for an Outsider or a Mole, which made him versatile—a good thing, as they’d form a plan of attack once they could assess the Komodo more closely.

“Who else?” asked Reef tightly.

“Brooke.”

Gren’s mouth fell open and Twig made a choking sound, which he camouflaged by clearing his throat. No secrets here; they all knew Perry’s history with Brooke.

As far as appearances went, Brooke had the same advantage as Roar. Men nodded yes first and listened second when she spoke, and that might prove useful. She was as strong a Seer as the brothers, a better shot, and levelheaded in tough situations. A few weeks ago, when the Tide compound had been raided, she hadn’t made a single misstep. They’d been through some bumps, but Perry needed her.

“And Aria?” Marron asked, his voice rising at the end.

“Yes.”

He didn’t miss the stunned looks traded across the flames. Everyone knew she was injured. Everyone knew they’d fought. Or argued. Or whatever that had been. The Battle Room had lived up to its name today.

“I’m taking Soren, too,” he said, forging ahead. “He’s the only one who can fly the Hover. He’s the only one who can get us there quickly. You said we might only have days, Marron. I can’t waste time traveling to the Komodo on foot or horseback.”

Perry saw no way around it. He needed speed. He needed the Hover. As much as he wished otherwise, that meant he needed Soren.

“Just so I don’t mistake you,” said Reef, “these are the people you’re taking with you? You believe this group—the five of you—will come together as a team?”

“That’s right,” Perry said.

“You’re betting our lives on that?” Reef pressed.

Perry nodded. “Sable and Hess have all the brute power. Force won’t work against them. We need to be small and sharp. We’ll have to pierce like a needle to have any chance.”

Quiet settled over the group again, a few anxious glances turning south. Perry listened to the surf as their tempers drifted toward him, carrying disbelief and anxiousness and outrage.

The silent roar of the Tides.

When Perry stepped into his tent, he found Talon still awake.

“What are you doing up, Squeak?” he asked, setting his bow and quiver against the trunks. It had to be well past midnight.

Talon sat up and rubbed his eyes. “I had a nightmare.”

“Hate those.” Perry unbuckled his belt and dropped it aside. “What are you waiting for?” he said, climbing into bed. “Get on over here.”