Early morning!
As the preset time arrived, the curtains of the suite—positioned perfectly to catch the first rays of the ocean view—automatically slid open. Sunlight from the Atlantic filtered through the glass, illuminating a large but somewhat disheveled bed.
Most notably, a splash of red on the sheets was particularly eye-catching.
But... the bed was empty.
Inside the bathroom, a fully dressed Locke handed a towel over. The door cracked open slightly, and a slender, pale hand snatched the towel away with a "swish" before the door slammed shut again.
The corners of Locke's mouth curled into a slight upward arc.
Just then, Gwen's voice came from behind the door. "Locke!"
"Hmm?"
"Strip the bedsheet and give it to me."
"...Alright."
Locke snapped back to reality. Looking at the messy, blood-stained sheet, he blinked, followed her request, and passed it through the small gap in the door.
A second later, Locke blurted out, "Should we... keep it as a souvenir?"
The bathroom door swung wide. Locke jumped back.
Gwen, wrapped in a bath towel with her damp blonde hair draped over her shoulders, looked at him with a mix of curiosity and a dangerous smile. "What kind of 'souvenir' are you planning to make out of it?"
Locke said instinctively, "I don't know... take it apart, frame it?"
Gwen's brow twitched. She snatched the sheet from his hand. "Pervert!"
*Thud.*
The door slammed shut again. Locke stared at the ceiling. Had he said something wrong?
But "pervert"? He had lived two lives. While last night was a first for this life, the memories hidden in his soul had been awakened, instantly enriching the "Private Storage" section he had recently constructed within his Memory.
Half an hour later, Gwen emerged with dry hair. As for the sheet? It had been tossed into the suite's washer-dryer combo.
Locke sat on the sofa. Watching Gwen walk out of the bedroom—her aura seemingly transformed overnight—he stood up and smiled. "You're beautiful, Gwen."
Gwen looked up at him and returned a soft smile. "So, is this what we call having a 'clear plan for our future'?"
Locke nodded. "Of course."
Gwen's eyes flickered. "Is it?"
Locke looked at her with total sincerity. "Because my future includes you. I love you, Gwen."
Gwen seemed to hear exactly what she wanted. "I love you too, Locke!"
Their eyes met. Hearts pounded.
'Sorry, Spidey. Don't bother looking for Gwen anymore. She's mine. If you want to cause trouble, find someone else. Go for Mary Jane. Gwen stays with me!'
Locke thought this to himself as his smile brightened, pulling Gwen into an embrace. A second later, Gwen let out a startled gasp.
*Thud.*
Accompanied by Gwen's surprised and shy voice, the door was closed once again.
...
An hour later, Cindy and Kahn were already yawning at the breakfast table when Locke and Gwen finally arrived.
Gwen sat down and apologized. "Sorry we're late."
Cindy looked at Gwen's glowing expression and smirked. "It's fine. I understand."
The first time was always like that. It was the same for her and Kahn—they had nearly been late for class the next day.
Cindy winked at Gwen with an "experienced" look that screamed: *I get it, I get it.* Then, her expression shifted to one of intense curiosity, as if asking: 'How big? How long? How was it?'
Gwen immediately flagged down a waiter, putting an end to Cindy's silent interrogation.
Locke, meanwhile, completely ignored Kahn's questioning gaze. He had no interest in sharing his bedroom stories with others—though if others were sharing theirs, he was always an interested listener.
After breakfast, the four of them planned to continue exploring from where they had left off last night. The Poseidon was massive, like a small city with everything a city could offer.
As they exited the restaurant:
"Sorry."
"No problem."
Locke smiled and stepped aside for a man who nearly bumped into him while entering. He and the others left, but Locke's peripheral vision caught the two men in suits who had entered.
Mercenaries?
Good grief. An assassin. A professional gambler. And now mercenaries. Can I actually have a peaceful vacation?
The two men were definitely mercenaries. Assassins carried a certain killing intent, but mercenaries carried the scent of a savage battlefield. Locke had dealt with them in Texas; he wouldn't mistake that aura.
However, Locke brushed the thought aside. If an assassin could vacation on a cruise, so could mercenaries. As long as they weren't coming for him, what they did was none of his business.
...
While exploring, they ran into a familiar face. Specifically, someone Gwen knew.
Robert Ramsey, the former mayor of New York City, and his daughter Jennifer Ramsey. When George was a detective, he had visited the mayor's home. Since Gwen and Jennifer were close in age, they were well-acquainted.
This was the power of a New York detective's network—especially one who had served for many years.
Jennifer was with her boyfriend, Christian. As the three women—Gwen, Cindy, and Jennifer—decided to go off on their own to browse the shops, Locke suddenly realized he finally had time for the casino.
After the girls ditched them, Christian suggested checking out the indoor pool. Kahn's eyes lit up. "Great idea."
Locke, thinking of the high-stakes casino on the 9th floor, waved them off. "You guys go ahead. I'm going to check out the 9th floor."
He had no interest in watching girls in swimsuits. Was Gwen not enough? Was she not more beautiful than those common flowers?
Locke swiped his card, exchanged $100,000 for chips, and headed toward the "mini-casino" on the second floor above the ballroom. The ship's main casino was on the 5th floor, but the quality didn't compare to this one. The 5th floor was for small-time play; this floor featured tables where the stakes started at four figures.
"Mind if I join?"
Locke gestured with his chips, found a Texas Hold'em table, and sat down with a smile. "Hope I'm not interrupting."
Dylan, who was already at the table smoking, narrowed his eyes. He tried to get ahead of the situation. "Kid, this is a gambling table, not a playground."
'I just found a fat sheep, and you're here to steal my kill?'
Locke smiled broadly, placing his $100,000 in chips in front of him. "Is that so? But we're in international waters now."
Dylan took a drag of his cigarette and chose not to speak. Locke then turned to the familiar face sitting on his right—the former mayor. "Mr. Mayor, surely international waters mean I'm allowed a seat?"
Robert Ramsey shrugged. "I haven't been mayor for a long time."
The dealer nodded at Locke and began a new round.
Sitting across from Locke was a man who looked like the definition of a "fat sheep" to a professional gambler—a middle-aged man with a mustache wearing flamboyant clothes. He laughed and tossed a $1,000 chip in. "The table doesn't care about age, but don't go crying to your mother if you lose your money."
Beside him, a stoic, slightly portly man who also looked like easy prey tossed in $1,000. Robert followed.
Locke looked at the mustachioed sheep and smiled. "Thanks, but I have a bit of pocket money to burn."
With a flick of his wrist, Locke tossed in a $5,000 chip. "Five thousand!"
Dylan exhaled smoke and folded, casting a slightly annoyed glance at the "suicidal" fat sheep before shooting a look at Locke.
'Take it easy, don't scare the sheep away too fast.'
The flamboyant man, whose name was Larry Crowe, laughed. "Good lord, kid. Maybe I can teach you how to play. You haven't even looked at your cards yet."
Larry Crowe dropped $5,000. The stoic man called. Robert called too, then looked curiously at Locke. "Locke, where are you from?"
Locke watched the mustachioed sheep, took a $10,000 chip, and rolled it between his fingers before dropping it into the pot.
"Texas," he answered. "The state of Texas!"
The mustachioed sheep: "..."