The patrol boat sliced through the dark, churning waters of the channel, its old combustion engine vibrating rhythmically against the steel floorplates.
For nearly two days, the ocean had offered no warmth. The sky above was a bruised ceiling of rolling grey thunderheads that completely blotted out the sun, painting the open sea in an unbroken twilight. The wind blew bitter and cold, carrying the sharp tang of brine mixed with the persistent, rancid stench of sulfur drifting from distant continental battlefields.
Kiko stood at the wooden helm inside the small, enclosed pilot cabin, her knuckles white around the wheel.
The girl barely slept. Every few hours, her dark eyes would flick nervously through the cracked windshield toward the water ahead, then dart toward the stern where Hide sat. Even without his draconic scales, the pressure radiating from the silver-haired young man was anything but human.
The ocean was no longer a safe transit route.
