The ship groaned to a halt, the engine idling in a low, wet chug just a dozen yards from the gate. The water below was a violent purple, churning in a spiral that defied the tide. The scarred man and the four hunters stepped out of the cabin, their boots clanking on the metal deck. The hunters looked around with wide, terrified eyes, staring at the bone-rimmed vortex like it was a mouth waiting to swallow them whole. It clearly wasn’t a sight they were used to.

One by one, they leaped. Their bodies vanished into the violet swirl, the water splashing against the hull as the gate claimed them.

Hana didn't waste a second. She dropped from the cabin roof with the silent grace of a falling shadow, landing in a crouch. She pushed the heavy cabin door open and slipped inside.

The helmsman was slumped in his chair, an old, dog-eared book resting over his face. He heard the faint click of the door and started to reach for the book, his fingers twitching. Hana was faster. She surged forward, her hand clamping over his eyes and mouth before he could even draw a breath.

He didn’t get a chance to struggle. A sharp, precise strike to a nerve point, and he went limp in the chair. Hana carefully adjusted him, placing the book back over his face to make it look like he’d simply drifted off into a deep sleep.

She scanned the cramped space. The smart glasses were already clicking away, recording every inch of the cabin. She pulled a small pendrive from her pocket and jammed it into the laptop sitting on the navigation counter. While the progress bar flickered, she moved deeper into the ship.

A narrow staircase led down into the dark. Hana descended, the air turning thick with the smell of salt, rust, and something much worse. She flicked on her phone's flashlight.

The beam cut through the gloom, illuminating a graveyard of discarded gear. There were skeletons tucked into the corners, their bones bleached white and brittle. Beside them lay battered pieces of armor and broken blades, the remains of hunters who had clearly been used as disposable bait.

At the very back, tucked behind a rusted pipe, was a small wooden box. Hana pried it open.

Blue crystals. They glowed with a faint, pulsing light that made the air feel heavy.

"Hana... bring th-t bac-"

A static-y, distorted voice buzzed in her ear. Elara’s signal was barely holding on. Hana grabbed the crystals and shoved them into her pocket, carefully placing the empty box back exactly where she’d found it. She moved quickly, grabbing a handful of identification cards and discarded guns from the pile. She held them up in front of her face, ensuring the glasses recorded every name and serial number before she turned and headed back up.

She pulled her pendrive from the laptop and climbed back onto the cabin roof.

Then, the wait began.

Two hours passed in a heavy, cold silence. The only sound was the rhythmic lapping of the dark water against the hull. Finally, the gate rippled.

Only three hunters emerged. The scarred man was at the front, his face a mask of grim determination. Behind him, two hunters were struggling to support a third who was missing an entire arm, the wound roughly cauterized with a mana burn. All of them were hauling giant, heavy bags of mana stones that glowed through the fabric.

Hana winced, her eyes narrowing as she lowered herself further into the shadows.

The scarred man entered the cabin and shook the helmsman awake. The man startled, the book falling to the floor, but he quickly swallowed his confusion as he took in the bloodied state of the crew. He didn't ask questions. He just turned the key.

The motor roared to life, and the ship turned back toward the shore.

The screen in front of us was a mess.

Every few seconds, the image from Hana’s smart glasses would dissolve into a frantic dance of white noise. The proximity to the gate was shredding the signal. I leaned back against the leather seat, the cool scent of Seraphina’s peppermint tea doing absolutely nothing to calm the knot in my stomach.

Beside me, Seraphina was focused on the static, her jaw set tight. We were parked in the shadows of a warehouse near the shipyard, the night air pressing in on the car.

Suddenly, a loud, heavy knock rattled the driver’s side window.

I jumped, my hand instinctively going for the bag where I kept my weaponized gear. Roonie looked toward the glass, his eyes widening. A man and a woman were standing there, illuminated by the dim streetlamp. They looked rough, their clothes stained with grease and their expressions full of a localized, territorial rage.

Roonie lowered the window an inch.

The man didn't wait for a greeting. He pulled a heavy handgun from his waistband and pressed the barrel against the glass.

"What are you doing on our turf?" he growled, his voice a low, jagged threat. "Cops? Or just looking to get buried in the concrete?"

I let out a long, tired sigh, leaning my head back against the seat.

"Seriously?" I muttered. "Why do all illegal things have to happen in a shipyard?"