Chapter 15

The explosion tore the night apart. Fire clawed at the sky, swallowing the dock whole. Jesse's boat lurched, throwing me against the rail. I clung to the ledgers, the pages flapping like panicked birds in the wind. Behind us, the Mayor's laugh melted into a scream as flames devoured him.

"Ellie! Hold on!" Jesse gripped the wheel, steering us into the churning black waves. Rain slapped my face, mixing with salt and smoke. The storm roared, a wild thing now, hungry and alive.

Something thumped against the hull.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

"Rocks?" Jesse yelled.

I leaned over the edge. A pale hand slapped the water's surface.

"There's someone out there!"

Jesse killed the engine. We dragged the figure aboard—a girl, maybe 18, her hair plastered to her face, a fresh bruise blooming on her cheek. She coughed seawater, her eyes wide and frantic. "They… they sank us… the Circle…"

I wrapped my coat around her. "What's your name?"

"Mara," she rasped. "They locked us in the cargo hold. I swam through a broken window when the boat went down."

Jesse's flashlight trembled as he checked her wrist. A tattoo: MC-12. "Mariner's Circle," he muttered. "You're one of their… shipments?"

Mara nodded, tears cutting through the grime on her face. "They traffic kids. Take us out to sea. If we fight…" She touched her bruise. "They drown us."

The ledgers felt heavier in my hands. Page after page of names. Mara was proof the Circle's evil was still alive.

A foghorn groaned in the distance.

No—not a foghorn.

The Ferryman's boat emerged from the smoke, its engine guttural. He stood at the bow, hook gleaming, hat hiding his face.

"Go!" Mara screamed.

Jesse cranked the engine. It sputtered. Died.

"No, no, NO!" He punched the dashboard.

The Ferryman's boat loomed closer. Mara scrambled to the edge, ready to dive. "Don't!" I grabbed her arm. "We fight."

Jesse yanked open a storage compartment, tossing me a rusted flare gun. "Aim for the fuel tank!"

The Ferryman leapt onto our deck, his weight slamming the boat sideways. Water sloshed over my boots. I raised the flare gun, but he swatted it away, his hook slicing the air near my throat.

Mara lunged, biting his arm. He snarled, backhanding her. She crumpled.

Jesse swung an oar at his head. Crack! The Ferryman staggered but didn't fall. His hat slipped, and moonlight caught his face.

My breath froze.

Not Evelyn.

A man. Mid-50s. Scarred. Familiar.

"Sheriff Pike?" Jesse choked.

The Sheriff—no, the Ferryman—smiled, his teeth yellow. "Surprise, kiddos."

Mara gasped. "He's the one who branded me!" She showed her palm—the anchor symbol, raw and red.

The Ferryman raised his hook. "Should've drowned you when I had the—"

Blam!

A gunshot ripped through his shoulder. He stumbled, blood blooming on his coat.

Mac stood on the shore, swaying, one hand pressed to his bleeding stomach, the other clutching his pistol. "Get… away… from my kid!"

The Ferryman snarled, retreating to his boat. "This ain't over!" He vanished into the smoke, engine fading.

Jesse rowed us ashore. Mac collapsed, his face gray. I pressed my hands to his wound, but the blood seeped through my fingers. "Why'd you come back?" I whispered.

He coughed, red flecking his lips. "Had to… make it right." His eyes found mine. "Evelyn… she wasn't the only Ferryman. The Circle's got… layers. Like a damn onion."

"Save your strength," I begged.

"Listen… The ruby. It's not just a key. It's proof. The numbers… inside…" His hand went limp.

"Mac? MAC!"

But he was gone.

Dawn bled across the sky as we buried Mac under a twisted pine. No coffin, no prayers—just three shovels of wet earth and a pocket watch set on the grave. Mara knelt, placing a seashell beside it. "He saved us," she said.

Jesse pried open the ruby's clasp with his knife. A tiny scroll fell out, covered in numbers.

"Coordinates," he said. "Latitude and longitude."

Mara's face hardened. "That's where they take us. The drowning place."

The wind shifted, carrying the stink of burnt wood and secrets. Somewhere, the Ferryman was still out there. The Circle was wounded, not dead. And Mac…

I pocketed the coordinates. "We end this. Today."

The storm had passed, but the ocean never rests.