Much contrary to expectations, the waves were smooth.
A startling calm greeted Vyan as he squinted into the sunlight, the expanse of the horizon wrapped in an endless blue. The sea shimmered like molten sapphire, scattered with the glint of the late morning sun.
The wind teased his black hair, sweeping it across his eyes as he leaned back against the steering seat.
He was driving the yacht himself. Not because he fancied the thrill of steering a vessel he'd barely learned to manage, but because he had no choice.
There was no one else on board.
The yacht—yes, a yacht—was quiet, save for the soft whirr of the motor and the sound of waves gently slapping against the hull.
