The afternoon sun beats down on us as we walk toward the Hudson River pier. Scarlett's hand is tense in mine, and I can feel her anxiety radiating through her palm.
"I still don't understand why we're coming here," she says, glancing at her watch. "Alistair specifically said his yacht would pick us up at the marina downtown."
"Change of plans," I reply casually, steering us toward the crowded waterfront.
"What change of plans? You never told me about any change of plans."
I squeeze her hand. "Trust me."
As we approach the pier, something unusual catches my attention. The normally bustling waterfront is strangely empty of boats. The Hudson River, typically dotted with pleasure craft and tour boats, stretches before us like a vacant highway.
"That's weird," Scarlett murmurs, following my gaze. "Where are all the boats?"
A cluster of frustrated-looking people stands near the dock master's office. Their voices carry across the water, filled with confusion and irritation.
