Petrovac, Montenegro - 05:42
At that moment, the Adriatic was still a piece of hammered pewter when they first saw her. She lay at the end of a crooked stone jetty, thirty-eight feet of peeling white fibreglass and sun-cracked teak, her name stencilled on the transom in fading cobalt: Second Life. A tricolour Montenegrin flag fluttered from the stern staff, limp in the dawn calm.
Manning stood on the quay, carrying the sea bag on her shoulder. Her hair was tucked beneath a fisherman cap too large for her. The splint had given way to a carbon-fiber bracelighter, blacker, and meaner. She flexed her wrist with almost no pain. Dr. Keller's last gift before they slipped across the border into Croatia in a fruit truck.
Next to her, Xu Xiao negotiated in lightning-quick Serbian with the broker-a leather-skinned man named Luka who smelled of rakija and diesel. Cash changed hands: a fat envelope of euros, non-sequential, crisp as dead leaves. Luka spat over the rail for good luck, and then handed over the keys along with the paperwork. The name on the bill of sale was Anna Petrović, Manning's newest alias.
• Below deck, the cabin had a salty, old, coffee smell. A single skylight drew thin rays of pale gold across a chart table scarred by the burns of cigarettes. Manning glided her fingers over the logbook: entries in Cyrillic, notes on the weather, fish tallies. The last owner fished sardines and loneliness. They would fish silence.
Shen Yu arrived from the engine compartment, hands black with oil. "Volvo Penta 2003. Starts cold, drinks oil. Fuel tank's three-quarters. Range maybe two hundred nautical if we hug the coast."
"Destination?" Manning asked.
Yu wiped his hands across a rag. "South until the water turns sapphire, then west until the stars look unfamiliar."
Xu Xiao dropped the bag onto the chart table. Inside: two burner sat-phones, a stack of gold krugerrands in vacuum-sealed sleeves, and the titanium reader containing the Phoenix shard they had elected not to scatter. The remaining six were already drifting in encrypted vaults from Reykjavik to Singapore, bait for anyone still hunting ghosts.
• 07:11 Onward
The engine coughed twice, caught, and then settled into a steady chug; lines were cast off, and the jetty slid to astern. The pastel houses of Petrovac shrank to toys, then to postage stamps, then to nothing. The light breeze had come from a north-west direction, and they motored south under bare poles with sails lashed to the boom like folded wings.
Manning took over the steering. The wheel was warm from the sun, the varnish blistered. She felt the thrum of the prop through the teak, living under her palms. Behind her, Xu Xiao built a lazy dog-leg: first to Corfu for fuelling and some fresh water, then threading the Messina Strait at night; then open sea-Malta, Tunisia, perhaps the Canaries if he could hang on to his provisions.
Yu sprawled on the foredeck, laptop balanced on his knees, earbuds in. He was seeding the last of the Phoenix shards into a blockchain ledger disguised as cat memes. With every upload, he bought them another layer of Fog.
• 10:03 a.m. – Off Bar
The sun grew to a fixed height, causing the water to be beaten into brass. Manning stripped down to a tank top, letting the salt wind strip the last bits of Switzerland chill from her bones. She caught Xu Xiao watching her, expression completely unreadable, from the companionway.
"What?" she said.
"Nothing," he said. "Just cataloguing the moment for later."
She snorted. "Later might be tomorrow or ten years. Moments expire."
"Then we make new ones." He stepped into the cockpit, took the wheel. His hand covered hers for a secondwarm, calloused, steady.
• 13:27 p.m. - Lunch at Sea
They grilled sardines and ate them using the fingers with their heads thrown back to filter in the sunlight. There was drips of oil on the deck with crying and wheeling of seagulls overhead.
Conversation was sparse, almost ceremonial.
"Storm forecast for tomorrow night," Yu said.
"Then we reef early and run south," Xu Xiao replied.
"Fuel?"
"Enough. Always enough."
Manning licked salt from her lips. "Tell me something true," she said suddenly.
Xu Xiao thought for a beat. "I never learned to swim until I was twelve. My father threw me off the yacht at Sanya Bay. Said fear was inefficient."
Yu laughed. "Started learning to hack banks at age thirteen. Got grounded for a month. Father soon asked me to show him how."
Manning grinned. "I used to braid plastic bags into jump ropes. Sold them to tourists outside the Bund. Thought I'd be rich by sixteen."
They laughed until the gulls scattered and fell into easy silence. • 16:18 p.m. - First tail. "Yu saw it first: a white RIB, twin engines of 250 horsepowers each, not flagged, observing a mile from astern. Sunlight glinted on the lenses of binoculars": Company? said Manning. "It could be charter fishermen. It might be not." The voice was calm. "We'll know in thirty minutes." They changed course five degrees west. The RIB reflected instantaneously. Yu closed his laptop and settled it in a waterproof sleeve. "I will get the flare kit ready." Manning checked the Glock-one in the chamber, six in the magazine. She did not really fear; instead a cold, familiar clarity shot through her. 18:44 p.m. - Twilight It closed to within half a mile of the RIB, as it rode the swell like a predator. Xu Xiao reduced the throttle and left Second Life to wallow. He fished out an old Yugoslav RPG tube-olive green, streaked with rust, out of a duffel. "Insurance," he says. Manning raised a brow. "You plan for everything, huh?" "I plan for tomorrow. Everything else is improvisation." Yu showed up at the ""coach roof"" with a green parachute flare. "One warning shot across their bow?" "Let's talk first," Xu Xiao said. "They might just want directions." 19:02 p.m. - Parley The RIB drew alongside. Two men, one woman. Dark windbreakers, no insignia. The woman held a loud-hailer. "You're off course," she called in english. "Need to inspect your papers." "We're private. No inspection required," said Xu Xiao, stroking his hands. The woman smiled-thin, professional. "We insist." Manning stepped into view, Glock loose at her side. "Insist harder and you'll need a bigger boat." The woman's gaze flicked to Manning's face, lingered on the carbon brace. Recognition flickered-then she lifted her hand. The RIB's engines revved. They peeled away, disappearing into the gathering dark. Yu exhaled. "Scouts. Not hunters." "Yet," Xu Xiao said. 21:17 p.m. Under stars They continued to motor, blindsided with doused running lights. The spilled Milky Way splattered across the sky like spilled sugar. Manning lay on the foredeck, head pillowed on a coil of rope, with the engine beating around. Xu Xiao dropped beside her, shoulder brushing hers. "I've been thinking." "Dangerous habit." He smiled. "When this is over—truly over—I want to repaint the boat. New name." "What did you have in mind?" He was quiet so long she thought he'd fallen asleep. Then, "First Breath." Manning felt the words settle inside her ribs like warm coins. She reached across, laced her fingers through his. "First breath," she echoed. Above them, a meteor scratched a brief, bright line across the darkness and was gone. The sea rolled on, indifferent and eternal. Below, Second Life carried them south-toward whatever dawn waited beyond the horizon.