The little fishing boat’s engine roared, spitting and growling as it battled the wild North Atlantic waves. Freezing, salty water crashed onto Julian’s face, but he didn’t flinch. He gripped the wooden rail so hard his knuckles looked bone white. In his other hand, he clutched a silver locket, feeling its weak, fading warmth.
“The signal’s moving again!” David yelled, his voice barely cutting through the howling wind. He was hunched in the corner of the cramped cabin, his laptop wrapped in plastic to keep the spray out. “Julian, the map’s changing! The island isn’t staying put—it’s drifting, like a ship!”
“How can an island move?” Bianca asked, looking miserable and greenish. She was seasick from all the rocking, and clung to Toby’s arm to keep upright.
“It’s not just land,” David said,
