The SS Maridadi groaned like a wounded titan as it cut through the choppy, unforgiving waters of the Mozambique Channel. For three grueling days, Nala had lived in the oppressive shadow of rust, salt, and diesel, her entire world reduced to the rhythmic, bone-deep pulse of the freighter's massive engine and the vast, unending blue of the Indian Ocean. They were no longer being chased by the blinding, predatory searchlights of the Syndicate's interceptors, but the silence that followed was almost more terrifying. It was the heavy, suffocating silence of a predator waiting in the tall grass waiting for its prey to finally feel the false warmth of safety.
Maricha Sonoko was stationed in the captain’s cramped chart room, her sharp eyes fixed on a glowing satellite tablet that was linked via a
