“I didn’t say we’re abandoning the search. I said we’re withdrawing from this useless junkyard,” I spat, opening the back door of the vehicle myself. “I’m not going to waste my time and resources chasing a ghost ship in the middle of an endless ocean. You can’t chase smoke. But smoke has to dissipate eventually, Marcus.”
I climbed into the car, sinking into the dark leather seat. The smell of a new, clean vehicle contrasted disgustingly with the stench of defeat that clung to my clothes.
“Gianna’s pregnant,” I said, looking at Marcus, who had settled into the passenger seat and was watching me in the rearview mirror. “She’s weak. She needs medical attention. She’ll need ultrasounds, prenatal vitamins, clean clothes, food that doesn’t taste like salt. She may have escaped in a wooden hulk
