The convoy left the Last Fleet at dawn, a ragged line of ships slipping through a sea the color of old pewter. Elias stood at the bow of the lead vessel, a converted trawler called the Resolute, watching the waves break against the hull. The children were below, resting in the cramped crew quarters, their minds still tangled from the battle at the reef. Lyra was with them, her hand in Isaac's, both of them asleep. The adults were scattered—Jesus at the stern, Reyes at the tiller, Ava in the tiny infirmary checking on Nia.
The sky was heavy, and the air tasted of salt and ozone. The green glow from the vents had faded to a faint shimmer on the horizon, like a bruise that refused to heal. Elias felt the absence of the Silence like a missing tooth. His mind was quieter now, but the quiet fel
