The sun hung high and merciless over the Caribbean Sea, and the Sovereign's Wrath cut through the water like a queen who knew she was beautiful. Three masts of canvas strained against a wind ripe with salt and rum-soaked songs from the crew below. The ship was alive — ropes creaking, timbers humming, men laughing, arguing, and occasionally getting smacked upside the head for singing the wrong verse.

Hugo Marivane was exactly where he was not supposed to be.

Perched at the very top of the mainmast, one arm hooked lazily around the wood, the other shading his eyes against the sun, he surveyed the glittering expanse. The ship rolled gently. He did not. Below, a familiar voice bellowed up from the deck.

A ripple of laughter passed through the crew. Somewhere below, Titus pinched the bridge of his nose. Milo was already squinting up at his friend, probably trying to figure out if he could climb up with a rope and pull him off. Cedric was not looking up at all. He had given up on attempting to preserve Hugo's life years ago.

Hugo leaned out over the endless water, wind tearing at his shirt, and breathed deep. This was the life. The ocean glittered like scattered treasure. The sky stretched forever. And somewhere below the surface, hidden beneath the rolling waves, the world was far stranger than any of them knew.

The ship crested a low swell and for a moment, just a moment, Hugo thought he saw something in the water off the starboard bow. A shimmer. A flash of color. Then it was gone.

He swung down from the mast with practiced ease, boots finding the rigging like old friends. The crew parted around him as he landed on the deck. Garrick was already striding over, face like thunder, but there was no real heat in it. There never was.

The ship sailed on, her crew none the wiser about the eyes watching from below. But Hugo kept glancing toward the water. He could not shake the feeling that something had looked back.