On a jagged spar of rock, the only land for miles in the vast blue, two figures were motionless. One was a massive, white-furred mink, slumped on his side, chest heaving with ragged, wet breaths. The other was a man, sprawled on his back.

Bepo tried to push himself up, a low whine escaping him. The after-effects of the forced Sulong transformation were brutal—every muscle screamed, his fur was matted and singed, and one of his arms hung at a wrong angle. He couldn’t stand. All he could do was press his head against Law’s shoulder, a pathetic attempt to share warmth, to keep his captain present.