Page 66 of Gabriel

I paused and pressed my ear to the wood.

Nothing.

I turned the handle slowly, easing the door open an inch at a time. I winced when it squeaked, then held my breath and peered through the crack.

Confirming the coast was clear, I slipped out, the door clicking shut behind me.

As I made my way ahead, my feet were silent and the weight of every step was measured.

I passed another cabin that seemed to be just a glorified storage closet. Stale air was thick with the scent of old wood polish and forgotten linens.

Then came the staircase—sleek, chrome-accented—curving upward in a lazy spiral. I crouched low, the soles of my boots making no more than a whisper against the steps.

Two decks up, I found the main lounge that was luxurious but empty.

Pale leather couches framed low tables that gleamed like obsidian. A bottle of champagne sat unopened in a bucket ofhalf-melted ice. The lights were dim, diffused, casting faint streaks of amber across polished teak floors.

Each time the yacht groaned under its own weight, I ducked low and froze, my heart hammering in my throat, breath caught mid-inhale until the silence returned.

I had a fairly good layout of the boat by now, but what I needed to figure out was where the fuck we were going. I had to find some kind of “war room” or at least an office that would have some information on our destination. One thing I didn’t waste time on was a comms panel. I knew Amara and Elira weren’t that careless. If there was any open line to the outside world, it would be guarded tighter than a vault.

I moved on, slipping past the galley. It was spotless. Sterile. The faint scent of lemon oil lingered in the air, mixing with the cold metal tang of stainless steel.

Someone had cleaned recently, which probably meant the crew didn’t have enough to do.

I made it down another staircase, narrower this time, and steeper. Plush carpeting gave way to steel grated steps. The walls turned industrial. This was no longer the yacht of champagne and chrome. This was the machine that kept it alive. It was an office set up with a map and screens everywhere.

And then I heard it.

A voice—low, precise, and familiar—crackled through a nearby speaker. I stopped breathing—stopped moving—as I stood frozen in the dark corridor, ears straining.

“Just distract her,” said Jet, whose gravelly voice was unmistakable.

“She’s going to start putting it together. She’s already suspicious,” Elira replied, voice tight with warning. “You knowAmara isn’t stupid, and when she figures out why you did this—” She paused. Barely a heartbeat. “She’s going to be furious.”

“That’s why I have you, sis. Work your magic. I warned Santos, but he wouldn’t listen.”

Jet’s voice coiled through the space, making my skin crawl.

A sliver of yellow light spilled into the hallway from a cracked door ahead, cutting through the dark and catching the floating motes of dust.

I moved closer, just enough to see.

Elira was sitting in a lounge chair, phone in hand and ankle propped over her thigh, looking the picture of casual, as if she weren’t broadcasting something treacherous into the open air.

A rookie mistake—stupid, even—for someone like her to have that conversation on speaker.

“It’s simple math,” Jet said coolly. “They won’t know what hit them until it’s too late.”

I frowned.They?

“Are you sure this is the only way?” she replied, unease bleeding into her tone.Not so casual, then. “Maybe Santos?—”

“It’s the only way,” he snapped. “I’ll give her what she wants… and I’ll get what I want. Trust me.”

Something twisted hard in my gut, like a wire being pulled tight.

“All this just to gether? Is she really worth it?” Elira asked.