The fishing boat's motor coughed, rattled, then steadied into a low growl that reverberated through the hull. Lin's hands stayed tight on the tiller, guiding the vessel northward into the mist. Behind them, the shoreline was already little more than a smudge of shadows and faint pinpricks of light from the fishing village. The storm had passed inland, but the sea still heaved in long, restless swells, carrying the boat higher and lower like it was nothing more than driftwood.
Keller muttered under his breath, wiping seawater from his beard. "Feels like we're sitting ducks out here."
"We are," Lin said. His voice was quiet, but the truth in it carried like iron. "That's why we stay in the fog."
Min-joon crouched near the bow, a hand pressed against the crate to keep it from sliding. His eyes flicked over the waves as though expecting shadows to rise out of them. "And if they followed us onto the water?"
