A sharp knock on the door tore me from a shallow, restless sleep. I opened my eyes to a room painted orange by the sinking sun outside the porthole. For a moment, I couldn't tell if the sound that had woken me had been another scream, another tapping, or just my own heartbeat.
The knock came again—three quick, polite taps.
I rolled out of bed and padded to the door, opening it to find Celeste standing there, hair slightly damp, wearing a fresh t-shirt and a more composed expression.
"Atlas, it's 5:00 PM," she said. "You're going to be late."
"Right. Thanks."
I had a meeting with Donald Reed on the deck at five. Apparently, he wanted to "personally express his gratitude" for my attendance. Or so the staff member had said earlier with a rehearsed smile.
I changed quickly into a clean shirt and jacket, then met Celeste in the living room. We took the elevator up, feeling the slight jolt as it ascended. The higher we went, the more we could hear the muffled thump of music and laughter bleeding through the floors.
The deck was swarming with guests—mostly families and children invited for the celebration. Balloons bobbed in the breeze. A live band played a cheerful tune near the bar, and waiters moved through the crowd balancing trays of drinks like spinning halos.
The sky was painted in streaks of gold and crimson, the sun beginning its slow descent toward the horizon. The sea reflected the colors like molten metal, deceptively calm.
I spotted Donald lounging in a deck chair near the pool, wearing sunglasses and bright red shorts that did nothing to flatter him. He looked like he had been born on cruise ships and would die on one, content.
He waved us over with the enthusiasm of a man who never doubted he was the center of any room he entered.
"Ah, Atlas Orion! Welcome aboard the Velaris!" he boomed. "Sit, sit! You must be tired from the journey."
Celeste hovered slightly behind me, clutching her small crossbody bag like a shield.
"Is it okay that I brought a plus one?" I asked, gesturing toward her.
Donald tilted his sunglasses down, eyeing Celeste briefly.
"No problem at all!" he said. "The more the merrier! Friends of Kotrich are friends of mine!"
"Thank you," I said, sitting. "So, why exactly did Anthem Tours invite me?"
For the first time since I'd met him, Donald's grin faltered. It was only for a fraction of a second—but it was there. A slight tightening around his eyes, a twitch in his cheek. Then it was gone, replaced by his usual jovial smile.
"Ah, we'll discuss business tomorrow once we reach the destination," he said lightly, waving a hand as if brushing away a fly.
"Where are we heading?"
"A place far, far away," he replied, leaning back in his chair. "A private island I bought years ago. It's a twenty-hour voyage, so I hope you have sea legs! Hahaha!"
His laughter rolled across the deck, but there was something about the way his eyes lingered on me—just a heartbeat longer than necessary—that made the hairs on the back of my neck rise.
We left Donald after a while and walked toward the bow of the ship to watch the sunset. The band's music faded behind us, replaced by the sound of wind and distant waves slapping against the hull.
We sat at the edge of the pool, dipping our feet into the water. It was warm, unnaturally so, reflecting the sky like a liquid mirror. The orange sun slowly sank into the horizon, swallowed by the sea as if it had never existed.
"Beautiful," Celeste murmured.
"It'll look different at night," I replied. "Out here, you can see all the stars. And none of the land."
Later, at the restaurant, I nearly had a heart attack looking at the menu prices.
"I'm boiling water and eating instant noodles," I whispered to Celeste, flipping past an entrée that cost more than my rent. "I'm not spending a year's salary on one dinner."
"Relax," Celeste said, pointing at the bottom of the menu where, in fine print, it stated: "All meals included for anniversary guests." "It's all free. Anthem Tours is picking up the tab."
"Free?" I asked, skeptical.
"Of course," a smooth voice said from behind us.
A tall man in a sharp black suit had appeared at our table. He wore no tie, his shirt collar open just enough to suggest confidence, not carelessness. His hair was slicked back impeccably. His features were refined, almost aristocratic, the kind that would photograph well in corporate magazines.
"Consider it part of our service," he added.
"And who are you?" I asked.
He gave a faint, practiced smile.
"I am Reyan Anther. The CEO of Anthem Tours and the organizer of this event."
"I thought Donald was the CEO," I said.
"No, no," Reyan replied, as if explaining something to a child. "He is the Owner. He appointed me as CEO. I handle the operations. He handles the spotlight."
"I see." I extended a hand. "I'm Atlas Orion, and this is Celeste."
"I know who you are," Reyan said, ignoring my hand and focusing on my eyes instead. "Donald insisted on inviting you."
There was no admiration in his voice. No curiosity. Just a flat weight, like a stone dropping into water.
Reyan was imposing—tall, pale, and well-built. His posture was perfect, every movement economical and controlled. He was polite, but his eyes... they held a strange mix of annoyance and something colder. A watchfulness that had nothing to do with hospitality.
After our food arrived, he excused himself, claiming urgent business. He glided across the restaurant floor, staff and guests unconsciously trimming their paths to avoid crossing his.
I had ordered rice with seaweed and clams. Simple, familiar. Celeste, despite being a university student, had ordered the Kids' Meal, complete with a tiny flag stuck in the rice and a smiley face drawn with sauce.
"Hey, Atlas..." Celeste whispered as we ate in the corner, away from the main crowd.
"Yeah?"
"I don't like him. That Reyan guy."
"Why?" I asked, though I already knew the answer wouldn't be logical in the traditional sense.
"He has a hidden agenda," she said, eyes narrowed. "Did you see his eyes? He looked at you with hate."
"Maybe he just has a resting mean face," I replied, but the joke felt thin in my mouth. "But if you say so, I'll be careful."
I trusted Celeste. I brought her along because she had a unique gift: she could "see" people's true nature. It wasn't supernatural, at least not in any way that could be measured. It was more like she noticed micro-expressions, tiny flinches, shifts in tone, and patterns that other people's brains classified as noise.
Her instincts had helped me solve countless cases. When she said someone was dangerous, they usually were.
That night, as we walked back to our suite, the corridor lights flickered twice and then steadied. Celeste shivered and rubbed her arms.
"This ship... feels wrong," she murmured.
"Sea air always does that," I said.
But as we passed a door marked "Staff Only" and heard, just faintly, what sounded like a muffled sob from the other side, I began to wonder if she was sensing something I couldn't yet name.