Why is she helping me? Why now? I’ve been wanting to get off this damn boat since I was five.
She shoves something into my pants pocket—cold, sharp metal—and pushes me backward into the hall.
“Now, Noah! Run!”
“JULIEN VALENTINO!”
Putain! Putain! Putain!
Panic burns through my veins; confusion claws at my chest. My nerves plummet to my stomach—I want to vomit.
Run? But why? They’re here tosaveme, aren’t they? To take my father away, to lock him up?
Only one problem—he’s not here.
And I don’t exist.
If they don’t know about me, they can’t look for me.
If they aren’t looking for me… I’ll be free.
Just like America.
I spin and sprint back toward America’s room, legs pumping hard, lungs screaming. There’s a hidden passageway beneath the boat—something America told me about but could never open herself.
I shove the old dresser aside, nails tearing into the wood as I pry up a floorboard.
With shaking hands, I find the latch—locked.
Putain!
“OVER HERE!” It’s my mother’s voice. “PAR ICI!” she yells again, this time in French.
Footsteps stop.
Silence drops like a blade.
I hold my breath. Close my eyes. Summon the rain.
My thighs ache as I crouch lower—something sharp jabs into my leg. Voices ricochet down the hallways like bullets.
Careful, careful… I dig into my pocket and pull out the sharp object that was pressing into my thigh.
A key.
“JULIEN VALENTINO! SHOW YOURSELF!”
Mother’s voice is gone. Boots pound again. Doors splinter.
I shove the key into the latch and twist.
It clicks.
Holy shit.
I push the panel inward and drop underground, muscles screaming. With everything in me, I slide the dresser back, sealing the trapdoor. The silence that follows is suffocating.
I run—blind, breathless, the air thick with salt and fear. The corridor narrows, closing in around me. My heartbeat sounds too loud. My thoughts echo, chaotic, colliding.
