Then—
POP. POP. POP.
The sound cuts through the air above us.
Jameson stops mid-sentence.
I blink.
Sharp. Too sharp to be something falling.
Dane frowns, glancing up.
Another burst.
POP. POP. POP.
Voices shout above deck. Not laughing anymore.
Ryan’s footsteps stop in the hallway, and the mood shifts instantly.
“What was that?” Jameson asks.
No one answers.
Ryan moves toward the narrow stairwell, slow and quiet, like he’s trying to hear.
Another crack echoes through the yacht.
He stops halfway down the hall, head tilted.
Something heavy thuds above us. Then running footsteps. More shouting—fast, angry, in a language I don’t recognize.
A cold, tight feeling settles in my stomach.
Dane steps closer to the hallway. “What’s going on?”
Ryan doesn’t answer. He’s gone completely still.
Another pop. Closer.
Jameson’s voice is small now. “What was that?”
Ryan turns back to us, and his expression has changed. Whatever calm was there a second ago is gone.
“Hide,” he says quietly.
He glances toward the stairwell again, listening, then looks back at us. His voice drops lower, sharper.
“Hide.Now.”
For a second, none of us move. Then another crack splits the air, louder this time, and Ryan’s head snaps toward the stairs.
“Move.Now.”
He grabs my arm and drags me down the narrow hallway below deck. The space feels tighter down here, the walls close enough that I have to turn slightly to avoid brushing them. Behind us, Jameson hurries to keep up, his bare feet slapping softly against the floor.
Another crack echoes above.
