“You have security?”
“Not here.”
“That feels like poor planning.”
“It was the point.”
She looked around.
The crowd was not dangerous.
Only excited.
But excitement had momentum. A display rack shifted as people pressed closer. The honey seller was now filming. Someone shouted, “Is she doing a free concert?”
Ellie drew in a breath.
Then she stepped onto the low seawall.
“Everybody,” she called.
Her voice carried with the authority of someone used to stopping tourists from touching poisonous wildlife.
Several people looked at her.
I did too.
“Savannah has to leave,” Ellie announced. “There’s been a marine emergency.”
I stared at her.
The crowd quieted.
A woman near the front frowned.
“What kind of emergency?”
Ellie did not hesitate.
“Turtle government.”
I closed my eyes for half a second.
Of course.
“The mayor?” someone asked.
Ellie pointed toward the marina.
“Classified.”
The absurdity worked.
People laughed.
The attention loosened for one precious second.
Ellie jumped down, caught my hand, and pulled me through a narrow gap between two stalls.
