Tessa is going with me first, because I wouldn’t have it any other way. Our treble hooks whistle up through the night and latch against the hull with a clink, and we wait to see if anyone hears. The sounds of the battle and the slap of the water against the hull must be too loud, because no one comes to investigate. I wait anyway. I’ve been double-crossed too many times now. But then we’re climbing. “If only we had masks, it would be like old times,” she says, a little breathless from the effort. I look at the faint tracing of her profile in the moonlight. “I like it better this way.”
the Nostalgia. it feels like eons since they've done this
