I nod, forcing my breath to slow. We sit on the floor, holding each other while the boat tries to throw us apart. I cling to him, every finger fisted into his crumpled shirt. He strokes my hair, whispers words of comfort. My anchor in the storm. “I have something for you,” he murmurs. Still struggling to swallow my panic, I croak, “A distraction, I hope.” “Something like that.” He unwraps an arm from me, never fully letting me go as he struggles to shrug something from his shoulders. It’s only when he sets the pack atop the damp floor that I notice it for the first time. Reaching inside, he
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