But the flash of something on shore made me look up to the shadows of Waterside, where the deep blue of a coat almost glowed in the dark. Saint. He leaned into the post on the street, unmoving, except for the hem of his coat blowing in the wind. I couldn’t see his face, but I could feel his eyes on me. And if he was watching, then he knew. His own copper had paid for the sails that now stretched out over the Marigold, pulling us out to sea. And it didn’t matter who I was or what had happened between us. For the first time in my life, we were on opposite sides of a line.
