Chapter 1

Maren stood at the rail of The Tug, the salt-heavy wind tugging at her coat. The harbormaster's signal was supposed to sound five minutes ago, a single clear note that meant their slip was clear. Instead, the harbor was silent except for the slap of water against the pilings and the distant cry of gulls. She glanced up at the clock tower on the hill. Seven-fifty. The full moon would rise in just over an hour, and if they weren't out of the channel by then, the tide would trap them for another night.

Behind her, a hatch creaked open, and Cora climbed onto the deck, wiping grease from her hands onto her coveralls. “Still no bell?”

“No.” Maren turned. “What about the engine?”

“Same as last night. Dead.” Cora's voice was flat, but there was a tightness around her eyes. “The hellstone's gone. Someone pulled it clean out of the housing. We're not going anywhere without it.”

Leo appeared at the top of the gangway, his boots heavy on the wooden planks. He was carrying a coil of rope, but he dropped it as he reached the deck. “I checked the shed. It's not there. The harbormaster's office is locked.”

Maren's fists tightened. She knew exactly what that meant. The hellstone was a fist-sized chunk of dark crystal, forged in the same fire that had given The Tug its impossible engine. Without it, the boat was just a rusting hulk. And there was only one person in Port Haven who would dare steal it—a kid named Jess, who had been hanging around the docks all week with a hungry look in her eyes.

“I'm going after her,” Maren said.

“She could be anywhere by now,” Leo said. “And if the harbormaster comes and finds us still tied up—”

“Then we'll deal with that when it happens. Cora, stay with the boat. Leo, come with me.”

They moved, fast and silent, across the dock and up the stone steps to the street. The town was quiet, the lamps just starting to flicker on. Maren knew where Jess lived—a cramped room above a fishmonger's shop near the old pier. She had seen the girl there once, staring out a window at The Tug, and she had known then that trouble was coming.

They reached the alley behind the fishmonger's just as a figure slipped out of a side door. It was Jess, thin and quick, a canvas bag clutched against her chest. Maren stepped into her path.

“Give it back, Jess.”

Jess froze. For a long second, she looked like she might run. Then she let out a breath and held out the bag. “I didn't steal it,” she said, her voice shaking. “I borrowed it. I was going to bring it back.”

“That's not how borrowing works,” Leo said, taking the bag. He opened it and pulled out the hellstone, dark and pulsing with a faint inner light. “It's still warm.”

Maren took the stone. It hummed against her palm, a familiar vibration that she had come to trust. “Why?” she asked.

Jess looked past them, toward the harbor. “Because they told me to.”

“Who told you?”

But before Jess could answer, a sound cut through the night—a bell. The harbormaster's bell. One long, mournful note that echoed across the water.

Maren's stomach dropped. That wasn't the signal for departure. That was the alarm.

Jess's face went pale. “They know you're trying to leave.”