They all clustered into Grim’s office, listening uncomfortably to the rain pounding outside while Grim turned their little space into a briefing center. If Eli had been paying attention, he would have appreciated how they whipped out screens and blueprints from corners of the office he swore hadn’t existed a moment ago. But as Grim worked, he couldn’t help but keep looking out the window for a sign of blue flannel or hair.

A hand squeezed Eli’s arm, and he turned to find Sherry smiling at him. “Thank you for this,” she half-whispered, as if Ambrose would overhear her. “I really will feel better if you go with him.”

Eli wanted to echo her positivity, but as the rain on the roof intensified, his sinking feeling only deepened. “How long do you think he’ll be mad at me?”

Sherry tilted her head, eyes crinkling. “He’s not mad. He just lo—,” something held her tongue and switched its direction. “He doesn’t want to put anyone else in danger. That’s all.”

Grim turned a laptop towards the group, drawing their attention to the screen. “I’ve been keeping track of any icefall purchases on this coast, to be safe,” they explained. “And we’ve got one more drop in our orbit.”

Banneker’s eyes widened as he recognized the target. “The yacht?” He grinned. “Can I go with them, too?”

“No,” Sherry and Grim answered. Banneker’s grin fell.

“The yacht,” Grim flicked their gaze towards Banneker, then to Eli, “belongs to this man, Preston Thisby.”

Several tabloid photographs appeared on screen, all sunglasses, bleached hair, and cocky grins tilted towards various celebrities and models. Eli grimaced. “Thisby. Son of that shipping mogul?”

“Yeah, that one.” Grim clicked out of the photos. “Good news, he’s dumb as rocks. Bought icefall because it sounded cool.”

“And the bad news?”

“He’s a dumb kid.” Grim shrugged. “Dumb kids are unpredictable.”

The group spread out around the desk as Grim rolled out a stack of blueprints and flicked through the sheets. Through the maze of lines, Eli could make out the shape of the yacht and the hints of luxury aboard—hot tubs, infinity pools, multiple bars.

He couldn’t decide if he wanted to set the absurd opulence on fire, or just steal the entire boat with the icefall on it.

“Has Ambrose ever considered a yacht safehouse?” he mumbled as he flipped a corner of the blueprint to view the six cabins on the lower decks. Banneker slapped his arm.

“See, now you’re talking!”

Grim cleared their throat and gestured to a map on screen. Banneker held up a hand in apology and folded his arms.

“From my reports,” Grim said, “the kid’s got vials he plans to hand off to friends in a week. He’s invited them to his dock on this side of the lake. Will be hosting some kind of party while he’s there, of course.”

“Any safes on board?” Eli asked as he flipped a corner of the blueprint to view the six cabins on the lower deck. Grim nodded, flipped back to the two cabins on the middle deck, and pointed to the walls.

“Two bedrooms, two safes.”

“So we go in as what, stewards?”

“No.” Grim’s straightened. “It’s a small crew and the stewards all know each other—you’d be recognized as outsiders immediately. You’ll need to head in while invisible, then mingle with the guests once the crowd is big enough.”

“And their way out?” Sherry asked, biting her nail again.

“That’s pretty easy,” Banneker answered for Grim. “The boat will be docked the whole time.”

Grim nodded. “Just act drunk and tell the crew you need to hit up a club. They’ll let you off, no questions asked. Hell, some people will probably try to go party with you.”

Eli raised an eyebrow. “Very specific suggestion, Grim.”

Banneker snorted. “Just ask them about that one holiday party at Ariata, where they totally…” He caught Grim’s glare and back-tracked. “I mean, nothing happened. Totally nothing happened.”

Grim closed the laptop for emphasis. “Sherry will be in a car by the dock, ready to pick you up. Banneker and I will be on a boat near you, monitoring everything.”

There was one element they hadn’t yet covered, and Eli tried not to sound too excited when he asked about it. It was a sort of magic, after all. “So…what sort of potions do you think I can bring on this mission?”

“The stable ones,” a voice snapped from the hallway. Ambrose was standing outside the office, water streaming from his lank hair and clothing. His shirt hung off him in heavy, wet folds, his lifeless expression just as weighed down. Suddenly, Eli felt like he had been the one standing out in the rain and letting it settle into his bones.

“No phasing,” Ambrose continued. “And we can’t afford any violence, not after how close Pearce got last time. We get in and out without anyone noticing.” He let out a defeated breath. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go refine the invisibility potion.”

He stalked back into the basement, leaving icy puddles of rainwater in his wake as the storm lashed the office windows. Eli started after him, but Sherry grabbed his sleeve and shook her head. “Give him a day,” she said. “We’ll start testing out doses on you tomorrow. And he’s right—absolutely no phasing.”

Eli swallowed as he recalled Ambrose’s gasping breaths over the comm at the lab, the defib waiting in Grim’s car. The phantom feeling of Ambrose curled in pain against his chest bloomed across his skin with a cold shiver. “Understood,” he said. “Stable potions only.”