Page 81 of Black Reign

GHOST: You haven't met them.

I stare at the invitation.

VESPER: Maybe I will.

The typing indicator appears.

Stops.

Returns.

GHOST: Careful. That sounded dangerously close to yes.

My tooth catches my lower lip.

VESPER: Don't get excited.

GHOST: Too late.

That does something foolish to my chest.

I close NULL.

Apparently I'm going to California.

I don't fly.

Flying leaves too much behind.

Names.

Cameras.

Timelines.

People trained to notice faces because governments have spent fortunes teaching machines to do the same.

I prefer water.

Always have.

So I move the way I know how.

Port by port.

Berth by berth.

Private boats where nobody cares who another passenger is as long as she's quiet, useful, and capable of paying her share without questions.

Some stretches take days.

Others take longer.

I cross pieces of the Atlantic aboard vessels belonging to people who know me under names I've already forgotten. I spend nights in cheap rooms near marinas, a youth hostel once, two different short-term rentals, and one guest cabin that smelled so heavily of diesel I dreamed about engines.

Ghost messages throughout.

He has no idea I'm moving toward him.