The narrow corridor reeked of salt and rust. The air was thick with brine. Frankie tasted it on her tongue.

  She pressed herself against the damp metal wall. Listening.

  Pipes creaked overhead. Soft groans. Water dripped somewhere in the darkness ahead. Steady. Rhythmic. She moved forward. Each footstep silent on the slick floor.

  She’d been hunting for Ted for twenty minutes. Weaving through the guts of the S.S. Wistaria. Corridors dead-ended. Stairs led to ceilings. The memory of her boyfriend turning into Vondra’s puppet haunted her.

  She pushed the image down. Couldn’t afford to spiral. Not now.

  A sound reached her. A choked sob. Muffled. Human. Alive.

  Frankie rounded the corner. The storage bay opened up before her. Crates and barrels stacked in towering piles. Green light from the fog outside leaked through a porthole. The condensation on the walls looked like scales.

  Ted sat against a crate. Knees pulled to his chest. His face streaked with tears and grime. He shook.

  “Ted.”

  He flinched. Wiped at his face with the back of his hand. “Go away.”

  “No way.”

  “I said—”

  “I heard you.” She crossed the bay in three strides. Dropped into a crouch beside him. No gentleness. No soft words. She was done with soft. “We need to talk.”

  “About what? How we’re gonna die down here? How Dee Dee’s already dead? How Damon—” He paused. Looked around. “Where’s Damon?”

  Frankie frowned. “Vondra got him.”

  Ted’s eyes widened.

  “She’s controlling him.”

  “Is he…”

  “Gone. For now.” The words came out flat. Cold. “I failed. But right now, we need to find Dee Dee.”

  Ted’s head snapped up. “Okay, but how?”

  “I can smell her blood. Fresh. Moving.” Frankie closed her eyes. Copper. Sweat. Fear. “She’s hurt, but breathing. Heart rate’s elevated. Scared, not dying.”

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  Ted stared at her.

  “She’s close. Galley area. A hundred feet that way.” She pointed through the wall. “If we don’t move now, Vondra will find her first.”

  Ted’s breathing slowed. The panic drained from his face. Replaced by something harder.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For what I said. Blaming you.”

  “Don’t.” She pulled the folded star chart from her pocket. The edges soft from seawater. “Just help me end this.”

  She spread the chart on the floor. “The infirmary.”

  Ted leaned forward.

  Frankie tapped a spot near the bow. Someone had drawn a small skull in fading ink.

  “Cold storage. Medical supplies. It’s where they kept bodies when people died at sea.” She met his gaze. “It’s where Vondra’s hiding her skin.”

  “So when we salt it—”

  “She dies. No more Soucouyant. No more fog.”

  Ted swallowed hard. “Okay. So we get salt. Find the skin. End this.”

  “Not that simple.” Frankie traced the corridors leading to the infirmary. “Vondra’s army will guard it. Captain Silver. Damon. Everyone.”

  “We’re screwed.”

  “Not if we’re smart.” She tapped the engine room section. “We need a distraction. Big enough to clear the hall.”

  “What kind of distraction?”

  “The boilers. If we overload them, they blow. The noise will bring every spirit running.” She glanced at the porthole. “Plus, the explosion might damage the hull enough to break the fog. Give us an escape route.”

  “That’s suicide.”

  “It’s a chance.” She folded the chart. Tucked it back into her pocket. “Better than waiting for Vondra to pick us off.”

  Ted was quiet. His fingers drummed against his knee. Finally, he nodded.

  “We find Dee Dee first.”

  “Obviously.”

  They moved. Fast.

  Frankie led. Tracking the scent of blood through the maze. Fresh copper. Antiseptic. The smell grew stronger as they descended another level.

  The galley entrance loomed ahead. Double doors listing on broken hinges. One hung at an angle, scraping the floor. Darkness pooled inside.

  “Dee?” Ted called softly.

  A scraping sound. Metal on metal. Movement in the shadows.

  “Dee!”

  A figure lunged from the gloom.

  Dee Dee.

  She swung a cast-iron skillet. Hard. Aiming for Ted’s head.

  Ted caught her wrist. Just in time.

  “Dee! It’s us!”

  She froze. Eyes wide behind broken glasses. Pale. Smeared with dried blood. A bandage wrapped her shoulder.

  “Frankie?” Her voice shook.

  “Yeah. It’s us.”

  Dee Dee dropped the skillet. It clattered on the floor. She stumbled forward. Ted caught her before she collapsed.

  “I tried—I tried to find you, but they were everywhere,” she gasped. “Captain Silver… he grabbed me. I got away.”

  “You did good.” Frankie examined the shoulder wound. Deep claw marks. Clean. “We need you to keep doing good.”

  Dee Dee straightened. She adjusted her glasses.

  “What’s next?”

  Frankie looked at the darkness down the hall.

  “We light it up.”