ADRIAN'S POV
The Annapolis docks were swathed in a thick, salt-heavy fog that muffled the sound of the lapping Chesapeake waves. It was the kind of night that swallowed secrets whole. Even the harbor lights looked ghostly, their reflections stretching and breaking across the black water like fractured mirrors.
Our sleek, midnight-blue yacht, The Acheron, waited at the end of Pier 14, a floating fortress ready to carry us into international waters. Her hull gleamed faintly beneath the dock lights; the name etched in silver along the bow like a promise of passage into the underworld. Fitting, really. In Greek mythology, Acheron was the river that souls crossed to reach the land of the dead.
Tonight felt eerily similar.
