NATES POV
The Aura didn't head straight for the jagged obsidian teeth of St. Jude's Key. Instead, Adrian dialled back the electric motor until the hum was nothing more than a purr, a rhythmic vibration that felt like a living thing beneath the floorboards. We were caught in the "Lee of the Arch," a natural limestone cathedral where the turquoise water was so still it looked like a sheet of unpolished jade.
The morning sun was higher now, its heat beginning to bake the salt into our skin, but the air remained cool, smelling of deep-sea minerals and the faint, expensive scent of the cedarwood oil Adrian used. I didn't want the shore. I didn't want the tactical reports. I wanted the man at the helm.
