L*st and Death

“Do you think he’ll come back?”

Siron mumbled weakly, staring out at the pitch-black sea.

“Who?”

“The man who went to find a ship.”

They still had plenty of food and water—having emptied out the yacht’s pantry—but the fuel was gone, and their journey was at a standstill.

“We’re all gonna be fine.”

3547 answered in a dazed tone, eyes fixed on the distant ocean. The unexpectedly hopeful reply made Siron chuckle faintly.

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because the shimmer of night smiled.”

Siron stared at him with disbelief, then realized 3547 was talking about the bioluminescent plankton. A tired smile crept across his face.

“Ah. Of course it did.”

“You don’t believe me.”

3547 reached out and pointed to the black sea. The plankton glittered like starlight scattered across the water, riding the waves that lapped steadily toward the island. And then, right where his finger pointed, the waves split left and right—flashing briefly as a light shimmered on the surface. A strange vessel was approaching.

Two boats.

One of them stopped just ten meters from the yacht—a small fishing boat, far smaller than their passenger vessel. A powerful spotlight from the bow of the ship suddenly lit up Siron’s face. He raised his hand instinctively to shield his eyes.

The beam didn’t move. Through the cockpit window of the fishing boat, a tall, broad silhouette appeared. Slowly, the figure exited and stepped toward the railing.

Siron narrowed his eyes, trying to focus past the glare. It was Isaac. As the spotlight lowered, the residual imprint faded from Siron’s retinas and the world dimmed, wrapped in darkness again.

The fishing boat began to drift closer, approaching the yacht from the starboard side. As the gap narrowed, a docking rope flew toward them. People on the yacht rushed forward to catch it and secured it to a mooring bollard. Soon they were laying a gangway between the two ships.

“Ramp’s secure!”

Someone shouted, and a figure leapt from the other ship onto the yacht.

It was Isaac.

He ignored the greetings of others and walked straight toward Siron.

“We’ll be transferring to the trawler within the hour. Get ready.”

Siron had words caught in his throat—he’d wanted to say he was worried, that he’d waited—but somehow, facing Isaac’s business-first tone, it felt hard to be honest.

He looked completely different from when he’d left. No more lab coat. He wore a worn-out shirt and slacks, all function over fashion: black Gore-Tex cargo pants, a digital camo hardshell jacket, and black combat boots. He looked like someone fully prepared to vanish into the dark.

“Okay. I’ll get ready.”

The moment Siron spoke, the yacht rocked slightly side to side. A cargo vessel had slowly drawn up alongside the port side and begun docking. From the new ship, someone stepped aboard.

He looked like he’d just walked out of a jazz club—dressed in a crisp white suit, clean-cut moustache, warm eyes. A Black-Latin mixed man in his late 30s.

“God, the smell...”

Grimacing, the man walked toward Siron, hands behind his back, surveying the yacht.

“Nice ship. Great curves. Would be a shame to leave it. Might fetch a good price if we sell it.”

“Take it if you don’t mind getting tracked.”

Isaac replied flatly. The man made a face.

“Fuck that. Last thing I need is to get rear-ended by those bastards again. But...”

He tilted his head at Siron and gave a brilliant smile.

“And who’s this lovely thing? Part of your crew?”

“Yeah.”

“Ah, a face that hits the senses like a shot of 11-year Marea Oscura. Pleasure to meet you.”

Rubbing his palms together like he was trying to warm them, he flashed white teeth and extended a hand toward Siron. Before Siron could react, Isaac casually twisted the man’s arm and shoved him forward.

“Save the introductions. Help with the cargo.”

Under Isaac’s orders, the ship transfer moved like clockwork. The larger cargo vessel was for the homeless passengers headed to the U.S.; Isaac and the others would board the trawler.

By the time the luggage was sorted, it was well past midnight. Dermot would captain the U.S.-bound cargo ship, while Isaac would steer the trawler toward Belzoras. The yacht they had escaped on would be abandoned here, on the unnamed island.

The homeless men hauled over everything valuable—fishing rods, barbecue grills, whiskey—and then boarded the cargo ship. Siron crossed the gangway and entered the control room.

“Dermot.”

“What, you coming with us?”

Dermot grinned wide, eyes sparkling.

“Would be nice, but... not this time. I’ll see you in the U.S.”

“How’re we supposed to find each other again? Wanna set a time and place?”

The red-nosed man teased. Siron memorized Dermot’s features—brown eyes, red nose, red hair, short frame—and pulled a note from his pocket.

“When you dock, buy a burner and call this number. It’ll help both of us.”

Dermot studied the number, then grimaced.

“Hellstate area code? We’re headed to Georgia.”

“That’s right. Go to Georgia. The phone’s owner will come find you.”

Seeing Siron’s serious expression, Dermot nodded carefully.

“Whose number is this?”

“Anna McCarthy.”

“Your mom? Girlfriend?”

“She’s a police officer in Hellstate. She was helping me investigate the disappearances.”

“Ah. What do I tell her?”

“That a super hot Asian guy gave you her number.”

“...Tch.”

Smiling, Siron handed him a second note. Dermot opened it and read aloud.

“Joseph Miller is involved in homeless kidnapping.

I was abducted from Millander Public Support Shelter.

Your brother was waiting outside the shelter, but wasn’t present during my abduction.

The kidnapped were held on an island between Cuba and Mexico.

‘Shibalman’ and the man from ‘the photo’ were among them... etc.”

Squinting with fatigue, Dermot folded the note carefully and tucked it deep into his pocket.

“I barely understood half of that. Wouldn’t it be better if you just told her yourself?”

Siron would’ve, if he could. But with Hybris still hunting Isaac and Baekgyeong, contacting Anna directly—no matter how badly he wanted to know if Lewis was safe—was too dangerous.

Reading his hesitation, Dermot gave him a firm slap on the shoulder.

“Alright. You don’t even tell us your name, so I get it. You’ve got your reasons. I’ll deliver the message.”

“Please do.”

Siron locked eyes with him.

“We’ll meet again.”

“Yeah. Alive, I hope.”

After saying goodbye, Siron returned to the yacht to watch the others depart. The cargo vessel slowly disappeared into the narrow mangrove path. As it cut through the current, bioluminescent plankton lit up in glowing streaks behind it. At the edge of the mangrove forest, the final wave sparkled and vanished—then the ship was gone, swallowed by darkness.

“So, now it’s our turn?”

“Time to move the rest.”

Isaac, Siron, and the mixed-race man headed for the cabins. While Siron carried Sonia down from the second floor, the other two moved Baekgyeong and Manu Singh onto the trawler. Once all the checks were complete, they left the unnamed island behind, setting a course for Belzoras, along the western edge of the Caribbean.

“Since Isaac didn’t bother to introduce me, I’ll do it myself.”

Siron sat on a plastic stool near the deck, leaning against the rail where he could see the control room clearly. The man in the white suit brought over a stool and sat beside him, wiping grease from his hands with a handkerchief.

“Rafael Javier Harris. From Belzoras. Third-generation owner of the Marea Oscura rum family based in Elzote.”

After carefully wiping his hands, he offered Siron a handshake. His eyes sparkled with anticipation. Siron turned his words over in his head.

“Marea Oscura? I think I’ve heard of it.”

“Of course you have. It’s internationally famous—Belzoras’s pride and joy.”

In other words, he was a third-gen chaebol. Siron thought of Baekgyeong belowdecks and half-heartedly reached out his hand.

“Yoon Siron. Just call me Ron. I’m American... work as a food delivery driver.”

“My friend, with beauty like yours, no food will ever go cold.”

He took Siron’s hand as if it belonged to a lady in gloves, kissed the back of it like some film noir hero, and smiled.

“When I agreed to help Isaac, I never thought I’d meet such a stunning creature. I’m a lucky man.”

Goosebumps shot up Siron’s back. He quickly yanked his hand away, crossed his arms, and forced a polite smile.

“How do you know Isaac?”

“He saved my life seven years ago. My father was one of his clients.”

Rafael picked up a loose bit of netting from the floor and tossed it to Isaac as he spoke.

“At the time, I was being raped. That guy half-killed my attacker, then had sex with me.”

“...What?”

Siron blinked in shock, looking back and forth between Rafael and Isaac. Isaac said nothing, eyes still fixed on the dark ocean.

“He’s got some... complicated tastes.”

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