Within minutes, the scene was over. The pirates, wrists bound in zip ties and cuffs, were hauled onto the Coast Guard boats, their shouts swallowed by the thrum of engines. Most of the stolen cargo was retrieved—though a few silver cases had vanished beneath the waves.

The seaplane rocked gently in the swells, scarred and listing slightly, but still stubbornly afloat.

Later, wrapped in scratchy but welcome blankets on the deck of the cutter, Jamie let out a shaky laugh that was half relief, half disbelief.
“So,” he said, voice still unsteady, “that’s flight one hundred.”

Noah managed a thin, crooked smile. “Not exactly how we planned it.”

Jamie tilted his head back, eyes tracing the pinprick scatter of stars above the dark sea.
“Yeah,” he murmured, the tension finally easing from his shoulders. “But I’ll take it.”