…she had just increased her value. The thought settled in her mind with a cold, clinical finality. She was no longer just a hostage; she was an asset, and in the lawless stretches of the Delta, an asset was often more precious than gold.
The man stared at her, the silence stretching until the only sound was the rhythmic, wet slap of water against the hull. Finally, he let go of EBI’s collar, letting the younger man slump back into the mud with a pathetic, shuddering whimper. The pirate wiped his hands on his trousers, his eyes never leaving Amara’s. “A pilot,” he repeated, the word tasting like a joke on his tongue. “You have a big mouth for a woman in a cage.”
“It’s not a mouth if it’s telling the truth,” Amara said, her pulse thrumming in her throat, though her gaze remained level. She pointed toward a dark, jagged silhouette of mangroves looming to their port side. “See that cluster? The Twisted Root. If you try to cut through the channel there, the current will pull you into the sandbars. You’ll be stuck, idling your engine, waiting for the Navy’s patrol boats to find you like a bright light in a dark room.”
The man leaned in, the scent of stale tobacco and unwashed skin overwhelming her. He squinted into the darkness, searching for the truth in her eyes, looking for the flicker of a lie. “And where do we go instead, Pilot?”
“Follow the bend where the water turns milky,” she said, directing him toward a narrow, seemingly impenetrable thicket of brush. “The deep vein stays hidden behind the silt. It’s a tight squeeze, and if you hit the bank, you’re done, but it’s the only way the sonar won’t catch the vibration of your motor.”
He didn’t answer immediately. He looked at his crew, men with hollow eyes and restless, scarred hands, and then back at Amara. The decision was made in the way his jaw tightened. He gestured to the driver, a wiry man with a shaved head. “Do as she says. But if we hit a sandbar, I’m using her as bait.”
The engine roared to life, a guttural, coughing sound that felt dangerously loud in the stillness of the marsh. As the boat lurched forward, pushing into the suffocating darkness of the narrow channel, Amara felt the weight of her decision. She had traded her status as a victim for the status of a guide, but in these waters, a guide was often just a target with a better view.
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