“Look at the monitor behind you, Everett,” I said.

Kane did not turn his head at first.

He kept his eyes locked on mine, searching for any sign of hesitation.

But his chief security guard, a tall man with a scarred jaw, glanced at the wall screen.

The screen usually displayed the yacht’s navigation maps and radar.

Now, it showed a flickering local news broadcast.

A red banner flashed across the bottom of the screen.

The words *BREAKING NEWS* glowed in bright, block letters.

“Sir,” the guard said, his voice dropping an octave.

“Not now, Marcus,” Kane snapped.

“Sir, you need to look at this,” Marcus insisted.

Kane slowly turned his head.

The studio anchor on the screen was holding her earpiece, her face pale.

Above her shoulder, a live video window had opened.

It showed the interior of our cabin from my exact perspective.

Kane’s own face was visible on the screen, sharp and clear.

The audio of his previous threat played back with a slight delay, echoing through the small television speaker.

*”Ten seconds, Dante,”* Kane’s recorded voice said from the monitor. *”The clock is ticking.”*