Chapter 407:

Through the dim glow of emergency lights, she caught sight of what Jeffry had described—a square object swathed in waterproof canvas, bolted down and wrapped in chains behind the main engine. Brightly colored wires coiled around it like venomous snakes, vanishing into the darkness of cable channels.

She had found the bomb.

Rylie pressed herself deeper into the shadows cast by the machinery, her gaze sweeping the surrounding area, every sense sharpened as she assessed the danger.

Two grease-smeared mechanics hunched over the equipment, muttering curses about the weather and the wreck of a ship they were stuck on. They wrestled with stubborn oil leaks left behind by the recent rough seas, wrenches clinking at their belts, heavy mallets swinging at their sides. The bulge of a pistol stood out at the small of one man’s back, an unspoken warning to stay cautious.

A frontal attack would be suicide—any noise here would bring the whole ship running.

Rylie’s expression hardened, cold determination settling over her features as she drew out the two small ether vials Marsha had slipped her earlier. Luckily, they were something she could use now. Clamping down on her own breath, she moved forward with the silent precision of a hunting predator, closing in inch by inch.

“Son of a… This leak’s worse than a toddler pissing himself! Ronan better throw more money at repairs this time,” one mechanic spat, bending low to get a closer look at the mess.

Now.

Rylie erupted from the darkness like a phantom unleashed. Her left hand clamped over the first mechanic’s mouth, and with her right thumb, she snapped open the ether vial, ramming it hard against his nose and mouth.

“Mmph…!” His eyes widened in panic. A few desperate jerks, a muffled protest, and his body went slack, collapsing in her grip as the stinging chemical smell filled the air.

Lㆀ$† Ç♄₳þŧëяŞ Iη ĠałnøνεlŞ.cøm

“What the hell…” The second mechanic spun at the sound, catching sight of his partner crumpling and a blur closing in fast. Instinct drove his hand toward the pistol at his back.

But Rylie moved faster. Using her momentum, she swung low, her leg cutting through the air in a vicious arc, slamming into the back of his knee with bone-jarring force.

Crack! The sharp snap of bone echoed through the engine room.

“Ahh!” The mechanic’s scream tore out of him as his leg buckled beneath the blow.

Rylie didn’t pause. She slammed her knee into his lower back the moment he hit the deck.

“Guh… ahh…” The man wheezed, his breath knocked out along with any ability to call for help.

In under ten seconds, both men were down. No shots fired. No alarms raised. Just silence hanging heavy in the oily, dim-lit air.

.

.

.