The ocean sky was alive with stars—sharp, electric, scattered across the black like something shattered and beautiful. Below them, the yacht pulsed with light and sound, a floating heart of gold and neon beating against the dark water.
Jacques could throw one hell of a party.
The music rolled across the deck in heavy waves, bass deep enough to feel in the ribs. Bodies moved everywhere—laughing, sweating, glowing. The air smelled like salt, citrus, expensive liquor, and something sharper beneath it all, metallic and sweet.
Heidi stepped onto the main deck and felt it immediately.
Not drunk.
Not exactly high.
But good—warm, open, loosened at the edges.
Too good.
Topless servers drifted through the crowd, skin catching the light like polished bronze, trays balanced with impossible ease. The drinks they carried glowed—greens, blues, radioactive pinks—each glass smoking faintly from dry ice, as if alive.
This is way too much for this early, Heidi thought.
And why does everyone look like they’re in love with everyone else?
Lila appeared beside her, already flushed, eyes bright and glassy in a way that made Heidi’s stomach tighten.
“Drink this,” Lila said, grinning, pressing a glass into Heidi’s hand.
The liquid inside pulsed neon green, fog curling over the rim.
“What the hell is it?” Heidi asked.
“Liquid Sex,” Lila said proudly, like she’d just discovered fire.
Of course it is.
Heidi stared at it. The name alone sent her brain spiraling into places it absolutely did not want to go.
Liquid Sex.
Because apparently someone looked at bodily fluids and thought, yes, this should be a beverage.
“Jacques is a menace,” Heidi muttered.
Lila laughed—and tipped the drink back without hesitation.
Heidi watched her swallow, watched the way Lila’s shoulders loosened almost instantly, the way her smile widened, unfocused but blissed-out.
Oh no.
Heidi lifted the glass, cautious now. Brought it to her nose.
Absinthe. Sharp, medicinal. And beneath it—something chemical. Familiar in a way that made her pulse spike. Sassafras.
Her eyes flicked back to Lila.
The pupils.
Too big.
Way too big.
You sneaky French bastard.
It clicked all at once.
MDMA.
Not enough to knock anyone out. Just enough to soften edges. Drop guards. Turn touch into connection and connection into inevitability. Everyone wasn’t drunk—they were open. Euphoric. Tuned to the same frequency.
This wasn’t just a party.
It was engineered.
Heidi’s grip tightened on the glass.
She turned away before the warmth could tempt her into forgetting herself and stepped out onto a quieter deck. The ocean breathed below her, steady and dark. She leaned against the railing, heart racing.
I didn’t come here for this.
She glanced down at the glowing drink, then—without ceremony—let it slip from her fingers.
It vanished into the water, light snuffed out instantly.
“Not tonight,” she said softly.
That’s when she saw it.
A smaller boat.
Far enough away to be easy to miss. Close enough to feel deliberate. Its lights were dim, almost polite. It wasn’t moving toward them or away.
It was just… watching.
Heidi’s skin prickled.
She headed back inside, cutting through the crowd with purpose now. The party felt different from the inside—more frantic, more intimate. People touched constantly. Laughed too hard. Clung to one another like gravity had shifted.
She spotted Jacques heading up toward the upper deck.
Of course.
She followed.
The music fell away as she climbed. The upper deck was dim, quiet—leather seating, low lights, the hush of the sea.
And Jacques wasn’t alone.
Aiofé was with him.
Aiofé—sharp-eyed, sharp-tongued, dangerous as ever.
She straddled his lap casually, one heel hooked against the seat, fingers knotted in the open collar of his silk shirt. Jacques lounged beneath her like a king indulgent with a favored sin, cigar glowing between his fingers.
They looked… practiced.
Old.
Messy in the way only history makes people.
Heidi stopped short.
Aiofé stopped her rhythmic bounce, glanced over first, a slow smile curving her mouth. “Well,” she drawled, British accent slicing clean through the quiet. “If it isn’t the guest of honor.”
Jacques exhaled smoke, unbothered. “Bonsoir, Heidi.”
“There’s a boat,” Heidi said immediately. “Out there. Sitting too close.”
Jacques flicked his gaze toward the water—brief, assessing—then back to her. Aiofé’s fingers tightened on his shirt.
“A boat?” Aiofé echoed. “How rude. No invitation.”
Jacques smiled, but there was calculation in it. “Probably curious. These waters attract attention.”
Aiofé leaned in, murmuring something against his ear in French that made him chuckle.
Heidi felt the irritation flare. “I’m serious.”
Jacques studied her for a moment longer, then sighed. “Come. Let us look.”
Aiofé climbed off with a huff, thenn reached for her powder, took a deep sniff, “I’m not finished with you”, “Yeah yeah, we’ll get back to fucking here in a minute”.
They moved below deck.
That’s when Heidi noticed the water.
A thin trail along the corridor wall. Not enough to be dramatic. Just enough to be wrong.
Jacques stopped.
“That,” Heidi said quietly, “wasn’t there before.”
His jaw tightened. He reached for the radio, voice shifting—lower, sharper, all charm stripped away.
Commands in rapid French. Orders to check the hull.
No response.
Again.
Nothing.
They reached the control room. The radar hummed softly.
Empty.
“There is nothing,” Jacques said at last, too calm.
“But there was,” Heidi insisted.
He lifted the binoculars, scanning the dark.
Lowered them.
Paused.
Then—
“Oh… fuck,” he breathed.
Heidi’s stomach dropped.
“What?” she demanded.
Jacques didn’t answer right away. His gaze stayed fixed on the horizon, smile gone, all indulgence burned away.
Whatever had been watching them…
was no longer content to stay at a distance.
“Oh… fuck,” he breathed onced more.
