PART 2: APRIS

  The yacht gleamed under the bright midday sun, its polished white exterior reflecting the light like a beacon against the endless expanse of ocean. The deck smelled faintly of saltwater, mingling with the citrusy aroma of Damon’s icy pink smoothie. The ship was enormous—sleek and modern, with curved lines and chrome railings that screamed luxury.

  Damon leaned against the upper deck railing, wearing designer swim trunks and a pair of sunglasses that glinted like diamonds. His golden tan was offset by the stark whiteness of his teeth as he grinned, a smoothie in hand, surveying the group climbing the ladder. Yahd’s gaze lingered on the stock graph tattoo etched on Damon’s pec. “What a tool,” he muttered under his breath, smirking. Damon straightened, his grin faltering for a moment as he scanned the group. “Wait, hold up,” he said, his tone suddenly serious. “There were more of you kids, weren’t there? And also, who’s that guy?” He pointed at Palmer, who had just helped Melody climb up onto the deck.

  "I'm with Melody," he called up. "I'm here to keep her safe, is all."

  "Is this true, everybody?"

  Everyone nodded some more reluctantly than others.

  "Okay, but there were more of you. I'm pretty sure of that," Damon muttered as they walked up the stairs to the ship's bow.

  The group climbed the last few rungs of the ladder and stepped onto the deck. For a moment, they stood awkwardly, unsure of what to do. Kalimba’s face was unreadable, but Zoe’s red-rimmed eyes and the tension in Yahd’s jaw spoke volumes.

  "He didn't make it," Yahd finally said, breaking the silence.

  “Oh.” Damon took a long sip from his smoothie, the loud slurp cutting through the heavy air. “You guys’ll get his cut then,” he said nonchalantly, walking toward a couch where a woman was tanning.

  “Hey, mister,” Melody piped up, breaking the tension. She approached Damon hesitantly, clutching Palmer’s hand for reassurance.

  "Yes, what's up, Melody?" Damon smiled.

  "Uh, well, thank you for saving me. But…why?"

  Damon's steely white veneers glinted in the early afternoon sun, "You're a very special girl, that's why," he placed a hand on her head, ruffling her hair. He looked up at the rest of the group, mouthing, "Is she blind?"

  Everyone nodded.

  "Oh," a confused look briefly crossed his face. 'Well, that's interesting,' He thought.

  With little time to waste, they set off back to New York, Damon telling them the trip would take a little over two days.

  The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting the ocean in shades of gold and crimson. Damon walked out of his cabin, a dark blue smoothie in hand, and gathered the kids on the main deck. His silhouette was framed against the vibrant sky, the wind tousling his hair as he leaned casually against the railing.

  "So, I was talking to someone just a bit ago," Damon took a large sip from his smoothie. "The jist is that he's going to an event and needs security for himself and his family. Since our time together has effectively ended, I suggested that you all could take the job."

  "No, hold on now," Yahd said. "I don't know if I want to do any of that."

  "I didn't sign any of you up," Damon reassured. "You're all free to say no."

  "What are you asking?" Zoe inquired, confused.

  "The family is going to Apris, a country off the coast of Europe. 'The Festival of Wealth,' as they call it. Did I mention they're paying over seventy-five thousand dollars per person?"

  "Oh!" Mitani perked up when he heard that. "Like, actually?"

  Damon smirked, "Yeah, like, actually."

  Kalimba didn't react to this. He just turned and leaned over the railing, looking at the sea floor speed past underneath the yacht.

  "Over seventy-five," Zoe echoed, her eyes fixed on Damon. 'I'd be able to take a long time off with that…maybe even try and find her again. That'd be amazing!'

  "I don't know, man," Yahd grumbled. "How long will it take?"

  "The whole event lasts a bit over a week. But hey," Damon shrugged. "It's up to you, man. I don't care whether you accept it or not. We arrive in New York in a day, so make sure you have your answer by then."

  "I'm actually surprised," Damon said. As the yacht pulled into the New York harbor, only Zoe and Mitani stood before Damon on the deck, cigar between his fingers. Smoke curled lazily into the air, the foul scent stinging Zoe’s nose. "Eighty thousand, and only you two agree?"

  Zoe glanced behind her, watching Kalimba and Yahd walk down the dock.

  Palmer sat on the outside couch a few feet away, bouncing Melody on his leg.

  "For the past day, I've been learning the language from a book you had. Give me a couple more days, and I think I'll be somewhat fluent." Zoe said. "When do we go see them?"

  "They'll be here soon. You'll accompany them on the way there."

  "Hey, so I have a question," Zoe started.

  "Okay."

  "You're a big stock trader? Like," she paused nervously, "You're good at it?"

  Damon looked down at the floorboards of the large yacht, then back up to Zoe, "Yeah, you could say that," he said, slightly amused.

  'I should also ask for Colson's sake. What he knows combined with what bit I've figured out…Yeah, we'll both be set. But how do I ask him for this? I figure that I risked my life to do something for him—granted, it was a job, but still, the least he could do is give some advice. I shouldn't be nervous to ask a question in the first place,' she thought. "So, well," her hands flopped to the side, "How do you do that?"

  "Do what?"

  "The stock stuff?"

  "I don't know what you're asking. Are you saying you want to know how to use the stock market?"

  Zoe nodded. "Crater has their ways of doing things, but I'm not old enough for the classes that cover 'international' economics and affairs."

  Damon let out a long sigh, sitting on the nearest padded boat deck chair. He took out his phone from his shorts' pocket. "Pop a squat," he pointed next to him on the chair. "They'll be here soon. Until then, I'll show you what I know."

  Eagerly, she threw herself down next to him, her wide eyes glued to the phone screen.

  The helicopter descended onto the yacht's polished helipad, its rotor blades slicing through the ocean breeze.

  Zoe noted how the name 'Park' was in large golden letters on the side of the chopper.

  "Come in!" A voice beckoned, yelling over the rhythmic thud of rotor blades slicing through the air mere feet above them.

  Mitani stepped in first, his movement cautious but curious. Zoe followed, her gaze immediately taking in the luxury of the helicopter’s interior. The seats were plush leather, the stitching perfectly symmetrical, and the faint scent of sandalwood hung in the air. The trio already seated inside was a picture of high society: elegant, confident, and seemingly unbothered by the outside world. Positioned beside an almost middle-aged woman, Zoe couldn't help but notice the unique ensemble—a large, intricately designed bag draped over her exposed shoulder, the woman's blouse, a canvas of pure milky pearls strung together; it clacked and clattered as she moved to put her phone in her bag.

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  'Seems Asiatic. Most likely from the Zheng-Mei-Ge Dynasty, if I were to guess. She is beautiful,' Zoe thought, looking at her. The Zheng-Mei-Ge Dynasty, or ZMG, is an Asian country holding a population of over a billion and has been in power for over 700 years. It's monarchal and isolationist by nature and notorious for having very strict travel laws. Currently, it is ruled by King Zuahn and his three wives.

  Across from Zoe was a girl about her own age. Her hair was tied back loosely with a black bow. She wore a simple black dress with a small animal skull dangling around her neck. Her wide, luminescent green eyes bore into Zoe with an infectious smile. The girl looked down, and in her lap was a large sketching pad. Following her gaze, seeing what she was drawing—a detailed sketch of a girl with light hair, though she hadn't drawn her arms or jaw yet.

  Mitani sat beside a tall man with greying hair, gelled and slicked back. Clad in a dashing blue suit and sporting an extravagant watch, he exuded an air of sophistication.

  'Let's Go! Really has the ruthless, all-seeing businessman vibe,' Mitani thought. He reached out his hand, introducing himself.

  The man regarded him momentarily before taking his hand, "Nice to meet you," he said flatly.

  The girl sitting across from Zoe leaned forward and stuck her hand toward Mitani, the grin still on her face. "Park. Ayla Park."

  "Oh, uh, hi," he shook her hand. 'That's obviously his daughter. They look so much alike!'

  Ayla sat back in her chair, looking back at her drawing, then back up to Zoe. A smile crossed her face, "You look a lot like her," she put her pencil in her bag, "I think it's perfect."

  Before the helicopter door closed, the older man reached out, waving to Damon. "We'll talk later, alright?"

  Damon nodded, lifting a champagne glass in acknowledgment.

  Looking up from her drawing pad with an impatient scowl, Ayla asked, "Can we go now?"

  Ayla's mother tapped on the door to the pilot's cockpit. As if on cue, Zoe felt her stomach drop as the helicopter lifted off the ground.

  After a while of flying, Zoe closed her eyes, subtly clasping her hands together. 'Ave, Asher, in morte saluto te,' she prayed.

  "So, what are you about to do?" Damon asked. It had been about an hour since Zoe and Mitani left in the Park family helicopter.

  Damon sat relaxed and reclined on one of the many padded boat chairs. Melody loudly sipped a fruit smoothie from a straw in an adjacent chair. Palmer sat next to her; a feeling that he hadn't felt for a long time resonated through him. A warmth grew from within as the salty ocean breeze flowed over the ship.

  "I'm not sure yet. Maybe we stay here in New York for a bit. Figure out what to do with life. Gonna try and give her the best life she can have…" he faltered, seeing the expression on Damon's face.

  "Hm?" Melody hummed, confused, as she felt Palmer rigidly get to his feet beside her.

  Damon's face, a fleeting shadow dancing over it, molding it into a wickedly devilish smile.

  "Melody," Palmer ordered. In one seamless motion, he scooped her up by the back of her shirt, sheltering her behind him. Simultaneously, his other hand delved into his pocket, pulling out a pistol. "Stay behind me."

  "Wh-what's happening?" He felt her heartbeat as she clutched onto his leg tightly, not wanting to let go.

  Damon didn't move from his relaxed position. Even with a loaded gun aimed at his face from just a few feet away, the resolute gleam in his eyes refused to fade.

  "What's the real reason you sent those kids?"

  Damon's silence lingered. After a long drag from his cigar, he turned in his seat, slowly getting up. A surge of fear washed over Palmer, a haunting navy blue glow emenated from Damon, casting shadows on his face.

  "Cover your ears!" Palmer raised the gun to Damon's head.

  "Diamond hands!" Damon bellowed, shielding his head with raised arms, the skin on his hands and forearms transforming into an obsidian hue as though coated in soot. The bullets ineffectively bounced off his skin.

  In that moment, time seemed to stop. The metallic orchestra of spent bullet casings echoed on the wooden deck. The pungent scent of gunpowder briefly hung in the air, only to be whisked away by the salty sea breeze.

  "Hide!" Palmer yelled at Melody, pushing her back behind him.

  "Palmer!" She screamed in confusion.

  "Run!"

  So she did just that. Her hand ran along the outer wall of the yacht. She winced, hearing the sounds of bullets ripping through the air behind her.

  Click. Click. Click. Click. 'No! I had the perfect shot!' Palmer pulled the trigger several times, hoping it was jammed, but knowing it wasn't. He had squandered what little ammo he had.

  Damon walked up to him, putting his hands on either side of Palmer's head. His steel-like thumbs entering Palmer's eye-sockets. Palmer slammed the butt of the pistol against Damon's face. It didn't seem to phase the stock trader as he opened his mouth to speak. Palmer, though, never got to hear what Damon wanted to tell him.

  Even from where Melody hid, she found a random closet in the first open room; she heard the crunch of Palmer's skull. Through her wails of terror, Melody fell to her knees, retching the fruit smoothie and breakfast she had that morning onto the floor.

  Outside the door, she heard the slapping of Damon's flip-flops as he walked down the deck toward her. She tried to control her breath, but her body continued to dry-heave, not letting herself be silent.

  The doorknob gently jiggled, a delicate rattle against its lock.

  "Paper hands!" Damon yelled from outside. Melody winced at the accompanying noise of what sounded like metal scraping against metal.

  She felt the sun's warmth on her face as the closet door was cut down. Damon's hands and forearms had turned sharp, as if blades were concealed just beneath his skin.

  "Oh," Damon cooed, seeing the sizeable golden glow of aura around Melody. "Golden aura! This couldn't be more perfect!" His voice shaking, hardly containing his glee.

  "Yeah, everything's great. I've parked the boat on the dock. The biggest one here; ya can't miss it," Damon paused, listening to the response on the other end. "Yeah, she won't be awake for a while. There will be no issues, I can promise you that. But I'll leave you to it," he ended the phone call.

  He looked down, running his hand through Melody's hair. To the passerby, it would look like his young daughter had rested her head on her father's lap and fallen asleep. A slight bit of drool fell from the corner of her mouth.

  "Fifty million for you," he whispered into her ear. "I honestly thought it'd be a lot more effort on my part, but now I got you. Fifty million for an immortal. But the fact that you also have golden energy...I feel like the luckiest guy in the world."

  He looked up, seeing another helicopter descending from above them onto the helipad.