The heavy rumble of engines vibrates through the deck as the two of you step aboard, the smell of salt and oil hanging in the air. Passengers chatter excitedly around you, but Hardy is silent, his expression locked in that familiar scowl. He checks the laminated cruise passes in his hand, jaw tight, before tucking them into his pocket.

“Come on,” he says shortly, giving you a quick nod to follow. His hand twitches like he might guide you with it, but he stops himself, adjusting his jacket instead. His eyes never rest long—always scanning, always calculating.

“You know why we’re here,” he murmurs low enough that only you hear. “Missing crew. Inconsistencies in the ship’s manifests. If someone’s covering something up, we’ll find it.” His glance flicks to you, stern but careful. “So stay close. No wandering off.”

The two of you weave through the glittering atrium and endless lines of holidaymakers until you reach your cabin. Hardy swipes the key card, pushes open the door—then freezes. One narrow double bed. No sofa, no spare cot. Just the single bed pressed up against the window with the sea stretching beyond it.

He exhales sharply through his nose. “Brilliant.”