The morning sun shines down on me. Soon it will be mercilessly frying my skin. The boat bobs. I rush to my knees, expecting to see land. . . .

But there’s nothing. Just a world of ocean. Blue as far as the eye can see.

I try to remain calm, but panic is causing my heart to pound against my ribs.

In no time the map is out in front of me, spread on the deck. I’m sailing east, into the rising sun, which means that I’m still going in the right direction. I just haven’t hit Martinique yet. I’m not moving as fast as I thought I would.

Or I passed the island in the night. I realize that it’s possible I was wrong all along, and our little island wasn’t where I thought it was. I could be anywhere. There could be nothing ahead of me until Africa.

Africa.

I panic. There’s no way I’m making it all the way to Africa.

I can’t believe that Rey didn’t have some kind of GPS.

Or maybe there was one that I just didn’t know about. One that’s still at home. In the shack on the beach. A place that sounds much more appealing than it did last night.

I stare at the map for a long time as I gnaw on some of the jerky-like meat I brought with me. In the end, I take out the compass and set myself sailing north-northwest. At least that way I’m bound to hit some islands.

Right?

After searching in vain for a glimpse of land with the telescope, I lean back against the deck and take the red rubber ball out of the pocket of my shorts. Running it over the backs of my knuckles, I find a pack of cards in my bag.

Everything’s going to be all right, I tell myself as I shuffle the cards and begin to lay them out. Just keep yourself busy, or you’ll go nuts out here before you get to land.

What is all this useless shit?

It’s my fourth day in the boat before I discover I can unlock my Loric Chest. Rey always said it was something that we had to open together, and it hadn’t dawned on me to try now that he’s gone.

A bounty of shiny, useless-looking items gleam in the sunlight. I had hoped that there’d be a water filtration system magically waiting for me, but it looks like I’m out of luck. Which is worrisome, because I’ve already made my way through all the coconuts, and the rest of my rations are starting to look dangerously meager. It looks like the Chest is just filled with trinkets from a dollar store. My fingers pass over a little black flutelike instrument. I dig through a few more things and pull out a long glove. I slide it on, tugging it all the way up my forearm. When I flex my wrist, a blade shoots out. It comes within an inch of stabbing me in the eye, the entire silver blade almost a foot in length.

I’m too tired to even flinch.

Great. If I don’t want to die of dehydration, at least I’ve got this.

I shudder at the thought.

All of it’s useless. Or at least, none of the stuff has come with an instruction manual. I pack everything back inside except for the knife-glove. I can practice with that. Just in case.

The Chest goes back into my duffel, and I guzzle the last of a container of water. Then I use my telekinesis to push the boat farther, faster along the water, hoping with everything I have that I’m going in the right direction.

I bet the other Garde have better stuff in their Chests. Or that their Cêpans are there to explain what they’re supposed to do with them.

I’ve wondered plenty of times what the other Garde are like. What they’re doing. If their Cêpans keep them hidden away from the world in the farthest corners of the globe. But for the first time I wonder if I’m the only one missing out. Is it possible that the other Garde are all together somewhere, fighting and training with one another, wondering where I am? Would they even care?

Did Rey keep me hidden away because he was afraid they’d rush me into fighting? To make sure I stayed alive?

All I have are questions, and the only answer I get is the sun beating down on me.

My tongue feels swollen and rough in my mouth. I haven’t peed in a long time, which I think is probably a really bad sign. I’m not even sweating anymore. It’s nighttime, but I should still be sweating.

So much for making it out in the world on my own.

My seventh night at sea is the night I’m going to die. So long, Five. It only took a week for you to fuck up completely by disobeying all of Rey’s last wishes.

Is it even possible for me to die? Rey told me the special charm meant I’d be safe from death as long as one of the Garde before me was alive—that being captured was the real thing to fear—but does that mean it works against starvation and dehydration and exposure to the elements as well? Because I don’t want to be some kind of half-living, dried-up mummy washing up on the shores of Cuba a month from now.

My lips are chapped and peeling but my tongue has no moisture to wet them.

I can barely move—I feel so tired—but I pull my duffel bag closer, hugging it, looping my arms through its straps. I can feel the Loric Chest inside. My whole body hurts and I can barely keep my eyes open.

There’s a strange tickle in my chest, and I wonder if it’s some kind of death rattle—if this is what Rey felt right before he died. It grows, until my entire body feels alive, on fire.

So this is what it’s like to die. So much for the charm.

I close my eyes and hug the bag tighter. I wonder if my symbol will end up burned onto the other Garde’s legs even though I’m dying out of order.

I’m dying out of order. I refuse to have that be my last thought.

I crack my eyes open and my breath catches in my throat.