The afternoon sun cast long golden streaks across the waters of the Baie des Anges as the French Maritime Prefecture patrol cutter *Glaive* cleaved through the Mediterranean swells at twenty-eight knots. Stationed on the forward bridge wing, Julian and Ava stood side by side, their hair whipped by the salt spray and the brisk offshore wind. Ava wore a navy maritime windbreaker over her dark sweater, her binoculars trained on…
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