Off the Water
The boat slid under the pier shadow, scraping once before Thomas killed the momentum with an oar. They hauled the stranger out and crouched behind a stack of traps. Footsteps thudded on the boardwalk above, then faded. “We need a line that isn’t local,” Thomas whispered. “Harbor office radio.” Greg nodded and pointed toward the small shack at the end of the dock. “If it’s unlocked, we’re in. If not—we make it so.”
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