The ferry docked at San Nicolas a little after eight, and by then the sky over the island had gone dark purple with a thin line of orange still bleeding along the mainland behind us. The harbor lights came on in a long row down the pier. Jordan had to be physically extracted from his bench by Javier, who held him under one arm and kept saying "you did great, man, fourteen confirmed" while Jordan made the noises of a man being carried to his own grave.
Naomi woke when the engines cut. She sat up slowly, blinked at me through the mess of pink and black hair stuck to her cheek, and reached up to fix her necklace before she did anything else. The Gold buff still glowed under her skin in faint lines along her wrists, like someone had traced her veins with a highlighter and forgotten to turn the lamp off.
"Did I drool on you?" she asked.
"A little bit," I said. "It was a tactical amount."
