Dante stared at the map on the fisherman's phone.

Two boats to Terceira. One to Flores.

"It's a misdirection," he said quietly.

Sienna looked at him. "What?"

"The voicemail. Almeida telling me to come to Terceira." Dante's eyes were sharp now. Focused.

The frantic father replaced by the tactical mind that had survived fifteen years in a cutthroat world. "It's too obvious. Too clean."

"Maybe he wants it to be obvious. Maybe he's arrogant enough to think you'll walk right in."

"No." Dante shook his head. "Almeida is many things, but he's not stupid. He knows I'd suspect a trap. He knows I'd look for alternatives."

He tapped the island...