Kismet awoke to the sound of doors opening and closing. The sun shone through the bedroom window. Occupants shuffled around the hostel, getting ready; coughing, clearing throats, and running showers.

The springs in the mattress dug into her back, then her side. It didn't seem to matter how she turned.

The clock on the nightstand read seven a.m. Kismet burst out of bed and clamored for her headphones. She couldn't risk losing track of things when time was of the essence. She dressed, then hurried down the narrow steps, music blasting in her ears as she raced outside.

Daylight stripped the garden of its magic. It was also difficult to recognize the streets and the way she had come. Some of the grimy abandoned furniture served as place markers, and the area gradually became more familiar.

This time when she found the ferry terminal, the parking lot was much busier. The ship already waited in the dock behind the squat white building, letting vehicles board first. She ran toward the terminal, her sneakers pounding against the pavement. Cars trying to find parking spaces honked at her as she cut them off.

The inside of the building was much quieter, and Kismet risked turning her music off. She raced to the ticket booth where a bored young woman scowled at her from behind a glass panel.

She chewed her gum the way a cow ate grass. "Ticket or access card please," she drawled.

"Ah -"

The woman raised a plucked eyebrow. "If you can't produce a ticket or an access card, you'll have to move along."

Kismet glanced over her shoulder. No one waited behind her. She patted her jeans, already knowing she wouldn't find anything in her pockets, but was merely buying time.

"It's gotta be here somewhere." Sweat pooled under her shirt collar. "Say I lost it, where would I get a ticket or an access card?"

"Buy a ticket over there," said the lady, jerking her thumb toward a kiosk close to the glass front doors. "To get an access card you'd have to be an island resident."

"Oh, yeah -" Kismet said. "Guess I better go get a ticket then." She scurried toward the kiosk, unsure what she was going to do. Perhaps running away had been a bad idea altogether. Her bank card was still in her wallet, but the funds were low. Already sunken into overdraft.

"There you are, you little rascal," said Alistair. He had snuck up behind Kismet, clapping her on the shoulder. He must have been seated in the lobby. She almost didn't recognize him with a shirt on. She shrunk under his hand, but he seemed to be talking to the ticket lady more than for her sake.

What is he getting at?

"She has a card, I swear," he explained to the lady. "My friend here gets a little confused sometimes and probably left it at home."

Kismet looked around at him, blinking.

What in the world is he doing?

"It's my fault. I should have reminded her."

"It doesn't matter whose fault it is," the woman said with narrowed, impatient eyes. "No ticket, no card, no ship. It's that simple."

Alistair leaned on the counter, flashing a brilliant smile. "C'mon Carol. Do they pay you extra to be this cruel?"

"They pay me to do my job, Alice. Pay up or move along."

"Fine, have it your way," he muttered. "Come on friend, I guess I'll have to get you a ticket."

"You don't have to," said Kismet. If the world could swallow her up, she'd greatly appreciate it. "I can -"

"It's not a problem," he said.

She followed him over to the kiosk where he slid in his bank card and pressed buttons on the screen. Guilt sat like a stone at the bottom of her stomach.

"You don't have to do this," she said. "Really. It's ok. I can find some other way." The only other option was using her abilities, and that was hardly an option at all. Mind-reading for her own personal gain was absolutely off-limits. She would not make that mistake again. "I can figure it out."

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"It's fine, truly," he assured her. "Once we get to the island, I'll take you to meet with Daisy. she'll help you get set up with a card. I can't see Watcher Liz finding too much trouble with it. Or at least she shouldn't."

"Watcher Liz?" Kismet asked.

So far, Watchers seemed a lot less scary in real life than the television showed them to be, but still, she was hesitant to take chances.

I gotta prove I don’t need The Academy to keep things under control.

"As Ivy's representative, Liz is head of the council and gets the final say," Alistair explained. He took the thin paper ticket that spit out of the machine and handed it to her. "That being said, she's never vetoed anything. I'm sure you'll be fine."

"What if I'm not?"

"Well, in that case, we have a tradition where we put rejects on a raft and push them out to sea." He grinned. "I hope you know how to swim."

"Seriously," she said. "That doesn't happen."

Alistair laughed. "I don't know what happens. I've never seen anyone get rejected before. Though to be honest, I've never seen anyone come over from the human side. Not as an adult anyway. Most mutants born to human families are sent off to The Academy the minute their powers manifest. So what made you so lucky?"

"I would hardly call it luck," she said but didn't elaborate further.

Alistair got the hint and didn't pry. Kismet followed him over to Carol. He slid the ticket to her through a narrow slot under the glass. Carol got Kismet to stick out her arm where she attached a green paper bracelet around her wrist.

"Sorry about Angel by the way," Carol said to Alistair.

"Yeah, I'm sorry about him too," said Alistair. "What did he do this time?"

Carol looked up at him with wide eyes and Kismet tensed. Stale yellow ribbons of apprehension spiraled off the woman with accents of navy-blue sadness.

"You don't know?"

"So tell me," he said with a hint of desperation. His jovial tone had vanished.

"He got pretty smashed up fighting Aluminum Carl last night," said Carol. "I heard he was, ya know..."

… No, no, he can’t be… this has to be some terrible mistake…

The image of a young man with a gash in his shoulder sitting on the edge of a tub, blood still dripping from the open wound flashed behind Kismet’s eyes. She felt the pang of anxiety constrict Alistair’s ribcage echoing through time.

He stiffened. "He gets beat up all the time. With his resilience, I'm sure he's fine. It always looks worse than it is."

The memory of a woman with short pink hair came to the surface. She sat slouched at an outdoor patio, clutching a cigarette to her lips. Stars glittered in the sky.

The woman’s emerald eyes narrowed. “What if he dies, Alice? What then, huh?”

“Oh, he’s not gonna die.” Alistair waved his hand.

… I should have listened to her… she’d call me, wouldn’t she? …

"Sure." Carol looked at Alistair with pity. "I hope that's the case."

Nauseous from bouncing through past and present, Kismet mindlessly followed Alistair away from the booth. He had gone pale, struggling to contain his emotions.

"I gotta go use the phone." His voice was clipped and strained. "I'll be right back."

Kismet sat down in the lobby. The plastic chair was hard and cold beneath her. The clock above the ticket booth read seven-forty-five. They'd be called to board any moment.

I hope his friend is alright. How can I comfort this guy? I hardly know him. He's already helped me so much. There's gotta be something I can do.

When Alistair returned, he looked even more sullen than before and slouched into the empty seat next to her.

"No answer," he said. "Not anywhere. No one seems to be home at all. If something awful happened, they'd call me, wouldn't they? It's not like they didn't know where I was staying. Nyx would have called for sure. So he's gotta be ok. Right?"

Kismet didn't have the slightest clue who any of these people were but nodded regardless. "I'm sure it'll be fine. Once we get to the island, everything will be cleared up. You said he has resilience? That's like a sort of durability or invulnerability? It's like you said, he probably looked worse than he is and everyone is jumping to conclusions."

"Yeah, you're probably right," he said, but fidgeted in his seat. Magenta sparks of anxiety erupted from him like bullets.

When they called the walk-on passengers to board, Kismet tagged along behind him. Alistair wasn't as talkative as before, but he didn't turn her away either. They found a seat in the main lounge.

The ferry had one and a half levels available to passengers, and access to the deck. The day was so clear, the sun shining and brisk over the calm ocean it was tempting to go outside, but despite Alistair's quiet, contemplative demeanor, he was gradually being consumed by magenta ribbons.

Kismet sat in the chair across the small table. The furniture was bolted to the floor to keep it from sliding around on rough seas. Alistair huddled up on the booth seat, studying the edges of his paper bracelet.

"Wanna play a game?" she asked.

He looked up. "Hmm, maybe. What kinda game?"

"A sort of pretend game," she said. "I like to imagine I'm somewhere else. What if we were actually on a pirate ship? Would we be crewmates or prisoners? Would we be nice or mean pirates?"

"How old are you?" he asked, but not without a glimmer of humour and perhaps even intrigue.

"Twenty-three but that's beside the point," she said. "Do you wanna play or not?"

"OK, I'll give. I say we're nice pirates protecting a treasure. Now what?"

"Well, now we gotta decide who we're protecting it from and what is it?"

They carried on like this, back and forth until the shore of Portsmouth Island emerged on the horizon.