The storm raged on, tearing the yacht to pieces in the process. The clouds raged about them like deranged wraiths, misty hands reaching forward to plunge them into the sea.

The Pacific Ocean was tossed about, waves rising above the boat, seeking to engulf it in walls of salt and icy water.

“We’ll all get through this!” Blaire said firmly, nearly getting to the point of shaking Tray’s shoulders.

He couldn’t help but admire the fact that the woman was still holding strong; she seemed an unwavering figure in all the chaos of the storm.

The yacht tipped again underneath their feet, and they all went to the edge of the boat, almost like the balls in a ping pong machine.

Suddenly, the yacht’s belly scraped against something hard, and the three continued to bounce around the decks.

“You play a twisted game!” Blaire screamed.

Tray dimly realized she might be shouting at Fate, but pushed the idea away when he flew head first out of the boat.

“Tray!”