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... tually. I could feel the blood shifting, waiting for the harpoon to be gone. But what then?

Would I leap into the open waters, thrashing against the waves like a desperate fool? Would I turn my hands into paddles, pushing against the waves, trying to outrun a ship that was built for the waters?

No. That wasn't an option. That was suicide dressed up as defiance.

As much as I hated it, as much as the idea clawed at the back of my mind like a caged animal, staying on course ...

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