The night closed around them like a living thing—dense, humid, breathing. The small aluminum skiff sliced through the black water with a low, steady hum from the outboard motor, its wake rippling outward in silver whispers that vanished quickly into the dark. Overhead, stars burned through gaps in the canopy, cold and indifferent. The air smelled of wet earth, rotting vegetation, and the faint, acrid bite of diesel. Somewhere close, a frog croaked once, then fell silent.
