When a shy girl from Figure Eight suddenly gets whisked into a dangerous treasure hunt involving four pogues known for their knack for trouble, she finds herself navigating not only the troubled waters of adventure but also the complexities of frien...
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They'd found the wreck— but absolutely no sign of the gold.
The drone's metal detector hadn't chirped once. Not a blip. Not even false hope.
By the time the boat nudged into the dock, the mood had sunk as low as the drone did. The hull groaned softly, water lapping against the pilings in lazy, uneven slaps. No one said anything. They didn't have to. They had nothing to show for the morning—no gold- just the sting of a dead treasure hunt.
John B didn't wait for the boat to fully settle. He hopped off with a heavy thud, frustration practically radiating off him. His jaw was tight, his eyes locked straight ahead. He stalked toward the HMS Pogue and started untying ropes with quick, jerky movements.
No one followed him. No one tried to talk him down. They all knew better. Knew how much this meant to him, how badly he needed this to be real. This wasn't just a dead treasure hunt, it was personal.
The rest of them moved slower, dragging themselves off the boat one by one. Pope barely had one foot on the dock before his dad was on him, arms crossed, foot tapping against the planks like he'd been standing there just long enough to run out of patience.
The rest of them hesitated, lingering near the boat, like secondhand scolding was a real possibility.
Pope let out a slow breath, adjusting the strap of his backpack, already bracing himself. "Hey, Pop."
Heyward didn't bother returning the greeting. His eyes skimmed over Pope once, unimpressed. "You done playing pirate on my boat?"
Pope opened his mouth like he considered defending himself, but... why bother? He simply shut it again and gave a stiff nod.
Heyward didn't wait for an answer. "Boy, let's go."
Pope glanced at the others—no embarrassment, no apology. Just a tired later. Then he followed his dad inside the shop, the door slapping shut behind them.
For a long second, none of them moved.
The marina was quieter than usual, the morning crowd long gone. Boats swayed lazily in their slips. The air hung heavy with the smell of warmed wood and salt, tangled with the faint bite of fuel drifting from a charter boat down the pier. Seagulls circled above, their cries echoing across the water, wings tilting as they flew.
JJ blew out a breath and rolled his shoulders back, like he was trying to shrug the whole day off him.
The three of them started walking—no destination in mind, just moving because standing still felt worse.
Sydney ran a hand through her hair, twisting a few strands between her fingers before tucking them behind her ear. Her eyes flicked toward the water. Earlier, it had felt like something was waiting for them out there—like the horizon held some kind of answer, some kind of proof. Now, it was just an empty stretch of blue, indifferent and endless.
