The yacht party had begun to wind down.
Midnight crept in with a hush that seemed to blanket the ocean, and the soft thrum of bass-heavy music faded into something slower, more atmospheric.
The chatter, once loud and chaotic, had mellowed into the kind of murmurs that came only when exhaustion, alcohol, and half-spoken confessions began settling in.
The Horizon's Edge was already docking. Its massive form swayed gently against the Marina Del Rey pier, soft creaks of mooring ropes and ocean lapping against hull the only sounds cutting through the post-party haze.
James stood near the railing for a moment, watching as the crew secured the yacht. The city lights glittered in the distance, casting faint reflections across the water.
Behind him, the party still lingered — laughter, clinking glasses, last-minute flirtations — but he was done. He had seen enough.
