The raft rocked violently as Rio woke up to a raging storm. The wind howled like a wild beast, and towering waves crashed against the raft, drenching him with icy seawater. Timmy yowled in terror, his fur soaked as he clung to Rio.

  Panic surged through Rio. If he stayed in this storm, his raft would capsize. Without thinking, he grabbed the oar and began to row. He couldn’t risk unfurling the sail—it would rip to shreds in the fierce wind. He had no choice but to row with all his might. But it was hopeless. The waves and wind fought against him, pushing him back no matter how hard he struggled.

  Still, Rio didn’t stop. Not when the cold numbed his fingers, not when hunger gnawed at his stomach, not even when his arms burned as if molten lava coursed through them. He had to escape. He had to survive.

  But exhaustion won. His strength was gone. He tried to lower the anchor, but his arms trembled with weakness. After hours of rowing and an entire day without food, he could do nothing more. Defeated, he clutched Timmy and huddled under his blanket, praying for the storm to pass.

  Tears mixed with seawater on Rio’s face. He had come so far—was this how it would end? If the storm didn’t kill him, it would throw him so far off course that he’d never find his way again.

  With no other choice, Rio forced himself up and unfurled the sail, hoping it would carry him out of the storm. It worked—too well. The wind grabbed the sail with such force that the mast snapped instantly. Within seconds, the sail ripped apart, and the broken pole was hurled into the sky before vanishing beneath the waves.

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  But it had been just enough. The short push had sent Rio into the Beaufort Gyre current. He could feel the raft being pulled along. A spark of hope flickered inside him—only to be extinguished as a wave crashed over him, drenching him once more. What good was reaching the current if he didn’t survive the storm?

  The storm was relentless. His raft was falling apart piece by piece. Rio dove for Timmy, holding him tight. He had to keep him safe. Climbing into the emergency float he had been using as a bed, he braced himself. It would keep them afloat for a few minutes—after that, who knew?

  Lightning split the sky, followed by a deafening boom of thunder. Rio’s heart pounded. His raft was barely holding together. Then, a blinding flash struck the water right beside him. For a split second, in the brilliant light, Rio swore he saw Arnoll.

  Then everything collapsed.

  The raft flipped over. Wood shattered. Rio was thrown into the churning sea, left with nothing but the emergency float and Timmy clinging to him.

  He was going to die.

  “I’m coming, Arnoll,” Rio choked out, his voice lost in the storm.

  Another wave flipped the float. The freezing water swallowed him. Gasping, he fought to the surface, grabbing a broken piece of his raft. He kept Timmy above the water, shielding him from the deadly sea.

  Then—through the storm—a light.

  A ship.

  It was massive, cutting through the waves like a fortress. Painted on its side were the words:

  HMCS Toronto

  Royal Canadian Navy

  Rio could hear voices shouting from the deck. Then, above the wind, a voice—a familiar voice—screamed:

  “RIO!”

  Men scrambled down ropes toward him.

  He was going to live.