Maui had that effect. A place so distinctly its own that it might as well have been a sovereign nation. The second-largest of the Hawaiian Islands, its history was carved by kings, whalers, missionaries, and sugar barons. Once the seat of the Kingdom of Hawaii, its shores had witnessed everything from the first Western explorers to the battles of Kamehameha the Great, who unified the islands under a single rule. But for all its storied past, Maui today was known for its lush valleys, golden beaches, and a lifestyle that seemed to hum at a slower, more forgiving frequency.

Judd took it in as his rental car cruised down the Honoapiilani Highway, the Pacific glittering in the distance. He passed rolling fields of sugarcane and roadside fruit stands hawking pineapples, coconuts, and fresh banana bread. The tourists in their floral shirts and flip-flops all looked so blissfully detached from reality that Judd almost envied them.

But he wasn’t here to sip mai tais and surf. He had work to do.

Dr. Maximilian Von Eberhardt, a chief scientist in Sebastian Wolf’s sprawling biotech empire, had arrived on the island for the Pacific Summit on Viral Innovations, a weeklong conference at the Ritz-Carlton in Kapalua. His presence wouldn’t have raised any alarms—except for the fact that a private meeting had been arranged with Dr. Jean-Luc Reinhardt, the CEO of a Swiss vaccine manufacturing firm rumored to be dabbling in DNA sequencing technologies. That meeting had sent red flags straight to the top of The Inkwell Order.

Judd had been dispatched to observe, intercept if necessary, and, most importantly, report back.

For cover, he’d booked himself into the Wailea Beach Marriott Resort, the same luxury hotel as Dr. Von Eberhardt. No expense had been spared—his cover story as a well-to-do corporate consultant meant he could afford the best ocean-view suite in the place. He’d barely checked in before ditching his luggage and heading straight for the beach.

Down on the sand, General Perl was already settled under the shade of a striped umbrella, dark sunglasses shielding his eyes, his skin soaking in the tropical sun like a solar panel recharging after too many cold European winters.

"Knight!" he called out, raising a cocktail glass filled with something neon and excessive. "About time you showed up. You’re missing prime lounging hours."

Judd chuckled, planting himself in the adjacent chair. “I see you’ve been roughing it.”

“Damn right,” Perl said, taking a sip. "I haven’t seen this much sun since I did a joint exercise in Rio ten years ago. And even then, I spent most of the time in a conference room arguing with bureaucrats."

Perl, ever the refined traveler, had strong opinions on accommodations. As Judd kicked off his flip-flops and settled in, Perl launched into a full-blown tirade about how the Bonvoy loyalty program had failed him once again.

“I’ve stayed at enough of their properties to own stock in the damn company, and yet, somehow, I’m still being shortchanged on my elite status perks. No room upgrade, no welcome champagne. And the concierge had the nerve to tell me the spa was booked until Wednesday.”

Judd smirked. "Perl, sometimes I think you joined the military just for the first-class flights and the hotel status."

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”