“Are you sure about this?” Clementine asked, looking down at the dark water.

“I’d rather swim to freedom than go back to that cage,” Barnaby said softly, his voice full of genuine emotion. “But we won’t fall. We’re primates, Clementine. This is what we were built for.”

He reached out and squeezed her hand. It was a simple, quiet gesture that spoke volumes. They had survived years of captivity together, performing tricks for crowds who never saw the sadness behind their eyes. This was their moment to reclaim who they truly were.

“Together,” Clementine agreed.

They slid down a rusty drainpipe, dropping onto the concrete pier just behind a stack of wooden pallets. Viktor was closing in, his heavy footsteps echoing on the wooden planks of the dock.

“I see them! Block the end of the pier!” Viktor screamed.

With no time left to hesitate, Barnaby leaped onto the thick mooring line. He balanced perfectly, his bare feet gripping the coarse rope with effortless grace. He moved quickly, a blur of black satin and brown fur.

Clementine followed right behind him, her hands and feet working in perfect harmony. The wind tried to push them off, and the ship’s gentle swaying made the rope bounce unpredictably, but they kept their focus locked on the open porthole of the lower deck.

“Almost there!” Barnaby called back.

Suddenly, a loud whoosh cut through the air. A heavy capture net sailed over their heads, missing Clementine by mere inches and splashing into the water below. Viktor stood on the edge of the pier, holding a second net launcher, his eyes burning with desperation.

“You’re mine!” he yelled, aiming the device directly at Barnaby.

Clementine didn’t think. She reached up, grabbed her heavy, metal-rimmed wedding tiara that was still pinned to her head, and flung it like a frisbee.

Clang!

The tiara struck the metal launcher just as Viktor pulled the trigger. The net shot sideways, tangling Viktor and his two assistant guards in a massive, chaotic web of green mesh. The three men collapsed onto the dock in a shouting, writhing heap.

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