“Discipline?” I laughed, the sound harsh and cold. “The day I need advice on crew management from someone who can barely manage to find his own ass with both hands is the day I retire to become a pleasure yacht captain.”
A vein pulsed in Butcher’s temple. His massive hands clenched into fists, but he wouldn’t dare throw the first punch. Not with witnesses. Instead, he spat again on the freshly cleaned deck and stomped away, shouldering roughly past a group of watching crew members.
I turned my glare on the gathered crowd until they shuffled away, muttering among themselves. No doubt the incident would fuel the mess hall gossip tonight. The crew loved nothing better than drama, especially when it involved Butcher getting knocked down a peg.
“Thank you,” Ghost said quietly. “I could have handled it, but…” He trailed off, fidgeting with the brush.
I nodded. “Best to avoid Butcher when possible. He’s like a bear—always looking for someone to maul.”
Ghost bent to retrieve his overturned bucket, grimacing at the mess of porridge coating his previously spotless deck. “I’ll have to start this section over.”
“You’re very thorough.” The words slipped out before I could stop them. “I’ve noticed. Whether it’s cleaning or helping in the galley, you do things properly. That’s rare aboard this ship.”
A pleased flush crept across his cheeks as he straightened. When he smiled—reallysmiled—it transformed his whole face. The morning sun caught his features just right, highlighting a scatter of freckles that reminded me of star charts. They danced across his skin as his smile widened.
“I just... I like doing things right.” He ducked his head, but not before I caught the sparkle in those emerald-green eyes. “My old master always said if something’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well.”
Something warm unfurled in my chest at his obvious pleasure from the simple praise. I quickly squashed it down. Getting attached to crew members was dangerous—especially ones who made constellations with their freckles when they smiled.
Ghost’s cheeks remained flushed, the red stark against his pale complexion. His loose cream shirt had a wide neckline, exposing his collarbone and a large expanse of freckled chest. My brow furrowed. The sun beat down harsh at this altitude—even experienced aeronauts struggled with burns during their first few weeks aboard. And with skin that fair...
“You should see Stitches. Get some salve for that sunburn.”
He blinked, fingers rising to touch his cheek. “Burn?”
“You’re not used to the altitude sun. It’ll only get worse.” I gestured toward the stern. “Stitches—Hawk-Eyes’s mother—she’s our doctor. She has a cream that helps.”
“Oh.” His hand dropped, and he looked at me curiously. “I’m fine, really.”
“That’s an order, Ghost. I can’t have you getting heatstroke and falling behind on your duties.” There. That sounded appropriately detached and professional. Though I was getting soft if I was worrying this much about a simple sunburn. Ghost was just another crew member—one who happened to be competent at his duties. Nothing more. “Do it before the midday sun. I’ll be watching to see that you do.”
A small smile spread across Ghost’s lips and something playful and knowing danced in his eyes, making my stomach flip.
“Watching me, huh? I have to say, you seem to spend a fair bit of time doing that, sir.” His voice dripped with false innocence. “You know, I’d have thought a first mate had actual duties beyond staring at their captive stowaways.”
The teasing lilt in his voice rendered me frozen. A sharp gasp cut through the air—Patty stood frozen several feet away, a small crate clutched to her chest as she stared between us, mouth agape. Waiting to see my response.
Fuck.
My reputation. The crew’s respect. Everything I’d built threatened to crumble because this cheeky redhead couldn’t keep his mouth shut.
I lunged forward, fisting Ghost’s shirt in my hands and yanking him up until his boots barely scraped the deck. His smile vanished, replaced by wide-eyed terror as I pushed him against the mainmast.
“Listen here, you worthless piece of bilge scum.” I pitched my voice low and deadly—my Reaper tone. “I don’twatchyou. I monitor you. Because you’re nothing but a thieving stowaway who’s one mistake away from feeding the kraken. The only reason you’re still breathing is because I vouched for you. Don’t make me regret that decision.”
Ghost’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. All that earlier playfulness drained from his face, leaving him pale as his nickname.
“Do I make myself clear?” I shook him for emphasis, and his head cracked against the mast. The sound of it made my stomach lurch with immediate regret. I hadn’t meant to be that rough. The phantom pain in my missing leg flared suddenly, as if punishing me for my cruelty.
“Y-yes, sir. Crystal clear, sir.”
I released Ghost’s shirt and stepped back, letting him stumble against the mast. Without another word, I spun on my heel and marched away as quickly as I could.
The image of his face—that flicker of genuine fear replacing his teasing smile—burned behind my eyes. My stomach churned. The way he’d looked at me... like I truly was the monster everyone believed me to be.
I climbed to the quarterdeck, gripping the railing until my knuckles went white. The wind whipped at my coat, but couldn’t cool the shame burning through my chest.
This was what I’d become.The Reaper. A creature of nightmares who terrorized his own crew to maintain order. Who rejected any hint of warmth.
