My throat tightened, and I tore my gaze away from Ghost’s face and focused on the immediate problem. Willy still slumped against the mast, his back a canvas of angry red welts. Ariella had returned from Stitches’ cupboard with supplies, kneeling beside the boy to tend his wounds. Ghost soon joined her, and together, they wiped the welts with soft, tender strokes of wet cloths.
“Get him cleaned up and then hide him away somewhere for at least an hour,” I hissed into Ariella’s ear. “But he’ll need tobe seen working after that.” I turned to Willy. “And next time, powder monkey, follow your assigned duties.”
Willy nodded weakly, not lifting his head from where it rested against the mast.
I turned on my heel and strode away, my prosthetic clicking against the deck planks with each step. But I could still feel those green eyes following me, still feel the weight of that terrible, gentle understanding burning between my shoulder blades.
The scent of stale coffee and burnt toast filled the galley as I watched Sage tap the oven’s temperature gauge with his knuckle. The needle sat motionless at zero.
“Dead as a doornail.” Sage yanked open the oven door with a metallic screech. “Six coin-grades in three weeks. At this rate, we’ll be eating raw fish before we reach Asteris.”
I leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Six? That can’t be right.”
“Count ‘em yourself.” Sage pulled a wooden box from beneath the counter and flipped open the lid. Inside lay a neat row of dull, gray stones, each the size of a silver piece. “These need to go into the hold.”
“Damn.” I picked up one of the spent stones, its surface cold and lifeless against my palm. “How many charged ones do we have left down there?”
“Not enough,” he replied.
I crossed the galley, bending down to reach inside the oven. I pried the two fluxstones out, tossing them in the box with their dead brothers.
“We’ll need to replenish at the next port. Several of the cannons are down as well. Can’t make it to Gearhart like this,” I said.
Sage grunted, already wiping down his workstation. “Better tell Viper. Last time we ran out of coin-grade, he had us eating hardtack for a week.”
“I’ll talk to him.”
As I turned to leave, Sage pulled a copper pan from the drying rack, turning it in the dim light. “Ghost did the dishes again last night.”
I frowned at him. “How can you tell?”
“Look.” He pointed at the dishes. “Everything’s arranged by size, stacked neat as pins. Boy’s got a system.” A rare smile crossed his face. “And he actually scrubs the bottoms. Half the crew just splashes water around and calls it done.”
I squared my shoulders, keeping my expression neutral. “As long as he’s doing his duties.”
“Doing more than that.” Sage paused, dark eyes narrowing. “You know, he’s been asking about your favorite foods.”
My heart stopped. “Has he?”
“Mentioned something about repaying you for giving him a chance.” Sage’s knowing look sent a prickle shooting across my neck. “He won’t stop going on about how you saved him from becoming monster bait.”
“Just doing my job. We need all the hands we can get.”
“Mmm,” Sage hummed. “He’s also noticed you don’t always come and get your meal on time. I’ve had to stop him from bringing it to you twice.”
“Right, then. I’ll be off. The captain needs to know about these.”
“Right.” Sage’s tone carried a hint of amusement. “See you later.”
I escaped into the corridor, clutching the box of stones too tightly, trying to calm my racing pulse. I couldn’t allow any of the crew—even Sage—to notice my growing soft spot for Ghost. Not only would it make my job more difficult, but it could be downright dangerous for him. I was sure Butcher wouldn’t mind carving into him, just to torment me. Viper would certainly raise an eyebrow if he found out I’d gotten attached to our little stowaway, to say the least.
The wooden steps creaked under my boots as I climbed to the upper deck. The box of dead fluxstones weighed heavy in my arms—or perhaps it was the thought of facing Viper that made everything feel heavier.
I slowed my pace as I approached his quarters, studying the intricate carvings on his door. Dragons wrapped around each other, their tails forming an endless knot. My fingers traced the worn wood, remembering the first time I’d stood here, fresh from my military disgrace, half expecting to be thrown overboard for one thing or another.
Instead, Viper had seen something in me. Maybe it was the way I’d handled myself in that first raid, or how quickly I’d learned the crew’s dynamics. Within a month, he’d promoted me to first mate—though most days, that felt more curse than blessing.
Maintaining our united front exhausted me. The crew needed to see strength at the helm, not division. Every morning brought a new performance: standing shoulder-to-shoulder during inspections, backing his decisions even when they made my skin crawl, pretending his casual cruelty didn’t sicken me. The memory of yesterday’s flogging—of little, eighteen-year-old Willy of all people—still turned my stomach. I was still unable to decide if I wished it was me who’d done the flogging rather than Butcher so I could have gone easier on him.
