“Doesn’t it strike you as odd,” he says, loud again, “that Fabien claims to have forty men on board and not a single one came ashore with him? Not even one?”
“Yeah, I’ve been wondering that myself,” I admit, eyes narrowing. “Why don’t you just join the conversation, since you’re so interested?” I call out, loud enough for anyone in earshot to hear. My hand brushes the gun at my hip as I speak—just a little reminder of where we all stand here.
Fabien saunters over, all calm and collected, stopping just shy of our little circle. “I thought you’d never ask,” he says, his voice dripping with mock politeness, the kind that makes my skin crawl. “As for my crew, they follow my lead without question. I point, they sail. They don’t ask questions, and they’re compensated accordingly. I prefer to work alone, but no one sails the seas alone.”
I glance at Zayan, who looks about as unimpressed as I feel. He gives a tiny shrug, as if to say,Is this guy serious?
“So, you didn’t think to bring any backup?” I ask, raising an eyebrow, refusing to let Fabien off that easy. Something about him feels off, and I want to get under his skin.
“Let’s just say I try to keep the casualties to the minimum,” he replies. “Does this satisfy your curiosity?”
It doesn’t. Not even close. But I don’t press him further. Instead, I keep my hand near my holstered gun, fingers twitching with the urge to grab it. There’s something wrong with this man, something slippery and dangerous. I don’t like it.
He said he’s been searching for this wreck for years, and yet, he’s standing here without a care in the world, not even pretending to salvage anything from it. No gold, no treasure, no maps. What kind of pirate doesn’t jump at the chance to snatch something valuable?
If it’s not about the riches, then what the hell is it about?
And that’s the scary part—personal motives are unpredictable. You never know what a man like Fabien Rancour might be after, or how far he’s willing to go to get it.
“Have you decided yet?” he asks, looking me dead in the eye, his eyes locking onto mine. Not Zayan’s, not Vinicola’s. Just me. He knows who’s in charge here. On some level, he’s already treating me like a captain, and that alone makes me wary of him.
I clear my throat, refusing to back down. “I hope you don’t expect any of us to trust you,” I tell him. “If so, you’ll be sorely disappointed.”
“Trust?” He laughs—a hollow, bitter sound, one that feels like it’s been dragged out of him too many times. Seems he makes it a lot. “Trust has nothing to do with it. This is about survival. Yours, specifically. Whether you like it or not, you’re tied to me now.”
He gestures vaguely to the mark on his palm, the same mark that scars mine. I glance down, rubbing it absentmindedly, the skin tingling beneath my fingers. I still don’t fully understand what it means, but I’m sure of one thing—it didn’t show up by accident. It must have appeared the moment Vinicola put the compass and key together. Right after the ungodly headache that nearly split my skull in two, there it was, plain as day, etched into our skin like a brand.
It makes me shudder.
“Your men won’t rebel against me?” I ask, working my jaw. “I’m nottheircaptain.”
“They won’t,” he says. “As I told you, they follow orders. Without question. Besides, I’ll still pay them their coin. That’s all that matters to them.”
“That’s some real loyalty you’ve got there,” I mutter, eyes narrowing as I try to gauge some kind of reaction—anything that would crack the mask he wears, something different from the constant dead stares. My words hang in the air like bait, but I don’t expect much.
To my surprise, I get it.
Anger. It’s slow at first, barely noticeable. But it’s there, simmering beneath his cool exterior, flickering in the depths of his eyes like embers waiting to ignite.
“Loyalty leads only to pain,Captain,“ he purrs. And for once, I can tell it’s not just another line. This one’s real. He believes it, right down to that pitch-black heart of his.
The moment Fabien’s ship comes into view, the breath gets knocked clean out of my lungs. I blink, half-convinced I’m seeing things, because ships like this are supposed to be owned only by navy or the pirate kings. Not the likes of Fabien.
It’s an absolute beast—bigger than the ancient galleon we’ve just fought on, standing proud on the water like something out of a legend. Dark sails ripple in the wind like raven wings, and the hull—sleek, sharp, dangerous—cuts through the waves like a damn demon hunting for souls.
It’s a ship built for speed and power, a predator among prey.
It’s beautiful.
“That’s your ship?” I ask, clutching my shirt like I’m trying to hold my heart in place. If this is all a dream, the kind where everything turns to ash just when you start to believe in it, now’s the moment I really don’t want to wake up.
“Yes,” Fabien says, like it’s nothing. Not a hint of pride. Just… yes.
“What’s its name?” I ask, because a ship like this deserves one. If I’m going to captain her, I need to know. The name gives her a soul, makes her part of the crew. It’s not just wood and sails—it’s something alive.
“It doesn’t have a name,” Fabien replies, as if that’s perfectly normal. I feel my jaw tighten, a sharp sting of disappointment hitting me square in the chest.
“You’re telling me,” I start, trying and failing to keep the disbelief out of my voice, “that this magnificent ship—thisbeauty—doesn’t have a name?”
