I take a deep breath, pinching the bridge of my nose, trying to rein in the frustration building up inside me. “Fine... Enlighten me. What exactly are we supposed to be ‘prepared for’?”
His smirk falters, just a fraction, and something colder sharpens in his eyes. “The goddess has her ways of getting under your skin.” His voice is lower now, as if he’s letting me in on some dark secret. “We’re bound together, you and me, but who knows? She might try to separate us. She’s a cunning bitch, and I wouldn’t put anything past her.”
I stiffen at that. It’s not what he says—it’s his attitude. I know the Lady is a conniving piece of shit, and I don’t need anyone telling me that. But it’s how he says it, like he doesn’t give a damn that she’s listening. I’ve never met another person who would spit on the Lady’s name like that. Especially knowing for a fact that she’s always watching, always listening.
And just like that, I respect him a little more. It’s twisted, but his point isn’t wrong. Who knows what the Lady’s planning? She already made her appearance in that dream—if you can call a talking monkey sitting on my chest her.
“Fine,” I say through gritted teeth. “If there’s no other choice...”
That slow, smug smile spreads across his face again. “Understood, Captain.”
I turn away from him, scanning the room as if it might offer some relief. The bed, the desk, the small window—it’s all waybetter than what I had onMedusa’s Gaze. Luxurious, even. The polished wood practically gleams, the rich scent of mahogany filling the air. Everything here looks like it was built to last, like it belongs to someone who doesn’t answer to anyone.
I force myself to focus on the window, staring out at the dark blue of the sea stretching endlessly to the horizon. The waters are calm now, perfect for Ridley to take us the rest of the way to the island while I get some damn sleep. Fabien offered me a chance to rest after that rocky island, but I turned him down. I needed the crew to see me standing tall, to know I’m the one in charge now.
Let them see the new captain of this ship. Let them understand I’m not here to play games.
Surprisingly, they took to me quickly. Better than I expected. I heard a few of them muttering that they finally had a real captain at the helm, not a madman steering them toward death. Not bad for a crew that wasn’t mine to begin with.
I expected doubt, maybe even someone trying to test my authority. The Rancour name pays their wages, and I was ready for a challenge. But none came. In this, at least, Fabien was telling the truth—his men are experienced sailors, not devoted to him but to the ship.
That suits me just fine. For now.
The only problem? I don’t know if I can trust them because of it. A crew that listens without question is one thing, but I want more than that. I need a crew that’s loyal because they believe in something, not because they’re drifting like deadweight. A crew that would fight for me, not just follow orders like puppets.
I stride over to the bed, running my hand over the smooth sheets. Too clean. Too soft. It feels wrong, like something stolen from a life that doesn’t belong to me. I was raised by the sea, in a world where sleep comes on a hammock and dinner tastes like stale bread. Not this.
Plush luxury. I’ve laughed at captains who sail this way—soft ships for soft hearts.
“The sheets seem unused,” I say, glancing at Fabien over my shoulder.
He shrugs. “I prefer the floor.”
Figures.
My first instinct is to say that I do, too—that I can’t remember the last time I slept in a proper bed. But the words stick in my throat, suddenly too vulnerable, too personal. I don’t want to feel any sort of kinship with him. Besides, after what Zayan, Vini, and I went through, maybe sinking into a real bed won’t be so bad.
“Suit yourself,” I mutter, pulling off my boots and tossing them aside. I can feel his eyes on me, watching every move I make. But I won’t let him see that it bothers me. If we’re going to get through the Trials, I need my strength—and that means sleep, even if it comes on sheets too soft for my taste.
Fabien didn’t lie about needing each other. I don’t trust him. I doubt I ever will. But I trust that he’s bound to his creed, whatever it is. And for now, that creed keeps me alive.
I throw myself onto the bed, the mattress softer than anything I’ve felt in years. A part of me almost hates how much I enjoy the comfort. But I shove the thought away, keeping my guard up even as my body sinks into it.
“Rest well, Captain,” Fabien says, his voice softer, almost sincere. I don’t trust it—don’t trust him—but I’m too tired to argue.
“Keep watch,” I murmur, turning onto my side and closing my eyes.
I wake up feeling the weight of a body pressed against me. It’s solid, warm, sinking the mattress beneath us and dragging my body slowly toward it. There’s another one on the other side, lighter but just as warm. I let out a slow breath, breathing them in, suspended in the quiet haze of sleep. For a moment, I think about letting go, sinking deeper, and letting the gentle sway of the ship rock us, lost in that perfect, dreamlike stillness.
But it never lasts.
A click cuts through the air. Sharp. Unmistakable. My muscles tense. There’s a brief silence before a loud, jarring thud.
Where’s my dagger?
Before my eyes are even open, I’m already moving. My body springs upright, hand instinctively searching for the blade at my side. One of the bodies beside me jolts awake, mimicking my movement. The other one, not as quick, jerks but doesn’t rise. It takes everything in me not to strike first and ask questions later.
And then I open my eyes.
