“Believe it or not.” I put on a breezy smile, though there’s a bit of truth sneaking through. “I may look like a man without much to offer, but—remarkably—people have needed me before.”
He snorts, adjusting the leather strap on his shoulder as he glances around. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“Charming, aren’t you?” I mutter, my voice lighter than I feel.
“Realist,” he corrects, his tone dry. “Truth is, you’re sticking around because they haven’t thrown you out yet. And it’s just a matter of time.”
Oddly, his words hit deeper than I expected. I look away, pulling in a breath as that flicker of doubt sneaks in, unwelcome but stubborn.
Sure, I know what Fabien Rancour is—a sad, bitter man who spews his poison without a second thought. One glance at him back on that shipwreck was enough to see that he’s not in the habit of cushioning his words. Hurting people? Just part of his day.
But somehow, despite knowing all this, his words lodge themselves somewhere annoyingly close to the heart.
I force a laugh, hoping it sounds easy, casual. “That won’t happen,” I say, my voice a touch quieter. “They… they’re different.”
If he’d gone for my songs, my talent, or even my face, I’d have a hundred retorts ready to fire back. But this? This digs into a different part of me.
“Wouldn’t get too attached if I were you,” he mutters. “People always find a reason to walk away when it comes down to it.”
I swallow hard. “Then maybe I’ll surprise you, Fabien. I’ll stick around so long it’ll annoy everyone.”
A shadow of something—pity? boredom?—flickers across his face before he shrugs, clearly uninterested in my defiance. “Suit yourself,” he mutters, turning his back.
The truth? I know I’m not like them—Miss Captain, Zayan, even Fabien himself. They have their roots, their places, even if they never admit it. Me? I’m the wanderer, drifting along with nothing but my songs and a reputation I can’t quite shake. I’ve been good for two things my whole life: singing and… other pastimes. Like a worthless pigeon hopping from one square to another, always moving, never belonging.
I promised my mother two years ago I’d bring my father back. Told her I’d find him, along with the money he was meant to bring home from selling all that wine with his privateer friends. So far, I’ve only managed to lose myself out here and leave her alone.
That? That wouldn’t happen to someone like Miss Captain or Zayan. I can’t imagine it would, not for them.
I’m about to say something witty to pull myself out of this mental drift when I catch Fabien’s gaze shifting, his sharp eyes locking on something in the distance. His whole posture changes, every muscle tensing, and his hand moves instinctively to the hilt of his dagger.
My heart skips a beat, and I can’t help but lean in, lowering my voice. “What is it?”
He doesn’t answer right away, his focus zeroed in on a group of figures emerging from a nearby alley, their faces shrouded in shadows but their intent as clear as sunlight. Five of them, moving toward us with that sort of swagger that says they aren’t coming for a friendly chat. My breath catches; their eyes are fixed, but not on me.
No, they’re looking right at Fabien.
His jaw sets, that simmering anger drawing his eyes into a cold, narrow stare. It’s clear he recognizes them.
“I thought you said we’d only run into your enemies in the dark?” I quip, my voice coming out tight, barely masking the fact that my heart’s drumming like a madman’s tambourine.
“No,” he corrects, his voice flat and deadly, “I said they’d stab you in the dark. Never mentioned they wouldn’t stabmein broad daylight.”
His words come out ice-cold, with that twisted humor of his barely covering the killer edge simmering beneath. Right before my eyes, he’s shifting—transforming back into that mad, knife-wielding terror who had me pinned at that shipwreck. I can see each detail: his thick, dark brows lowering, nostrils flaring, chin dropping. Every feature sharpens, like a predator zeroing in on prey.
And the worst part? The other guys don’t so much as blink. They’re closing in, radiating hostility. And in their eyes, there’sthis glint—a nasty kind of recognition, like a grudge they’ve been nursing since long before I came along.
What does one do when caught between,
Two sides whose eyes in rage are keen?
Murder in their gaze, not slight,
But real slaughter, a barbarian’s might.
.
On one side, five monsters, fierce and lean,
