“Then let’s go,” I say, tightening my grip on her arm.
We start swimming, fighting through the waves that thrash around us, each one hell-bent on dragging us off course. Gypsy’s strokes are steady, weaker than I’d like, but she’s keeping pace. We don’t speak; there’s no energy to waste on words. All that matters is reaching that pillar.
But I know time’s against us. It’s only a matter of seconds before a leg seizes up or the ocean pulls one of us under.
We have to hurry.
But so we had to hurry when the sand was expanding, and then when the waves were coming closer and closer. Just how much longer will this things last?
“When this… is all over…” Gypsy breathes as she moves her arms to swim forward. “I want… at least two… pints of beer.”
I bark out a laugh, though it burns my lungs. “I’ll do you one better,” I shout over the crashing waves. “I’ll buy you the whole damned tavern. Drink till you can’t stand.”
She lets out a ragged laugh, but it turns into a cough as she fights to keep her head above water. “Deal… but you’re drinking with me,” she manages between breaths.
“Like hell I’d leave you to drink alone,” I reply, gritting my teeth through a smirk. “I’d rather drown with you than miss that.”
The thought of a dry tavern, a warm bed… gods, even a damp straw mattress sounds like heaven right now. Hard to believe I’ve become the guy who fantasizes about shacking up in some rundown inn, maybe getting into a fistfight with the locals for fun. But suddenly… I want that.
I’d kill for that.
I love the adrenaline as much as any other pirate, but this place… it’s hell raised to the level of the goddess herself. She wants us to break ourselves on her terms, to claw our way forward on nothing but grit and curses. Like she’s watching us, daring us to give up, just so she can laugh in our faces.
“Almost there,” I grind out, eyes set on the jagged base of the pillar. It’s right there, within reach. “Just a little more.”
The currents seem to intensify as we near it, as if the ocean is trying to pull us away from the one thing that could save us. No, I’m pretty sure it is.
“Come on, don’t you dare let up now,” I mutter under my breath, pushing through the burn in my muscles, the ice slicing through my veins like broken glass.
Then I spot them—Vini and Rancour, clutching onto the base of the pillar. Vini’s plastered to it, eyes squeezed shut, looking like he’s ready to pass out right there in the water.
But Rancour? He’s a statue, frozen solid, pale as death itself, with his eyes wide and breath barely moving. Right… wasn’t it Vinicola who mentioned Rancour’s ship went down in a storm when he was just a kid? His parents gone in an instant. Now he’s probably seeing ghosts right here in the depths.
“Oi! Snap out of it!” I shout, getting close enough to fling a splash of seawater in his face. His eyes jolt back to life, dartingaround like he’s just woken up from a nightmare before they land on me.
For a beat, he’s terrified—real terror there, clear as day. Then he steadies, stubbornness taking over, or maybe it’s just the shock wearing off.
“You came,” he says, his voice wavering. “Thought you were done for.”
“Writing us off that fast?” Gypsy’s voice cuts in as she swims up, latching onto the pillar next to Vini. She leans in and murmurs, “Glad you’re okay, Vini.”
He flashes her a weak smile, though his grip on the pillar is as white-knuckled as they come. “Same here, Miss Captain. Though, you wouldn’t happen to have a raft stashed somewhere, would you? Just a small one.”
Gypsy lets out a snort, though it’s more exhaustion than amusement. “Sorry, mate, fresh out of them.”
“Oh, well,” he mutters, teeth clinking. “Thought I’d ask just in case.”
She smirks, just a hint of it, before her expression tightens. She looks over her shoulder at me.
“It’s not over yet!” she shouts. “We can still make it. Just need to dive for the sand, yeah?”
Easier said than done. But I nod. Whatever she needs, I’m her man. Sure, I feel like I might pass out myself, but one quick look around at our merry little band tells me all I need to know. I’m the only one making that dive.
Vini’s half-scared out of his mind, Fabien’s wrestling with ghosts, and Gypsy—she’s still shaking off that close call. So, yeah, that leaves me. And besides, who’s better at diving than a man who’s made the deep sea his playground?
“Anyone still got their seashell?” I ask, biting back a groan. “Lost mine when the wave hit.”
“I have mine,” Fabien says, his voice trembling as he holds up the item I’ll most likely have nightmares about. Normally, I’d make fun of the fact he’s scared. It makes him look like a human, after all. But right now? I wish he’d be a monster. Just this once, let the odds lean in our favor.
