I step back, a grim smile tugging at the corners of my mouth as chaos unfolds on their deck. But then, just as quickly, a wave crashes over, dousing the flames before they can do any real damage.
It was enough to create a distraction, though. Their captain loses his grip on the wheel, and the distance between our ships grows, widening as another wave slams into us.
Saltwater stings my eyes, my legs straining to keep me upright as exhaustion claws at my muscles. When my boot slips on the slick deck, seawater swirls beneath me, and the next thing I know, I’m crashing to the ground.
The deck meets me hard, the breath knocked from my lungs. For a moment, all I can hear is the roar of the storm and the creak of the ship beneath me. Salt and blood mingle in my mouth, my cheek burning where it scraped against the wood. But I don’t stay down long.
Before I can pull myself up, a rough hand grabs my arm, hauling me to my feet with unnecessary force. I whirl around, ready to snap at Zayan for touching me again, but the look in his eyes stops me.
His gaze is locked on me, those stormy green eyes burning with something that makes my skin crawl. Longing. That’s all I can focus on, the way it sends a crawling sensation through my body. Because if I let myself think about anything else—the warmth of his body pressed close, the scent of sea salt and sweat—I might feel that familiar pull, the one that tells me to stay, to lean into the heat he’s offering in this cold storm.
A part of me whispers that in this stormy sea, he’s the only warmth I’ll find. He’s the only one who came after me, who risked everything to catch up. Who else would do that now that I’ve broken ties with my crew?
But that part of me? Evil? It’s a sign I’ve had too much seawater, and it’s messing with my head.
“I’m going to repeat myself only once, Cagney, so you better remember.” I purse my lips, nostrils flaring. The waves crash against the ship, tossing us around. “I don’t need your help. Now, or ever.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” he mutters.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” His eyebrows furrow. “You think this is a coincidence? This storm? It’s anything but, Gypsy. And you know what caused it. You know damn well.”
Before I can shoot back, another blast of gunfire splits the air, shaking the ship beneath our feet. The privateers aren’t letting up. The fire might’ve thrown them off for a moment, but they’re already pulling themselves together. And then I see it—Vinicola, gripping the wheel like his life depends on it, nearly losing his hold as a bullet slams into the mast beside him.
“Miss Captain!” he shouts, voice cracking with panic. “I don’t know how much longer I can hold it!”
I tear my eyes away from Zayan and charge toward the wheel, boots slipping on the slick deck.
“Move!” I bark at Vinicola, grabbing the wheel with both hands as he stumbles back, wide-eyed. I don’t have time to soothe him, to tell him he’s doing fine. The ship’s veering too far to port, and if I don’t get her back on course, we’re done for. My muscles scream as I haul on the wheel, forcing it to turn, fighting against the storm’s relentless pull.
But Zayan’s words… They stick. Worming their way into my thoughts like a splinter under the skin, no matter how hard I try to shake them loose.
Could it really be…? This storm, the sea thrashing us like a plaything…
No. That’s impossible.
I yank the wheel harder, gritting my teeth against the ache in my muscles. A quick glance to my right shows the privateer shipedging closer again. The storm doesn’t show a sign of clearing out any time soon either.
A sharp bolt of fear, hot and unwelcome, shoots through me.
“Vinicola!” I bark, “Get below deck and secure anything loose. If we capsize, we’ll need everything that floats.”
He glances nervously between me and Zayan. But he nods and scurries off, disappearing below as another round of gunfire cracks through the storm. Beside me, Zayan’s presence burns like a brand I can’t escape. His gaze hasn’t shifted—still fixed on me, with that same intensity he had earlier, like he knows he’s under my skin.
Of course he knows. Bastard.
I need more time. More distance. Anything to clear my head and figure out my next move. The compass presses hard against my thigh, its weight like an iron chain burning through the fabric of my pants. Heavy. Wrong.
“You know what you’re feeling,” Zayan cuts in, his voice low, almost smug. “It’s the compass, Gypsy. This storm—it’s not just a storm. The curse is real.”
I snarl, but I don’t turn to face him. “Shut up, Zayan. I’m not falling for your sea-leg nonsense.”
But the truth? It’s gnawing at me, deep in my gut. Because maybe, just maybe, he’s right.
No. No, I can’t even entertain the thought. I hate it. I hate what it means. If the compass is cursed, if this storm is more than just bad luck, then everything I’ve done, everything I’ve fought for—it’s all been for nothing.
It would make my father right. Kali, the crew, Old Betty—all of them, right. The gods, The Lady—they’d all be real, with their claws in me. And that? That would mean I have no control over my own fate. No say in what happens next.
