“In a way,” the bard finally says, and I can tell he’s holding something back. For once, the words aren’t pouring out.
I glance back, a half-smirk tugging at my lips. “Art is pain, huh?”
He nods, all earnest, like that’s the truest thing he’s ever heard. “Because art is love,” he mutters.
And for some reason, I don’t hate him in that moment. Yeah, he’s useless, loud, and every other thing that grates on my nerves. Even Gypsy likes him, and that’s its own problem. But right now? I don’t mind him so much.
Just as I’m about to let my guard down, there’s a rustle in the bushes. The sound snaps us all still.
I turn, slow and steady, narrowing my eyes as I scan the greenery. Something’s out there. Could be nothing. Could be trouble.
Gypsy’s grip tightens on the dagger I gave her. I can practically taste the salt of her sweat hanging in the air, feel her pulse pounding in the space between us.
“Anyone else hear that?” Vinicola whispers, his previous softness gone. He’s all fear now, and honestly? Can’t even say I blame him.
“Everyone heard it,” I mutter, keeping my voice low. “Stay still.”
We freeze, and for a second, the whole damn jungle goes quiet, like even it’s holding its breath. My fingers twitch, wanting to grab a dagger, but then I remember—I gave it to Gypsy. Great. Only thing I’ve got left is the gun.
Another rustle—this one closer. My eyes flick to Gypsy. Her face is pale as moonlight, her jaw clenched so tight I’m surprisedher teeth don’t shatter. Her fingers are practically welded to that dagger, like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. Vinicola, on the other hand? He’s gone dead silent, his breath coming in shallow gasps, probably too scared to even make a sound.
I slide the gun out from its holster, slow and steady, my grip tight around the cold iron. Sweat drips down my brow, but I keep my focus sharp, my eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of movement. Another sound—a shuffle, a crack of twigs, and my heart pounds like a war drum in my chest.
Just as I’m about to aim, something shoots across the path—a blur of brown, quick and silent, vanishing into the underbrush like it was never there at all. I barely register it. Just a small animal. A rodent, maybe.
But Gypsy? She whirls around, her eyes wide and wild like she’s just seen a ghost.
“Did you see that?” Her voice is breathless, her chest rising and falling in rapid bursts. There’s panic there.
I raise an eyebrow, smirking despite the tension. “See what? Your nerves getting the best of you, love?”
I should be relieved. It was nothing. A rodent or some other harmless creature. Nothing that could actually harm us. But the way Gypsy’s staring at me—there’s something deeper going on.
“Did you see that monkey?” she practically screeches, her voice cracking. She’s shaking now, her fingers trembling on the hilt of the dagger.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I ask, my smirk fading as I catch the sheer desperation in her eyes.
Her voice rises, high-pitched, frantic. “Did you see what it had in its hand?!”
I blink. A monkey? What the—
“Keep your voice down, love,” I hiss, reaching out to lay a hand on her shoulder, but she shoves me off like I’ve just struck her, eyes blazing with fire.
“It had the compass, Zayan,” she chokes out. “It hadmycompass.”
My stomach drops. I don’t even have time to process that before she spins on her heel, bolting into the bushes, her feet barely touching the ground as she disappears into the jungle like a streak of lightning.
It takes a few painful heartbeats for her words to fully sink in.
Her compass. The one she threw onto the privateer ship. The one that made a huge crack of lightning strike the said ship. The very same one. And she’s chasing after a monkey like her life depends on it.
Oh, I shouldn’t be relieved at all. I should beterrified.
I snap into action, my feet pounding after her. “Gypsy, wait!” I shout, but she’s already too far ahead, her silhouette swallowed by the thick greenery. Damn her stubbornness. Damn that compass.
And damn me for always chasing after her.Alwayschasing after her.
15
