Gypsy
Iknow what I saw.
Just moments ago, a monkey—brown, scraggly, with a grin crooked enough to make me want to knock it straight—jumped from the trees on my right. Landed not even a foot away, bold as a damn thief. It winked. I swear to every cursed god I have never believed in, it winked at me. Then it jumped back into the trees on my left like it had all the time in the world.
And clutched in its filthy, greedy little fingers? My compass. That golden, shining piece of hell I bought off Old Betty. The one I threw overboard during the storm to rid myself of its… pull. The very same compass. No other.
That little bastard had it clenched tight, mocking me.
And oh, I don’t doubt for a second it wasmockingme. The way it stared me dead in the eye, like it knew exactly what it was holding. Its gaze wasn’t some innocent, animal curiosity—it had that clever, wicked glint. The glint that says, “I know what this is worth to you.” The way its sharp little teeth showed in a smirk, like it was daring me to do something about it. It wasn’t just a monkey. No, this thing waslaughingat me.
For a second, I couldn’t even think. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t do a damn thing except stare, slack-jawed, while my brain tried to catch up.
It didn’t make sense. It couldn’t make sense. The compass was gone, swallowed by the waves, cursed to the depths, where I was sure it’d stay forever. But here it was, held by a monkey, of all things. Mocking me.
Of all the ways the world could choose to mess with me, this—this had to be the cruelest. Perhaps even worse than sending Cagney my way.
I couldn’t shake the image from my mind, the compass gleaming in that creature’s hands like it belonged to it. Like it had claimed it the second I let it slip beneath the surface of the waves.
And now? Now, as my legs burn and leaves whip across my face, I’m running through the jungle like a woman possessed. All my fear is gone, all my regrets about the past erased. Nothing matters. Nothing except that damn monkey.
The sweat trickles down my spine, hot and sticky, mixing with the grime and salt caked to my skin. Bugs whine in my ears, a maddening hum that I barely hear over the pounding of my heart. My lungs scream for air, but I keep pushing, forcing my body to move faster. The burn in my muscles is like fire, and still, it’s not enough.
“Come back here, you little bastard,” I snarl through clenched teeth.
“Gypsy! Wait!” Zayan’s voice calls out from behind me, probably five feet back. Then, further behind, Vinicola’s voice pipes up—something muffled through the underbrush. I barely register it. The compass is all that matters.
“Fuck! Vinicola, keep the fuck up with me!” Zayan yells. It almost makes me slow down. Almost.
“I’m trying!” comes the bard’s voice, even quieter now, lost in the dense jungle. But I don’t stop running. I can’t.
The jungle tears at me like it’s trying to pull me back—twigs clawing at my arms, roots snaring my ankles. But I ignore the sting of fresh cuts, the slick warmth of blood mixing with sweat. I’ve bled before. I’ll bleed again. It’s nothing compared to the gnawing desperation in my gut.
I spot that flicker of brown fur ahead, just a glimpse through the thick green leaves, and my chest tightens. That little bastard. My fingers tighten around the hilt of Zayan’s blade. I swear, if I get close enough, I’ll slit its throat myself.
Suddenly, my ankle catches on something slick—a dew-soaked leaf, cold and slippery against my skin. The world tilts beneath me, and for a heartbeat, I’m weightless. My feet slip out from under me, and I crash down hard, catching myself just before my face hits the dirt. Pain explodes in my wrist.
I scramble back to my feet, leaping over a fallen log and nearly losing my balance again. The ground here is uneven, bumpy from the roots.
I can’t think of a fucking worse place to chase a wild animal.
I leap over a fallen log, nearly stumbling on the landing but managing to keep my balance. The forest is getting thicker, the trees closer together, their roots twisting like traps ready to trip me up. But I keep going, faster now. The sounds of rustling branches, slithering creatures, and… water.
Water.
Somewhere ahead, the sound of rustling branches and quick little feet pushes me faster. I can hear it—water. The steady rush of it just beyond the trees. My throat tightens with thirst, the dryness in my mouth almost choking me. When was the last time I drank anything?
Oh, right. The coconut water. Feels like way longer than that.
But fuck. A little thirst isn’t going to stop me.
I can see the water now, the glint of it through the trees. The monkey’s heading straight for it, weaving through the underbrush like it knows exactly where to go. My body screams for rest, but I won’t stop. I can’t stop. Not until that compass is back in my hands.
If it takes me all night, I’ll get it back. I’ll cut down anything in my way to make sure of it.
Letting go of that compass was a mistake—a regret that’s been gnawing at me ever since. I don’t care about the lightning strike that followed after I threw it onto the privateers’ ship. It could have been a coincidence. The pirate world only knows that the sea is a fickle and changing thing.
I don’t know how the compass ended up here, on this island, but if I let it slip through my fingers again, it’ll be the end of me.
