I keep fighting—can’t stop, won’t stop—but there’s something different in the way my limbs jerk now, something softer underfoot. My heel connects with something that isn’t water, and a yelp echoes, muffled but sharp.
“Ouch, Miss Captain! Please… please, don’t kick me!” another voice squeals, high-pitched and panicked.
Vinicola.
For a split second, my brain can’t make sense of it. It’s like I’ve been ripped out of one nightmare and thrown into another. I don’t know where I am, what’s happening, or why everything feels so damn wrong. My heart’s still racing, panic roaring in my ears, and the only thing I can think isget out—get free, breathe, survive.
And then—hands. Warm, strong hands on my face. They’re real, solid, grounding me in a way the voice couldn’t. I focus on them, the feel of the fingers pressing against my skin, pulling me back.
Zayan. It’s him.He’s really here.
His touch is steady, not letting go, like he’s afraid I’ll slip away if he lets me go. My vision sharpens, the world coming back into focus. The haze fades, and there he is—his green eyes locked onto mine, intense and unshakable, the anchor keeping me from drifting off into whatever darkness I was sinking into.
I’m not drowning. Not really. Not in the sea, and not in my own head.
I blink, the image of the river snapping into place. The river. We’re in the river.
I glance down at the water around us and see Vinicola, cradling his face like it’s about to fall off. The poor bastard. My foot must’ve connected hard—there’s a red mark blooming on his cheek, and his wide, watery eyes look up at me like I just punched him in the soul.
“Can you hear me?” Zayan’s voice cuts through again.
I blink again, my mind finally settling in the present. His hands are still on my face, steady as ever. His eyes, though? There’s something raw there. Something I’m not used to seeing in him.
I nod, sucking in a breath—a real breath this time. The air floods my lungs, burning but alive. The ache in my chest is still there, but the panic? The panic is fading.
“Good.” He exhales, but not before I catch the flicker of something I wasn’t supposed to see. Concern. He hides it fast, buries it behind that cocky grin of his, but I know it was there. And damn it, it pisses me off.
I pull away from his grip, shaking off the last of the panic. “I’m fine,” I snap, though my voice is rougher than I want it to be. “And Vinicola…” I glance at the poor idiot, still clutching his cheek like a wounded puppy. “Sorry about the kick.”
Vinicola’s lips twitch into a nervous grin. “No worries, Miss Captain. Glad you’re… uh… back with us.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
Zayan mutters something under his breath, and for the first time, I hear it in his voice too—fear.Realfear.
“Fuck, you scared the hell out of us. Thought we lost you.”
Lost me?The words twist in my mind, but they don’t quite land. All I can feel is the memory of water clawing at my throat, trying to drag me under again.Lost me?I don’t understand.
I shake my head, frowning as the world sharpens even more. We’re still in the river, but something’s different. The mist, the darkness—it’s gone. The sun is glaring down at us now, and everything is clear. The heat wraps around me, thick and heavy.
“What happened?” I rasp, my voice barely mine.
Zayan hesitates, wiping his face like he’s trying to brush off more than just sweat. When he speaks, his voice is calm, but I can hear the relief beneath it. “Nothing to worry about, love. You just had a little… episode.” He glances at Vinicola, who’s still rubbing his jaw like I broke it.
“Vini?” I ask.
Vinicola straightens, though his expression is still wary. “You had this strange slimy thing on your leg, Miss Captain. It… it made you faint.”
A slimy thing. From a jungle plant. It couldn’t have been anything else.
I mutter a curse under my breath, feeling the tingle in my legs finally subside. The panic might be gone, but the frustration is still bubbling up inside me. I hate jungles. There’s just something wrong with them.
“What about the—“ My voice falters, the most important question clawing its way out of the fog in my mind. I turn to Zayan, my eyes sharp again. “What about the compass?”
A heavy silence falls between us, the kind that makes my skin prickle. Zayan’s head tilts up slowly, his lips pursed, eyes searching mine like he’s weighing every word before letting them out.
“Love,” he begins softly, “think about it. You threw the compass onto that privateer ship during the storm, remember? It’s impossible for it to be here, let alone in the hands of a monkey. Gold sinks. It doesn’t just... wash up.”
