But of course, he panics. His hands find his hair, and even though the misty, humid air is already making it lose volume, his fingers do the job instead. He tugs at the strands, gatheringthem away from his face, his elbows rising. Then, he’s shaking his head, as if to himself, and I know words press onto his mind. Those rhymes he makes whenever he feels something deeply.
Something like,We’re all going to die, and I’ll be the first to cry.
Or not. I’m not half as good at this as he is, but I’d bet anything that his mind is swimming with doom.
“Do we continue?” Zayan asks, eyes locked on the eerie spectacle of the suspended ship. He’s scared too. Hell, all of us are. But I feel it’s mostly fear for me than for himself. The same kind of fear I feel, but for him and Vini.
I am the captain of this crew. Wherever I go, they follow, and I just might lead them into the clutches of death. Even if it’s not all entirely up to me.
“We don’t have a choice,” I reply. “The compass brought us here, and we need to see this through.”
Vinicola mumbles something under his breath, over and over again. His lips move in some half-formed poem, and I know it’s his way of coping. He’s trying to make sense of this nightmare with pretty words, as if that’ll keep the fear at bay.
Zayan just nods once, his eyes never leaving the ship hanging in the air.
“Right,” he mutters.
The wind picks up, howling through the mist, but it doesn’t touch us the way it should. It’s like the storm’s rage is being swallowed by the islands, leaving us to half-glide, half-creep toward the ship. The shipwreck looms closer, a broken skeleton hanging in the fog, and the compass... it’s moving slower now, like it’s not even sure where to point.
My brow furrows. Why the hell is it acting like this? It pulled us here, so what’s the hesitation now? What’s it leading us toward?
I thought this would be it. I thought this cursed compass would finally give me a straight answer. But no, I guess not.
My mind spins with questions I never wanted to ask. If The Lady is real, then what else is lurking in the depths? What if all those stories—each more ridiculous than the last—have some twisted truth to them? Krakens. Daughters of the Waves. Dead sailors, warped into something monstrous by the sea. The kind of horrors that live in the shadows of pirate legends.
The possibilities are endless. And every one of them worse than the last.
Is that what’s waiting for us here? Is that what the blue-eyed bitch wants me to see? Me, trembling like a fool for daring to disrespect her? No chance. Even if I stare straight into the eyes of a beast from the depths of hell, I won’t cower. That’s not who I am.
The closer we get to that wreck, the more I see. Jagged, glistening rocks push through the mist just above the waterline. Too many, like black teeth, waiting to tear into anything foolish enough to stray too close.
“Watch the rocks!” I shout, my voice slicing through the rising tension. “Zayan, get to the bow—keep lookout. Vinicola, ready the ropes. We might need to drop anchor fast.”
We’re just a schooner. Small, fast, and fragile. One wrong move, and we’ll be smashed against those rocks like that wreck ahead. Speed is all we have, but even speed won’t save us if we push too far.
Zayan and Vinicola spring into action, and I grip the wheel tighter, maneuvering carefully between the rocks. Sweat drips down my temples as the ship creaks beneath me, every muscle in my body tense. One slip, one mistake, and we’re finished.
“Easy now,” I mutter, eyes on the horizon, feeling the sway of the ship under my hands. Zayan’s hand signals guide me through the mist, every wave bringing us closer.
It’s slow going. Too slow. But we press on, slipping through narrow channels, the rocks closing in tighter with every breath.
“Shouldn’t go further,” Zayan’s voice cuts through the mist. “There are too many ahead.”
“Right.” I nod to Vinicola. “Drop the anchor. Now.”
The anchor plunges with a heavy thud, echoing eerily as it hits the bottom. I shiver involuntarily.
That same buzzing, the one that’s been nagging at the back of my mind, grows louder, almost deafening. It feels likedrowningall over again, like in that dream. The weight of the water pressing in, dragging me under. My breath hitches, but I shake it off.
No. Not here. Not now.
I shake my head, refusing to let the feeling settle in. My eyes lock onto the ship—the one that’s seemingly floating in the air. My heart skips, and then I realize the truth. It’s not suspended at all.
It’s not floating. It’sskewered.
The mist played tricks on my eyes, hiding the truth. The wreck isn’t suspended by some unnatural force; it’s impaled on a jagged rock that juts out from the sea like a blade. The ship—massive, looming, dead—is pierced through the belly, held aloft by the very thing that killed it.
And it’s no ordinary wreck. It’s a galleon. A massive beast of a ship.
