I woke to the gray light of dawn filtering through the cracks in the ship's hull, and for a moment I didn't know where I was.
Then I remembered. The ship. The hammock. The life I was leaving behind.
Today was the day.
Tonight, they would come for me.
I lay there for a long moment, staring at the wooden beams above me, feeling the gentle rock of the waves beneath me. My body felt wrong—too warm, too sensitive, every brush of fabric against my skin sendt little shivers down my spine. The pre-heat was getting worse. Even with the doubled suppressants, I could feel it building, a pressure beneath my skin that wouldn't ease.
However, beneath the discomfort, beneath the anxiety, there was something else.
Hope.
I touched my hair, feeling for the braid Vale had woven there weeks ago. The pearl was gone now—too risky to wear on the ship—but the braid remained. A reminder. A promise.
Tonight. Sundown. They would come for me, and I would never have to wake up in this hammock again. The thought sent a flutter through my chest that had nothing to do with the pre-heat.
Mine. They were mine now. And tonight, I would finally be theirs.
I forced myself out of the hammock and into the routine of the day. Washing my face with cold water from the basin. Pulling on my work clothes—the same clothes I'd been wearing for months, now missing several strips of fabric that were currently woven into four siren braids somewhere in the deep ocean below.
The thought made me smile.
I emerged onto the deck to find the ship already bustling with activity. Sailors moved around me, hauling ropes and adjusting sails, their voices carrying on the salt-tinged wind. None of them looked at me twice. To them, I was just Lily—the quiet deck hand who kept to herself, who worked hard and caused no trouble.
They had no idea what I really was. What I was about to become. I threw myself into work, trying to keep my mind occupied. Scrubbing the deck. Coiling ropes. Helping in the galley. Anything to make the hours pass faster, to keep myself from counting every minute until sunset.
"You're working hard today," Old Marsh commented as I passed him near the bow, his weathered face creased with something like concern, his pale eyes squinting against the morning sun. He was one of the few crew members who'd shown me any kindness—a beta in his sixties who reminded me of the grandfather I'd never known.
"Just trying to stay busy," I said, keeping my voice light, my expression neutral, my hands still clutching the bucket I'd been carrying.
"Mmm," he hummed, the sound rumbling deep in his chest as he squinted at me, his pale eyes sharp despite his age. "You look feverish. You feeling alright?"
"Fine," I said quickly, too quickly, forcing a smile that felt brittle on my face. "Just warm. The sun, you know." He didn't look convinced, his bushy eyebrows drawing together, but he nodded and let me pass. I could feel his eyes on my back as I walked away, and I forced myself not to hurry, to not look suspicious.
Just a few more hours. I just had to get through a few more hours.
The galley was hot and crowded when I arrived to help with the midday meal. Cook—a massive beta woman with arms like tree trunks and a voice that could cut through a storm—put me to work chopping vegetables without a word. I fell into the rhythm of it. Chop, scrape, chop, scrape. The knife was dull and the carrots were soft, but the monotony was soothing. Something to focus on besides the heat building under my skin.
"You're quiet today," said Finn, the young beta who usually worked beside me, his freckled face turned toward me with open curiosity. He was barely older than me, with a spray of freckles across his nose and an easy smile that never seemed to fade. "Quieter than usual, I mean."
"Just thinking," I said, not looking up from my work, keeping my eyes fixed on the rhythmic motion of the knife.
"About what?" he pressed, leaning closer, genuine interest warming his voice.
"Nothing important," I said, scraping the chopped carrots into the pot and reaching for another.
He was silent for a moment, and I thought he'd let it drop. Then: "You know, if you ever wanted to talk... I'm a good listener," he offered, his voice soft and earnest, his hands pausing on his own cutting board. "My ma always said so."
Something twisted in my chest. Guilt, maybe. Finn had been kind to me. They all had, in their own ways—the crew members who weren't alphas, who didn't look at me like I was something to be claimed. And I was about to disappear without a word, leaving them to think I'd drowned or fallen overboard or simply ceased to exist.
"Thank you," I said quietly, finally meeting his eyes, seeing the kindness there that I didn't deserve. "That's... that's kind of you."
He smiled, bright and genuine, his freckles bunching up on his cheeks, and went back to his work. I wouldn't miss the ship. But I might miss some of the people on it.
The afternoon dragged on. I moved from task to task, trying to stay busy, trying to stay invisible. But no matter where I went, no matter what I did, I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.
Cort.
