Boots descended the ladder—heavy, careless. The one with the scar on his cheek lugged a sloshing barrel between him and another man. They grunted as they set it down, cursing at the weight, then shuffled forward with ladles and bowls. Rations to keep us alive, nothing more, nothing less.
Across the dim, Moriko met my eyes. Her eyes burned gold in the half-light—steady. Watchful.Today,that look said.Today we are free.
I forced myself to sit still as the scarred man drew closer, keys jingling at his hip. Every clink of metal sent a hot spike through my chest. I pressed my palms flat to the boards to stop the tremor in my hands and reminded myself:water always finds a crack.
The scarred man sloshed water into a dented tin, tugging at the ladle with a curse. The keys at his belt brushed his thigh every time he bent, just out of reach, taunting. I kept my eyes down, feigning weariness, though my pulse hammered so hard I swore it rattled the chains.
A sound stirred across the space—soft, melodic, almost a hum.
Moriko’s head was bowed, but her lips moved in the faintest curve of song. Not power—not true magic. The shackles saw to that. Just a thread of rhythm, low and human enough to pass for mindless muttering.
The guard scowled. “Quiet, river witch.” He kicked her ankle, spilling water. The shackles sparked and she hissed, but the song broke into a ragged laugh.
The other poacher chuckled as they dragged the barrel closer, irritated with her. The scarred one bent again—and this time the keys swung forward, catching the light.
Close. So close.
I watched carefully, memorizing the angle of his belt, the loop that held the ring, the way the keys swung on the arc of his movement. One mistake. One slip. And they’d be ours.
I glanced at Moriko. She hadn’t looked at me once, but the ghost of a smile tugged at her mouth.
A crack in the dam.
The poacher grumbled, slopping another ladle into a bowl. Water splashed across the boards, seeping between the cracks into the bilge. He cursed, wiping his hands on his trousers.
“Thirsty, are you?” Moriko murmured, mild—mocking without sharpness.
The keys swayed loosely in motion, hitting his thigh. My pulse leapt.
Moriko shifted, chains scraping softly as she leaned toward the barrel. “Spill a little more, sailor,” she said sweetly, her voice carrying that river-lilt of ridicule.
The man snarled and kicked her bowl toward her. It slid across the boards, water sloshing over her hands.
She caught it, unbothered by the bruise already blooming at her ankle. Her eyes flicked to me for the briefest instant.
Now.
I let my body sag against the chains, my chest rising in shallow, uneven pulls. Salt clogged my throat, thick and metallic, as though the air itself had turned brine. I coughed—once, twice—hard enough to rattle my ribs.
As I did, I drew my knees upward, folding in on myself as if from pain. Ankles crossed. Thighs pressed tight. I curled small, shrinking into the shadows cast by the hull above. In the dim lanternlight filtering through the grates, the illusion would hold. I let my head hang forward, hair spilling like a curtain to veil the rest.
The other guard turned. “What’s wrong with that one?”
The scarred man bent closer, frowning as though debating whether I was worth the trouble. His keys swung forward again—just enough to brush the floorboards. Moriko shifted her foot,nudging her empty tin so it clattered across the planks. The sound cracked through the hold like a snapped rope. The guard cursed and reached to shove it aside. The keys swung wider, dangling.
Almost within reach. My fingers twitched against the chains.
Not yet. One heartbeat too soon and we’d lose everything.
The keys brushed the boards. Close enough I could hear the ring clink with each sway.
I let my head loll forward again, hair falling across my face—the picture of weakness. Another cough tore through me, harsh and deliberate. My chains rattled as I dragged one hand toward the floor as though reaching for balance.
The scarred man sneered. “Pathetic little fish. Won’t last a week." He leaned lower, just to mock me. And that was all I needed.
My fingertips brushed the boards, curling slow—deliberate. A single link of chain caught the edge of the keyring, nudging it the smallest distance.
Masked beneath another rasping cough.
