“I’m fine,” I said, then cleared my throat. “Just… taking my time.”
She didn’t press. Just nodded and turned to gather her things: her basket, a thin black shawl, fresh loaves of banana bread and gingersnaps. All the things she always carried. Things I’d grown used to seeing, smelling, hearing.
The market meant returning to my men. It meant facing the wreckage of what was left.
My crew. The ship. The life I’d been living before washing here.
I should’ve been eager to go.
Instead, I stared at the spot where she had juststood.
This was for the best. She was never mine to begin with. And I was never meant to stay.
But blast it, I’d gotten used to her voice in the morning. Her calm, capable hands. The way her food tasted like home and safety.
And the other night…When she woke me from my nightmare.
I couldn’t stop thinking of how good it felt to hold her, to talk to her.
I’d never opened up to anyone like that, and, as far as I knew, nobody had ever opened up to me like that.
As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I was starting to really care for her.
Deeply.
I rose slowly, pain flaring in my side, but not enough to keep me here. The wound had healed. Mostly. But the ache in my chest… that one hadn’t.
“You coming?” she called, already a few steps down the trail, her head tipped to the side like she always did. Never quite looking at me.
I’d even gotten used to that.
I forced a breath and followed.
“Yes,” I said. “Time to go.”
Even if it meant saying goodbye.
The coastal market was loud.Colorful fabrics snapped in the wind, laughter echoed from children weaving between stalls, and the air was thick with salt, sugarcane, and the scent of roasting meat. I stood with Malia beneath the banyan trees, feeling like a ghost tethered to the wrong world.
“Are you sure you’re ready?” she asked softly, the frondsabove us casting shifting shadows over her face.
No. Not in the least.
But I nodded anyway. “I need to be.”
She gave a small smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “They’ll be glad to see you.”
I looked at her for a long moment. This girl—this strange, stubborn, beautiful girl—had patched me back together.
And yet, somehow, she had torn me apart at the same time.
“Malia…”
She stepped back before I could finish, as if sensing that my heart was about to betray us both. “Go,” she said. “Before they think you’re dead and start holding ceremonies in your honor.”
I huffed a laugh, and before I could stop myself, I brushed a knuckle down her arm. “Take care of yourself, witch.”
She rolled her eyes, but her mouth trembled with something softer. Then, without warning, she stood on the tips of her toes and kissed my cheek.
