I lean into him, my temple against his jaw. “We find another way.”
“And every day after that, until we fix this.”
It’s not a solution. But it’s hope.
THIRTY-TWO
ZORIC
Ispend the night searching for alternatives that don’t exist.
The keep’s archives are a disaster—water-damaged scrolls from the siege, crumbling texts that haven’t been opened in decades, half-legible journals from captains who sailed these waters when Dreadhaven was still a pirate stronghold. I’ve been through them all before, during the years I spent trying to understand the Wrecktide’s curse. I go through them again, anyway, looking for anything I might have missed.
Anything that isn’t Aviora becoming a prison for something that shouldn’t exist.
Dawn finds me surrounded by parchment, my eyes burning, my mind running in circles that lead nowhere. The brazier has gone cold. The candles have guttered to nothing. Outside, the Wrecktide’s unnatural glow has faded with the sunrise, but I can still feel it—a wrongness in the water, a presence that wasn’t there before we woke it.
“You haven’t slept.”
Aviora’s voice cuts through my fog. She stands in the doorway of what passes for my study—a converted armory, shelves stacked with salvaged books and maritime charts. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, still damp from washing, andshe’s wearing one of my shirts. It hangs past her thighs, too large for her frame, and something primal stirs in my chest at the sight.
Mine. The thought rises unbidden. She’s mine, and I won’t let the sea take her.
“Neither have you.” I gesture at her bare feet, the shadows under her eyes. “Bad dreams?”
“Worse. No dreams at all.” She crosses to where I sit, picks her way through the scattered documents, and settles onto my lap without asking permission. Her arms loop around my neck. Her weight settles against my chest—light, warm, impossibly precious. “Just darkness. And cold. And the feeling of something watching.”
I wrap my arms around her, pull her closer. Press my lips to her temple, the curve of her jaw, the corner of her mouth. Each kiss a claim. Each touch a refusal to let go.
“I’m going to find another way.”
“Zoric—”
“There has to be something.” I frame her face with my hands, hold her gaze. “Thalira’s solution isn’t the only option. It can’t be. Someone, somewhere, must have found an alternative.”
“The guardians chose this.” Her voice is gentle—not arguing, just stating the truth. “Thalira said they volunteered. Centuries ago, people who understood what was at stake gave themselves to contain the hunger. Maybe?—”
“No.” The word comes out harsher than I intended. I soften it by drawing her closer, my nose brushing hers. “You are not choosing this. Not while I’m still breathing. Not while there’s a single possibility I haven’t explored.”
She doesn’t argue. Just threads her fingers through my hair, scratches lightly at my scalp, watches me with eyes that see too much and judge too little.
“You need to sleep.”
“I need to find a solution.”
“You need to sleep.” She shifts on my lap, adjusting her position until her head rests on my shoulder. “A few hours. Then we search. Fresh eyes might see what tired ones miss.”
I want to refuse. Want to push through the exhaustion, keep reading, keep searching. But her warmth is seeping into me, and the steady rhythm of her breathing is lulling me toward rest I’ve been avoiding all night.
“A few hours.” I let my eyes close. “Then we keep looking.”
She hums agreement against my throat. Within minutes, I’m asleep.
The shout wakes me.
I’m on my feet before I’m fully conscious, Aviora tumbling from my lap with a startled curse. I grab the cutlass at my belt—I never took it off—and I’m moving toward the door before my mind catches up to my body.
“Captain!” Brek’s voice, high with alarm. “There’s a boat approaching the sea gate!”
