He turns again, facing his men.
“You’ll feel their pain,” he says. “The shadows don’t want to return. They’ll push. They’ll pull. They’ll make you consider letting it slip away, presenting it as the easier choice.”
My mouth goes dry, my heartbeat too fast. They all stare at me now, their expressions shifting between unease and hope. One of them presses his lips into a thin line, another’s brows draw together, while a few others watch me with quiet intensity, as if trying to measure whether I can truly do this.
“Let her voice command them,” he finally says. “Let her bring them home.”
Command.
My stomach twists at his words. I have spent so long with my voice buried by instinct and shame and the ache of what I’m missing, that I forget it was ever meant to be a weapon. But this is my chance to use it as something different. To use it to heal rather than harm.
One of the men steps forward.
“What if she fails?”
“She already saved one of us,” Sable replies and straightens his back. “You will not disrespect her by doubting her. And if you do, you’d better get the fuck out of the line.”
Murmurs erupt throughout the crew, some voices doubting, others reassuring.
They are scared.
They should be.
“Aye,” Nightglass’ voice carries above the others. When our eyes meet, he gives me an encouraging nod. “She saved my son. She will save me.”
Sable steps towards me, close enough that I can smell myself on him, salt and smoke combined.
“You can stop this at any time,” he whispers. “This is your decision. But if you fail to make it in time, I will make it for you.”
He pauses and draws in a slow breath before something flickers behind his eyes.
“You will not die today.”
My throat dries up at his words, making the words I want to say stick there.
Sable lifts his chin, returning to the captain's voice.
“We go in order,” he says, clear enough that the men at the far edge can hear. “We start with the youngest. One by one. You hold still, you don’t flinch.”
“Match.” His gaze pins the wiry pirate, apparently the second youngest after Lark. “You go first.”
The lad stiffens, then steps forward, his hands curling into fists at his sides. His shadow surges, stretches too long across the boards, reaching toward me like the living thing it is. I don’t step back. Instead, I widen my stance and plant my feet firmly into the ground.
Sable shifts closer behind me, not touching me but near enough that I can feel him at my back. His steady presence is a warning to whoever watches from the dark.
Heat crawls up my spine when Grim appears in the line, somewhere near the end. I have to make it.
One by one. Not just for them, but for myself. I may not have a tail, but I will bring their shadows back with my voice, even if it's the last thing I do.
I drag in a slow breath and let the anger guide me. An emotion so dense I feel it in my core, fueling what’s behind my sternum, coiling with fear and grief.
It feels different now. Before, the power had always come like instinct. Like a reflex I didn’t trust, that only surfaced when the circumstances demanded it. There was no control when I made Rat climb over the rail.
Only destruction.
Now it answers me. It has weight.
It’s the direct result of immersion and surrender, of me letting the saltwater press into my skin until there was no clean edge between where I ended and it began. My voice feels like an instrument that once was unfamiliar, one I haven’t dared to use because every time I do, I am reminded of my limits, of what I am. Or rather, what I am not.
