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By the time silence settled over us, it wasn’t the heavy, suffocating kind we’d known since that day. It was a quiet that allowed us to breathe again. For the first time since the chaos, the weight in our chests felt shared, no longer something we each carried alone.

I linger in that fragile quiet, lost in thought, often reciting the events in my mind. It’s only when movement catches my eye that I’m snapped back to the present. Bran leans against a coil of rope near the mainmast, his grin as cocky as ever, but his eyes are fixed on Triona, studying her with a sharp intensity that sets my teeth on edge. My jaw tightens before I catch myself, forcing a deep breath as I refocus. “I want to spar with Triona,” he announces.

He’s loud enough to make a few deckhands pause mid-step. Triona’s face is calm, but there’s a flicker of amusement in the curve of her lips as she eyes him.

“You jest,” I say flatly, though Bran’s expression says otherwise.

He fires back without missing a beat. “C’mon, Finn, she’s got spirit. Let’s see if she’s got skill.”

“Ye’re built like a bloody draft horse,” I growl. “This isnae a fair match.”

“First, my thanks. A strong form isn’t a gift; it’s earned. I have to keep myself in top physical form for the ladies. And second…”—Bran spreads his arms wide, grinning like the devil—“To hell with fair! Let skill speak for itself!”

Casey barks a laugh, shaking his head. “Ye seriously underestimate what ye’ve just done, mate. She’s gonna knock you flat.”

I glance at Triona again, expecting her to wave this off, maybe laugh and let it go. But she stands, head high and eyes shining with something that sets my teeth on edge.

“I accept,” she says, her voice calm but firm.

Bran’s grin grows devilishly.

I open my mouth to argue, to tell her she doesn’t need to entertain this, but I know it’s useless. She’s as stubborn as a mule on a wet day.

Bran chuckles, rolling his shoulders as he steps into the centre of the clearing. “All right, lass. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The makeshift sparring match begins with a slow circle. Bran moves, loose and confident, his cocky grin intact. My fists clench as I watch him tower over her, like a wolf squaring off with a raven. But Triona doesn’t flinch. She moves light on her feet, her eyes fixed on him, sharp and calculating.

Bran lunges first, feigning left. She doesn’t take the bait. Instead, she sidesteps, darting in with a quick jab to his side that forces him to stumble back. The grin slips from his face for just a second before he resets, this time more cautiously.

It doesn’t matter. She’s too fast, too precise. Every time he tries to land a blow, she’s already one step ahead, her movements fluid and relentless. When Bran overextends, she ducks low, driving her shoulder into his ribs and forcing him off balance. With a sharp twist, she sweeps his legs out from under him, and he crashes to the ground with a heavy thud.

The ship falls silent, save for the lapping of waves against the hull. Bran groans, sprawled on his back as he stares up at the rigging.

Propping himself up on his elbows, he rubs his ribs with a wince. “It’s unnatural,” he mutters, “for a woman to hit a man so hard he sees stars.”

Triona steps closer, crouching beside him until their faces are level. She tangles her fingers in the hair at the top of his head—not enough to hurt, but enough to command his undivided attention. His dazed eyes snap to hers, wide with surprise.

Her voice is low, laced with steel. “I am not just some woman. I am the woman who will bring comeuppance in full force, so it’s best for all to keep out of my bloody way.”

She rises, brushing her hands off as if the fight were only a casual chore. She’s radiant, her expression one of quiet satisfaction. Not gloating, not boastful—just steady, unshaken.

“Maybe next time,” she says with a smirk, “you’ll think twice before underestimating me.”

Casey’s laugh is contagious. “Tried tellin’ ye—never stood a chance.” For a moment, his laughter fades, replaced by something more reflective. “She’s come a long way. Always had the fire, but now… she’s a true force to be reckoned with.”

Bran lets out a weak chuckle. “Aye, a goddess to flatten all men like sacks of flour,” he says, still fighting for breath. “Never thought I’d lose my pride, my spine, and my bollocks all at once, but here we are.”

He shifts slightly, wincing. “Next time, full body armour. From head to cock. A man’s got to keep all of his parts where they belong.”

Casey barks out a laugh, shaking his head. “Aye, well, let this be a lesson: never bet against a Sinclair.”

Bran groans dramatically as he shifts. “Didn’t even get a kiss for the trouble.”

Laughter ripples through the group once more, loud and easy.

Triona stands tall, the fading sunlight painting her in gold, her breath steady, her fire undimmed. She’s light personified, standing there like a queen, and I can’t take my eyes off her.

As the others drift apart, laughter giving way to murmurs and motion, I step toward her. My voice is low, meant for her alone. “Ye’ve nothing to prove, Little Doe.”