12. Gypsy

12

Gypsy

I jump into the water, the sky splitting open with the first rays of dawn. The island’s only a cannon shot away from the schooner, so the swim doesn’t take long. But by the time I drag myself onto the sand, I’m breathless anyway.

I’m so damn tired.

I can’t feel my fingers or toes, and my body’s soaked, the water leaving slick, swirling patterns on my palms. They’re numb as I crawl up the wet sand, digging my palms and knees deep, the weight of exhaustion pulling me down, the waves tempting me to just sprawl out and let them take me.

But then I hear splashing behind me, and I know Cagney’s catching up. No way in hell am I letting him see me like this—beaten down, half-dead on the sand.

I force my legs to move, muscles screaming, and somehow I get to my feet, though my legs wobble beneath me. I turn just in time to see Zayan haul himself out of the water, standing at hip level, hands raised like some damn hero with his pistol and dagger—both miraculously still in his grip. Of course, his steel survived the chaos while mine didn’t.

What a joke.

“Don’t even think about coming near me.” I jab a finger in his direction, voice hard, even though I can barely stand. “I don’t want to see your face, Cagney. Crawl back to whatever hole you came from.”

He hauls himself out of the water, grinning like he just won a fight instead of nearly dying. “Keep that attitude up, love, and I’ll start thinking you missed me after Daddy let me go.” His voice is easy, casual, dripping with that damn cocky charm that makes me want to slap him.

I scoff, shaking off the water from my hair. “Miss you? I’d rather choke on saltwater.” I run a hand through my soaked hair, pushing it out of my face. “Go slither into the grass with the rest of your kind.”

“My kind?” He cocks an eyebrow, all mock surprise.

“Snakes!” I throw the word over my shoulder, venom lacing my voice.

He laughs. Of course, he laughs. “Snakes, huh? You’re the one who belonged to the Serpents, Gypsy. Not me.”

I swear, I hate him. I hate his voice—rough and steady, like the sea pounding against the rocks. I hate how I see his damn green eyes even when I close mine. And I hate that his laugh, that smug, arrogant laugh, still manages to sound good.

I clench my fists, forcing myself to keep walking. “Yeah, well, I’m not part of them anymore. So piss off.”

I’m barely keeping myself upright, I walk so fast. But his voice—his words—still catch up to me.

“So quick to run.” He calls out after me, his tone light and teasing, until it turns sharp. “Is that what you do now? Turn your back on everything? Everyone?”

I freeze. His words hit me like a punch, tightening around my chest. I don’t turn around, don’t let him see the way my fists shake. My mouth fills with the taste of blood where I’ve bitten my cheek. I want to keep walking, but the weight of his words digs into me like a hook I can’t shake.

Without looking back, I spit out, “I didn’t turn my back on anyone. You betrayed me. My father cast me out. The crew agreed.”

I can hear him moving closer, the sound of his boots sinking into the sand makes my skin crawl. I don’t know why I’m still standing here, why I haven’t just walked away.

But I stand still.

“Your father gave you an ultimatum ,“ he says, his voice suddenly serious. “The crew was terrified of the cursed compass you hold. And as for me...” He pauses, and I can almost feel the weight of his next words before he says them. “You turned your back on me long before I walked into that Serpent tavern. Ain’t that right?”

I spin around. “I didn’t turn my back on you. I left you behind. That’s a fucking difference.”

Before I can blink, he’s right in front of me, close enough that I have to step back to keep from colliding with him. His face is all I see—smooth skin beaded with droplets of seawater at his temples, lips bruised from exhaustion, and those damned eyes, glassy with the reflection of sunlight cutting through the storm. He looks half like a siren’s son, half like a madman who revels in seeing his enemies bleed. Maybe he’s both. Both are deadly.

His jaw tightens, the tension radiating off him like a threat. It grates on my nerves, and suddenly, I’m ready to snap. He’s not the only one on edge, and right now, I already want to kill him. All I need is one small reason, just one, to toss the plan out the window and finish this here and now. And by the look on his face, he’s about to give me one.

“That’s what it was on that beach last night?” His voice drips with challenge. “When you made a face like the cat got your tongue and decided to run?”

He’s towering over me now, his presence overwhelming, pressing in. I can smell the salt on his skin, the musk of him beneath it. My hands curl into fists, nails biting into my palms, and I cling to the anger because it’s easier than anything else. Easier than the heat simmering between us.

“Yes, that’s exactly what it was,” I breathe.

He comes even closer. And I… I don’t move. I wish I could blame it on the exhaustion in my legs. I wish I could say they just don’t move even though I want them to. The truth is, I don’t even try. I stay rooted to the spot, inhaling him in even as pure rage rattles me from the inside.

“Didn’t seem like.” He whispers now. It sounds impossibly soft, airy. Like a temptation of the wind. “Seemed to me like you were scared... running before anything could get real.”

My nails dig deeper into my palms, drawing thin lines of blood. “I wasn’t scared of you, Cagney.” The words come out in a low growl. “You should be scared of me. Because whatever delusions you’re living in, I can end your life faster than you think.”

His lips curl into a dangerous smirk, but there’s no humor behind it. “Oh, I believe you.” He leans down, his lips brushing my wet hair before they slide to my ear. “And yet... you still haven’t.”

That’s it. Something inside me snaps.

I shove him, hard, palms flat against his chest, and he stumbles back into the sand. His grin only widens, like he’s enjoying every second of this, and it makes my blood boil. I’m breathing hard now, rage burning through me, my heart pounding against my ribs.

If my pistol hadn’t been swallowed by the storm, Zayan Cagney would be dead by now. I wouldn’t have hesitated. Just one pull of the trigger, pure impulse, no thought needed. But without a weapon to settle things quick, I know I won’t manage it —no matter how much I want to. Not just because he’s stronger, though that’s part of it, but because I’d have to actually think it through, plan it. And logic? Logic’s a funny thing—it doesn’t always care what you’re feeling.

And right now, logic is telling me I need him.

I’m stranded on some godforsaken island, stuck with a bountiful bard on the deck of a ship barely worth the name. No rations. No coin. No flag to call my own. No allies in sight. Nothing.

Zayan Cagney might be the last person I want to rely on, but that doesn’t change the facts.

He watches me from where he landed in the sand, his grin unfading, as if he knows exactly what’s running through my head. He brushes the sand off his arms, a casual shrug as if being tossed onto his ass doesn’t bother him in the least.

“Feel better?” His voice is dripping with amusement, but there’s a sharp edge beneath it—something darker.

“Hardly.”

“I know something that could help.”

I cross my arms over my chest, trying to keep my breathing steady. He has to be kidding, right?

“Fuck off,” I spit, and turn around again.

I swore to kill him the next chance I had. Promised it to myself, swore it up and down. But… damn it. Damn it all!

Zayan, Vinicola, and I are nothing more than a trio of deserters with barely a scrap to our names. This schooner’s a wreck—might as well fall apart before it even sees a port. If it doesn’t break down first, we won’t survive a fight at sea. Not without firearms, and not a shot in hell of boarding anyone. If Whisperwind Sea’s poachers and rogues spot us, they’ll gut us like fish under a clear sky.

Zayan needs to live. For now. I need all the hands I can get, even his.

“Look at you,” Zayan’s voice cuts through the salt air. “Acting like you’re above all this. We’re in the same situation, you know? Should make the most of it.”

My cheeks flare up like someone lit a fuse. Gunpowder hot. And he’s the spark. The fool that I am, I turn around again.

“No! No. You and me? We’re not in anything together. I made that clear once, and somehow, you still didn’t get it. Maybe now you will. Gods, I hope you do, because I am so sick of you, Cagney! I want nothing to do with you!”

He steps closer, close enough to feel his presence, but not enough to touch. Just enough to gnaw at my restraint. His eyes flicker to the jungle, then settle back on me with a slowness that’s deliberate. The bastard’s shirt sticks to his skin, dripping water like he’s just crawled out of the sea itself. Then—of course—he shrugs it off, leaving himself bare-chested.

He’s doing it on purpose. Fucking hell.

My stomach twists, warmth pooling deep inside. Damn it. It’s him. It’s always him.

“You nearly got yourself killed,” he says, eyes locking onto mine. “And that poor fool you dragged into this. You don’t want me here? Fine. But that’s your ego talking, and we both know it. We have unfinished business. Things we need to sort out.”

My jaw clenches. “We have nothing to sort out. Nothing .”

His smirk. That damn smirk. I should’ve never let him set foot on Medusa’s Gaze all those months ago. I should’ve sounded the alarm, started a war right then instead of making that deal with him, an enemy. Now it’s come back to bite me. And not in a way I like. No, this bite’s got venom in it. The kind that lingers, festers. Zayan Cagney is venom—persistent, relentless, and far too deep in my veins. I need to bleed him out.

He just hums, unbothered, then casually sits on the sand like he’s got all the time in the world. Like I’m not standing here ready to throttle him.

The fire inside me roars to life, my fists curling tight. I want to kick sand right into his face, wipe that smug grin off him for good. But no. I need my head clear. He’s just noise. Just noise.

Think, Gypsy. What’s next? What do you need?

First, I need food. Then I need wood to fix the damn ship. Sleep, maybe, if I get that far.

I know where I can find two out of three.

The jungle.

Without a word, I turn on my heel and head toward the treeline. The jungle looms ahead, thick and wild, untouched by any blade or hand. It’s as untamed as they come, a living thing with a mind of its own.

The air is heavy, humid, already sticking to my skin before I even step foot inside. The plants seem alive, stretching out like they want to wrap me up, pull me under. Every leaf, every branch, feels like it’s watching, waiting. The scent of rot and damp earth fills my lungs, and I can hear the incessant buzzing of creatures hidden in the undergrowth.

I haven’t even stepped in, and already, I hate it.

Deep breaths, Gypsy. You’ve got this.

I tap my foot, running my hands along my arms, gnawing on my cheek. I can still feel him—Zayan—behind me, lingering like an itch. Waiting for me to falter. He probably thinks I won’t go through with it. He knows. Knows the jungle has its grip on me. There’s a reason we never fucked in one.

Out of all the things that rattle me, jungles are number one. A normal captain would head in, gather supplies—wood, food, stones, whatever. We need it all. I should be doing that. But just looking at the shadows beneath those trees makes my gut twist. Nope. Can’t do it. Won’t do it.

I turn back to the beach, spotting Zayan, lounging like he’s living his life, eyes on the sea and the ship, not a care in the world.

Damn him.

He catches my gaze. Doesn’t have to say a damn word, but the smirk tugging at his lips says enough. He’s waiting for me to admit it—the jungle’s already gotten to me.

I square my shoulders, ignoring the heaviness in my chest, and force my legs to move toward the jungle again. The closer I get, the more the dense shadows seem to close in. The noise of the beach fades, replaced by the thick rustle of leaves.

One step in, then another. I can still hear the ocean behind me, but it’s muffled, distant. I keep my head high, even as my nerves light up.

“You’re really going in there?” Zayan’s voice cuts through the air, dripping with amusement. “Thought you didn’t like jungles, Flint. Something about getting tangled up in all those vines…”

Fuck. I swallow the first prick of fear, but it’s already there, clawing its way up my throat.

“All those deadly bugs beneath your feet...” His voice follows, taunting, “One sting, and it’s all over. Foaming at the mouth. Dead in seconds. Awful way to go.”

I clench my teeth, but his voice digs in. The images come fast, uninvited. My skin tingles like something’s crawling on me, even though there’s nothing there.

“Then there’s the plants,” he continues, like he’s enjoying every second. “Some of them will bleed you from the inside out. One brush, and that’s it.”

The pounding in my chest drowns out everything else. The trees seem to close in, towering overhead, and the ground beneath my boots feels too soft, sinking like it’s pulling me under.

I stop. Frozen. My breath comes too fast, ragged. The shadows close in, growing darker, and I can’t take another step.

Zayan’s voice is still there, circling in my head. Laughing. Mocking. Reminding me of every reason I should be terrified.

I’m not scared of him. Not the sea. Not even the gods. But this—this jungle —

I take a step back, trying to steady myself, but I’m locked up, trembling. My hands clammy, legs refusing to move. I don’t even want to breathe too hard, in case something slithers out of the underbrush.

I don’t know how long I stand there, paralyzed, the world shrinking until black spots dance in my vision. And then—

Strong arms scoop me up. I blink, and suddenly I’m back on the sand, staring up into Zayan’s smug face.

“Looked like you needed a little rescue,” he grins, not even trying to hide the laugh.

“Put me down,” I hiss, fists pounding against his chest, but it’s half-hearted. I don’t have the strength.

“Now, now. I thought we were past this. You know I’m only here to help.” He sets me down, but not before patting my arm like I’m some helpless damsel. I swat his hand away.

“I don’t need your help. Ever,” I snap, trying to gather what little dignity I have left. My knees still feel weak, my head swimming with the remnants of that panic, but I refuse to let him see it.

He doesn’t flinch. “You need me because, like it or not, I know you, Gypsy Flint. I know you’d rather let that jungle swallow you whole than admit it. And that bard you call a crewmate? Useless. He’ll serenade you both into a death trap.” His voice drops, sharper now, cutting through whatever defenses I still cling to. “Without me, you’re stranded. Your only hope is to get that ship back to Escindida, but we both know Silverbeard will gut you before you get a chance to explain this mess. So, what’s left? Wandering. Starving. Praying you find a safe spot before someone else finds you. It’s a gamble you can’t afford, and you know it.”

I grit my teeth, my glare burning into him. Every word he says tightens a knot in my chest because he’s right. That’s what makes it unbearable.

“But I’ll help you,” he continues, softer now, as if the sharpness in his voice wasn’t enough. “If you stop pushing me away. So, yeah, you need me. It’s time to deflate that ego of yours and face the truth.”

I want to spit back something venomous, but the words die in my throat. Instead, I look away, scanning the horizon for some kind of answer. There’s no telling what tonight will bring if we’re still here by then.

“I don’t need you, Cagney,” I mutter quietly. “But I’ll use you. For now.”

He chuckles. “Use me all you like, love.” A brief pause. “That’s what I’m here for.”

***

“So, what are your orders, Captain?” Zayan asks some time later, as I drink the juice from a coconut he somehow managed to find. I don’t even know where he got it from, and honestly, I don’t care. He left me for a few minutes under the pretense of needing to relieve himself, but now I’m starting to think that was a load of shit. He probably just wanted to give me a moment to gather myself, let the grip of this damn jungle loosen so I wouldn’t snap.

He knows me too well.

Still, it pisses me off how easy everything comes to him. In most situations, I’d be the one calling the shots, the threat that everyone’s watching out for. But right now? I feel like a helpless damsel in distress, sitting here drinking coconut juice like it’s going to solve all my problems.

“I’m not your captain,” I mutter, scooping out the coconut meat with a broken seashell once the juice is gone. My stomach growls loud enough to scare off the birds in the trees, and I realize it’s been two days since I’ve had a decent meal. The last time I ate was back on Silverbeard’s ship before he dropped me off at Escindida.

“Yet,” he quips.

I clench my jaw, biting back the retort that wants to spill out. As much as I’d love to hurl the coconut at his smug face, it’s the only food I’ve had in days—and he did find it, after all. I chew another bite slowly, my gaze narrowing on him as I swallow.

“Even if you’re useful now, I don’t need Roche’s deserter dragging down my crew,” I say flatly. “Silverbeard might pretend I don’t exist, but Roche? He’ll hunt you to the ends of the sea until there’s nothing left but bones. You’re bad business, Cagney.”

Zayan leans back like he hasn’t a care in the world, propping himself up on his elbows. “And you really think Roche won’t come after you, too? Silverbeard’s daughter, his biggest weak spot. Sure, he cast you off, but don’t fool yourself—Roche knows the old man still cares, even if he pretends not to. Killing you? That’s a clean shot. No war with the Serpents, but he still gets to twist the knife where it hurts.”

I lick my lips, and for a second, I can’t argue. He’s not wrong. It’s crossed my mind more than once—Roche coming for me, not as a rival captain, but as a way to watch Silverbeard crumble. Not a pirate feud, but a father losing his daughter. And damn if that wouldn’t be satisfying for a man like Roche.

“Maybe,” I admit, my voice level. “But it’s still better than having two walking targets on board. Besides, Roche’s hate for me? It won’t be as personal as it is for you.”

Zayan smirks, completely unbothered. “Personal just means I’m a threat.” His gaze flicks over me—casual, but far too calculated—and it makes my spine stiffen. “I know Roche’s methods. I know how he hunts deserters. I know how to disappear.”

“If that were true, Roche wouldn’t have caught every other Red who tried to run. They knew him too.”

“Not the way I do.”

I press my lips together. As much as I hate to admit it, there’s probably some truth to that. I’ve never heard of any high-ranking Marauder turning their back on Roche. It’s always the small fry—the ones never trusted with the real plans, the ones barely scraping by, the ones who couldn’t stomach the weight of sailing under a man like him.

But Zayan? He wasn’t like them. Roche’s right-hand. His prized treasure retriever. The one who dove deep into wrecks and brought back fortunes. The kid Roche practically raised.

“Let’s say that’s true, and you’ve got some worth,” I say slowly. “Doesn’t change the fact that I still hate you.”

He laughs. Of course he does. “Hate’s a strong word, love. Feelings can change.”

“Not if they’re justified.”

He sits up now, eyes locked on me like a predator watching prey.

“Oh, I’m sure your hate is justified. I’ve given you plenty of reasons, haven’t I?” He leans in slightly, his voice dipping lower. “I saved your life, after all. And that, I imagine, is the worst offense of all.”

I glare at him.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I say, tossing the coconut shell aside. It falls into the sand, rolling down the tiny dunes. “I would’ve survived regardless.”

He arches a brow, clearly unconvinced. “Would you, now?”

“Yes, I fucking would.”

I shove myself to my feet, fingers raking through my hair as frustration burns beneath my skin. It doesn’t take much to set me off—never has. There’s always been something wild simmering just below the surface, a chaos waiting for the right spark to set it loose. Most people who push me this close don’t live long enough to regret it.

It’s only now that I realize how damn hard it is to manage your emotions when you can’t kill people on a whim.

It’s maddening. Unnatural, really.

With nowhere to direct the rage churning in my gut, I head toward the shoreline. My legs are slow, muscles burning from overuse, and every step feels like dragging a ship through the sand. But I don’t stop. If I stand still, I might explode.

Of course, Cagney follows.

“How about we focus on the present, then?” His voice trails behind me, casual, like we’re discussing the weather.

Present? Yeah, I can focus on the present.

“Where the hell is the bard?” I stop, feet sinking into the damp sand, a hint of sarcasm lacing my words.

“Still on the ship, I bet,” Zayan replies, far too amused for my liking. “Didn’t exactly pay him much attention once you threw yourself toward the island.”

“We need to go into the jungle, and he’s coming with us.”

Zayan glances back at the schooner, then at me, like I’ve just said something utterly absurd. “You want the bard in the jungle ?“ He raises an eyebrow. “The guy who nearly fainted just holding the wheel for a minute?”

“It wasn’t just a minute. And it wasn’t just from holding the wheel,“ I argue.

“What’s he done to get you so attached, huh?” Zayan asks, ignoring me completely, his expression shifting as something darker flickers across his face before he smothers it. “You, who’d rather bite someone’s hand off than shake it?”

“I didn’t bite your hand off,“ I mutter, pacing around in the sand.

“No, but you did try to bite my tongue off.” His eyes flash, like he goes back with memory to the day we met. “You’ve got a knack for that, don’t you? Biting. I can still feel your teeth on me from that time.”

Heat rushes through my body. Everything—my chest, abdomen, even the tip of my nose—suddenly feels hot. “I should have just killed you back then. Would have less problems now.”

He laughs—a raspy sound that mixes with the hum of the waves and the rustling palms. It does something to me, something I refuse to acknowledge, because the more I think about it, the stronger that pull gets. That little Evil I carry on my back talks to me again.

You could let it out, all that frustration, right on him, Gypsy. The kind of release that could spill some of his blood… or something else entirely.

“But then you wouldn’t have gotten to do all those things with me, would you?” His voice drops, sultry and smug. “Like behind Timmy’s tavern three months ago? You remember, don’t you? Moaning so pretty, legs wrapped around my shoulders, my tongue right in your—“

“Can you just fetch the damn bard?” I snap, spinning to face him, my cheeks burning hotter than the midday sun. This must be some kind of fever dream.

His smirk fades instantly. “Why?”

“Because,” I grit out, stepping closer, the heat between us flaring with every inch I close, “I want him here.”

For a second, I think I’ve broken down the wall I’ve kept so carefully between us. Our lips are so close, and for a split second, I almost want him to kiss me. Maybe I’d let him. But instead, he hollows out his cheeks, looks away, and just nods.

He turns on his heel, stalking back toward the ship, leaving me standing there, heart racing, thoughts tangled into a knot I can’t seem to loosen.

A shiver runs down my spine, cutting through the heat.

I force myself to take a breath, then another. I walk along the shore, scanning the sealine for something useful, and eventually pick up a couple pieces of driftwood. They dry so fast under this sun I can feel the change beneath my fingers.

I can’t believe I almost let him in again...

Before I can shake off the heat still buzzing under my skin, Zayan returns from the schooner—alone.

“He didn’t want to come,” he says, dripping wet, chest gleaming in the sun.

I narrow my eyes. “Didn’t want to come?” I repeat, incredulous. “He prefers staying on a ship over coming ashore?”

Zayan shrugs like it’s nothing. “I told him you wanted him here. Apparently, that wasn’t enough.”

I don’t buy it. The bard’s not one for solitude. Hell, when I jumped off the ship earlier, he screamed after me, asking where I was going, like a scared puppy. And Zayan? He clearly doesn’t like him. Something’s off.

“You didn’t do something to him, did you?” I ask, eyeing his wet chest and hair, suspicion lacing my words. “Right before I jumped. Did you tie him up or something?”

Zayan snorts, crossing his arms over his chest. “Seriously? You’re accusing me of pettiness now?”

“Well, did you?”

“No! You leapt into the water so damn fast I didn’t have time to think about him.”

I search his face for any hint of deception. Annoyingly, there’s nothing there—just his usual smugness.

“Fine,” I mutter, brushing past him. My gaze sweeps over the schooner. There’s no movement on deck, so I can only assume the bard’s holed up below. There’s probably still a lot of water there.

“What are you doing?” Zayan asks, following behind.

I glance over my shoulder, narrowing my eyes. “What do you think? I’m going back to the ship.”

“For the bard?” Zayan’s voice drips with disdain, like he can’t believe I’d waste my time.

I snap back without missing a beat, “Isn’t that obvious?”

I can practically hear him stomping behind me, his voice growing sharper, more agitated. “I don’t get why you care so much about him. He’s fucking useless.”

I don’t bother with a reply, just pick up my pace, heading straight for the water’s edge. Bending down, I strip off my soaked leather boots, tossing them onto the sand. My shirt and slops are already half-dry under this infernal sun, and they’ll dry again after another swim to the ship. Doesn’t matter.

The schooner rocks in the shallows, looking worse for wear. Its hull gleams in the sunlight, but the wood’s splintered, the sails torn to hell. It’s not that pristine ship I spotted earlier—now it’s a battered wreck. Perfect, just like the day. I grit my teeth and pull myself onto the deck, fingers gripping the rough wood harder than I need to.

“Bard?” I call out, scanning the deck. Nothing. No sign of him. I head for the hatch that leads below, muttering under my breath. “Vinicola?”

The second I say his name, I feel Zayan’s eyes on me, like I’ve done something wrong by knowing it. He doesn’t say anything, but the look’s enough—suspicious, like I’ve crossed some line.

Ignoring him, I follow the sound of thudding and splashing, wading through ankle-deep water below deck. The storm’s tossed everything out of place—crates, barrels, all shifted around like a child’s game. The water’s pooling here, soaking through what little remains untouched.

And there he is. The bard, standing near the cell, clutching a crate like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. His skin’s pale and gleaming with sweat, and he’s rummaging through the crate’s contents with shaky hands.

“Vinicola,” I call again, softer this time. He startles, his head snapping up as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. His wide eyes lock onto mine, and for a moment, the only sound is the slow, uneven drip of water around us.

“Miss Captain,” he breathes, more relieved than I expected, though he quickly throws on that crooked grin of his. “What brings you down here?”

I give him a long look. “What are you doing?” My eyes drift pointedly to the crate in his hands. “If you’re thinking of stealing something, good luck. Doubt you could lift the anchor on your own.” I step closer. “And even if you did, I don’t see you sailing this ship by yourself.”

His grin falters for a heartbeat, and he drops the crate with a loud splash, water sloshing around his ankles. “Stealing? No, no, I was just—well, it’s going to sound a bit awkward…” He laughs, that nervous, jittery laugh of his, and shuffles his feet in the shallow water. His boots make a hollow splash, and he looks down at them like the floor might open up and swallow him whole.

I raise an eyebrow, watching him squirm. “You were what?”

I’m not even trying to be intimidating. Truth is, I couldn’t care less about what Vinicola’s doing down here. Whatever he takes from this wreck isn’t going to make a difference to me—not unless he plans on using some half-rusted tools to fix this heap and make it seaworthy again.

But I know what I look like to him. I’m the pirate who almost killed two of his captors and left one of them writhing in agony. I’ve got tattoos that mark me as someone dangerous, and my voice, rough and sharp, always sounds like a threat, whether I mean it or not. So, to someone like Vinicola, all soft edges and quick smiles, I must look terrifying.

Which is probably why his pale cheeks flush a deep red.

He swallows hard, eyes darting to the broken timbers and scattered cargo like they’ll offer him some kind of escape. “I was just looking for my… songbook.”

“A songbook?” I repeat.

“Yeah,” he says, swallowing again. “Those pirates who captured me hid it somewhere on the ship. I saw them do it.”

I cross my arms, staring at him in disbelief. “A songbook? You ignored my order for that ? We’re sitting in a half-wrecked schooner, on an island that’s probably crawling with things that want to eat us, and we’ve got no food or supplies. You do realize we need to find something edible before nightfall, right?”

Vinicola rubs the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “Well, to be fair, it’s not just any songbook. It’s got my… whole life in it.“ He says it like that’s supposed to justify everything.

I bite back a sarcastic laugh. “Your whole life.”

His face lights up with an awkward enthusiasm. “It’s, uh, a sort of journal, you know? Love songs, pirate ballads, an epic I’ve been working on about—“

“Vinicola,” I cut in, already feeling the headache forming. “If I promise to help you find this precious songbook, will you stop wasting our time?”

Behind me, Zayan lets out a scoff, but I couldn’t care less.

Vinicola blinks, startled, then nods fervently. “Oh! Yes. Absolutely.”

I sigh, scanning the mess of crates and barrels around us. “Fine. But we’re not tearing the whole damn ship apart for it. If it’s not here, it’s not here. And if you want to go, Zayan, then head back to the island. This looks like crew business anyway.”

Zayan scoffs, that familiar, arrogant edge in his voice, but he doesn’t budge an inch. No surprise there. He’s just itching to prove he’s a part of this, even though no one asked him to be.

Still, despite all the reasons why it shouldn’t work, the three of us wade through the wreckage together.

Like a crew.

Or, at least, the very beginning of one.