16. Gypsy

16

Gypsy

I suck in a deep breath, so deep my lungs feel like they’re about to burst.

But it’s not enough.

Water surrounds me, thick and suffocating, pressing in from all sides, cold as death. Panic spikes in my chest like a harpoon, digging deep and twisting. The more I fight, the more the water crushes me, like the whole sea is bearing down on my ribs, trying to squeeze the life out of me.

If I didn’t need to breathe so damn badly, I’d scream until my throat tore open. One thought pounds in my skull.

Get out.

Get out, get out, get the hell out!

I thrash, my arms and legs cutting through the water with frantic, desperate strokes. I don’t care if I’m dragging myself deeper or closer to the surface—just move . My lungs burn. My body begs for air. Every inch of me is screaming to get free, to break the surface and suck in the sweet taste of oxygen, but I can’t. I’m trapped.

And then, like first rays of warmth on a cold night, I hear it—a voice.

“Easy, Gypsy. Easy. Slow down.”

Zayan? No. I’m imagining things. This is just my brain short-circuiting, playing tricks as I drown. But even if it’s not real, his voice is like a lifeline, pulling me back for a second, grounding me in the madness.

I keep fighting—can’t stop, won’t stop—but there’s something different in the way my limbs jerk now, something softer underfoot. My heel connects with something that isn’t water, and a yelp echoes, muffled but sharp.

“Ouch, Miss Captain! Please… please, don’t kick me!” another voice squeals, high-pitched and panicked.

Vinicola.

For a split second, my brain can’t make sense of it. It’s like I’ve been ripped out of one nightmare and thrown into another. I don’t know where I am, what’s happening, or why everything feels so damn wrong. My heart’s still racing, panic roaring in my ears, and the only thing I can think is get out —get free, breathe, survive.

And then—hands. Warm, strong hands on my face. They’re real, solid, grounding me in a way the voice couldn’t. I focus on them, the feel of the fingers pressing against my skin, pulling me back.

Zayan. It’s him. He’s really here.

His touch is steady, not letting go, like he’s afraid I’ll slip away if he lets me go. My vision sharpens, the world coming back into focus. The haze fades, and there he is—his green eyes locked onto mine, intense and unshakable, the anchor keeping me from drifting off into whatever darkness I was sinking into.

I’m not drowning. Not really. Not in the sea, and not in my own head.

I blink, the image of the river snapping into place. The river. We’re in the river.

I glance down at the water around us and see Vinicola, cradling his face like it’s about to fall off. The poor bastard. My foot must’ve connected hard—there’s a red mark blooming on his cheek, and his wide, watery eyes look up at me like I just punched him in the soul.

“Can you hear me?” Zayan’s voice cuts through again.

I blink again, my mind finally settling in the present. His hands are still on my face, steady as ever. His eyes, though? There’s something raw there. Something I’m not used to seeing in him.

I nod, sucking in a breath—a real breath this time. The air floods my lungs, burning but alive. The ache in my chest is still there, but the panic? The panic is fading.

“Good.” He exhales, but not before I catch the flicker of something I wasn’t supposed to see. Concern. He hides it fast, buries it behind that cocky grin of his, but I know it was there. And damn it, it pisses me off.

I pull away from his grip, shaking off the last of the panic. “I’m fine,” I snap, though my voice is rougher than I want it to be. “And Vinicola…” I glance at the poor idiot, still clutching his cheek like a wounded puppy. “Sorry about the kick.”

Vinicola’s lips twitch into a nervous grin. “No worries, Miss Captain. Glad you’re… uh… back with us.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

Zayan mutters something under his breath, and for the first time, I hear it in his voice too—fear. Real fear.

“Fuck, you scared the hell out of us. Thought we lost you.”

Lost me? The words twist in my mind, but they don’t quite land. All I can feel is the memory of water clawing at my throat, trying to drag me under again. Lost me? I don’t understand.

I shake my head, frowning as the world sharpens even more. We’re still in the river, but something’s different. The mist, the darkness—it’s gone. The sun is glaring down at us now, and everything is clear. The heat wraps around me, thick and heavy.

“What happened?” I rasp, my voice barely mine.

Zayan hesitates, wiping his face like he’s trying to brush off more than just sweat. When he speaks, his voice is calm, but I can hear the relief beneath it. “Nothing to worry about, love. You just had a little… episode.” He glances at Vinicola, who’s still rubbing his jaw like I broke it.

“Vini?” I ask.

Vinicola straightens, though his expression is still wary. “You had this strange slimy thing on your leg, Miss Captain. It… it made you faint.”

A slimy thing. From a jungle plant. It couldn’t have been anything else.

I mutter a curse under my breath, feeling the tingle in my legs finally subside. The panic might be gone, but the frustration is still bubbling up inside me. I hate jungles. There’s just something wrong with them.

“What about the—“ My voice falters, the most important question clawing its way out of the fog in my mind. I turn to Zayan, my eyes sharp again. “What about the compass?”

A heavy silence falls between us, the kind that makes my skin prickle. Zayan’s head tilts up slowly, his lips pursed, eyes searching mine like he’s weighing every word before letting them out.

“Love,” he begins softly, “think about it. You threw the compass onto that privateer ship during the storm, remember? It’s impossible for it to be here, let alone in the hands of a monkey. Gold sinks. It doesn’t just... wash up.”

I know what he’s saying makes sense. Hell, he’s Zayan Cagney, the infamous treasure hunter who’s pulled gold from the deepest wrecks. If anyone knows how treasure behaves underwater, it’s him. But my heart won’t stop hammering against my ribs.

“But I saw it,” I insist, my frown deepening. “Didn’t you? That monkey jumped right in front of us. It had the compass—I know it.”

Zayan shakes his head slowly. “I saw something jump, sure, but I didn’t see any gold.”

Frustration tightens like a noose around my throat. The last thing I want is to tell him what I just experienced—the voice, the threat, the whole damn mess. He’ll dismiss it, blame the toxin, and I’ll look like a fool. Besides, I don’t even have proof. It’s not like I can hold up a golden compass and say, “See? I’m not losing my mind.”

Even if I told him, would he believe me? Do I even believe it myself?

I swallow hard, my stomach twisting into knots. The Lady is not pleased with me, that’s what the voice said. The Lady—the goddess every pirate in the Whisperwind Sea bows to, the one they believe rules the waves. The same goddess I’ve spent my life mocking, claiming I don’t believe in her. Could she really be real? Could all of it?

No. I can’t tell them. Not yet. Not until I know what to believe myself.

So I force a smile, pushing down the questions tearing through my skull. I take a deep breath, my voice steady but flat. “Well, fuck me sideways. I guess I’m more tired than I thought.” I glance at Vinicola, then back to Zayan. “Let’s get on with it. Resources don’t gather themselves.”

Zayan studies me for a moment longer, his eyes narrowed, but he nods. He doesn’t buy it. Not fully. But he’ll let it go for now. Vinicola, on the other hand, looks like he’s been handed a second chance at life.

“Right, Miss Captain,” he says with a crooked grin. “I think I’ve had enough jungle for one day already.”

After guzzling down as much of the sweet river water as humanly possible, trudging through this darkening jungle with my arms full of sticks, rocks, and half-smashed fruit is anything but easy.

The leaves slap at my face like they’re trying to punish me for even being here, and Zayan—who’s at the front—should be shielding us from it all, but of course, he’s not. His broad shoulders and cocky strut do nothing to stop the branches from whipping at my skin.

The darkness makes every rustle, every snap of a twig, sound like something out to kill us. The dry twigs I’m carrying dig into my already aching belly, sending sharp jabs of pain from my chest up to my throat. And to top it all off, I can still feel the phantom touch of that sticky jungle poison on my leg.

The whole thing’s a nightmare.

I’m walking in the middle, with Vinicola behind me, rambling on about his wild adventures as a bard and claiming this is the craziest one yet. His words barely register through the numbness that’s taken over my mind.

I went through the motions without a thought—gathered the wood, picked up the fruit, cleaned the sweat and dirt from my skin in the river, scrubbed the salt from my hair until my scalp stung. Zayan even caught a couple of fish with nothing but a rock. But ever since I woke up choking on river water, none of it matters. None of it.

The only thing that matters is getting the compass back.

I should’ve turned around hours ago. I should be hacking my way through the jungle, turning over every branch and chasing that thieving monkey until my legs give out. I should be tearing this whole place apart, dragging my sorry self deeper into this hell.

But I don’t. I don’t know why, but I don’t.

Instead, I just keep walking. Step after step, following Zayan like I’ve got nowhere else to be, no other purpose. It makes my skin crawl, this betrayal of my own instincts. What the hell am I doing? The compass is everything—it’s the reason I’m here, the reason I’ve risked everything. And yet here I am, trudging back to the beach.

I didn’t give up. I just… I need time. Time to think, time to plan. I’ll get the compass back, but I’ve got to be smart about it. Charging back into the jungle like a madwoman won’t get me anywhere. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

“I think I see the exit,” Zayan’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “You guys hear the waves?”

The sound of the waves crashing against the shore is faint, but unmistakable. Still, the tight knot in my chest doesn’t loosen.

We push through the last barrier of foliage. Then, for a second, I just stand there, staring at the dark sea ahead, feeling the wet sand shift under my boots. Zayan turns to me, his eyes glinting.

“We made it,” he says with a wink. “Come on, don’t tell me you’re not relieved.”

I force a smile. “Yeah. Made it.”

He’s already setting down the bundle of supplies with a grunt, rubbing the back of his neck. “We should get a fire going,” he mutters. I can hear the way he pants in small, controlled breaths, trying to hide how tired he really is. “We’ll need it to cook the fish.”

I nod, dropping my own load of sticks and rocks onto the sand. “Yeah, let’s do that.” My voice sounds distant, like I’m not even in my own body.

Focus, Gypsy. You’re a goddamn captain. Act like one.

Vinicola’s already busy, kneeling in the sand, arranging the sticks in a neat pile like he’s building something sacred. His chatter fills the air, a constant stream of words that bounce off me without sticking. I kneel next to him, helping him build up the fire, my hands working even though my mind is not really in it.

I watch the flames catch and grow, my legs burning with the effort of keeping steady. Finally, I sink back on my heels, but the ache in my body doesn’t distract me like it should. Instead, that dream—the one that clawed its way into my head—is all I can think about.

Did it even happen? Was it real? The more time passes, the less I know. I swear I’m going insane.

Zayan watches me through the fire, his eyes reflecting the flames. At first, he doesn’t say anything, just stares, the kind of look that makes it impossible to pretend I’m not unraveling.

I try to ignore him, but that never lasts long with Zayan. Eventually, I can’t take it anymore and turn to him, eyes sharp.

“What?” I snap.

“You really okay?” he asks, his voice softer than I expect. Almost… hesitant. And that throws me. Zayan’s not the kind of man who hesitates—he never second-guesses anything.

I don’t know what to say. Should I tell him the truth? That I’m anything but okay? That a talking monkey almost drowned me while claiming The Lady—the goddess I’ve spent my whole life mocking—was disappointed in me? That I rejected her so-called “invitation”? I can barely make sense of it myself, and every time I try, it feels like my brain is short-circuiting. I’ve never believed in gods, but after that…

My throat tightens, and I swallow hard. Lying is easier. It always has been.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say, forcing a smile that feels brittle and fake. “Just… a little shaken up. You know I hate being on land.” It’s weak, but it’s something. I toss the lie at him like a bone, hoping he’ll take it and let this go.

He nods, but slowly, and I can see the doubt in his eyes. Zayan’s not buying it. He didn’t before and he doesn’t now. In fact, I’m probably just making him more sure that something’s off. Still, he lets it slide, shifting the conversation with a flick of his gaze.

“What do you want to do now? We can fix the ship and gather strength. But what then? Where do you want to go?”

I pick up a twig and toss it into the fire, watching as the flames devour it, burning it down to nothing. The heat licks at my skin, but I welcome it. It’s a good pain, real, something I can hold onto.

I shrug, trying to deflect. “And you?” I ask, hoping to push the attention back on him.

“I go where you go, love. Thought I made that clear.”

His voice carries that familiar, maddening ease, and I toss another stick into the fire, more forcefully this time. The flames are easier to face than him right now.

“You’re a man of the sea,” I say, my voice slipping before I can stop it. “We go where the wind blows.” I don’t know what I’m trying to prove with that, and maybe it doesn’t matter. I keep going anyway, feeling the words tumble out, sharp and bitter. “This isn’t good for you. You stick around, and I’ll make your life a living hell, Cagney.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” he replies, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“I mean it.” My voice hardens. “You need to pay for what you’ve done.”

He leans back. “Well, let’s say I’m dedicated to pay my share, then.”

I stare at him, letting his words sink in. He’s already thrown himself into the fire twice—first by walking into a Serpents’ tavern, and then by leaping onto my ship during a storm. Twice, he’s walked into certain death, and for what? To prove something to me? To himself? I don’t understand him, and maybe I never will. But I can’t deny that he’s risked everything for this—whatever this is.

The least I can do is give him an answer.

“I want to get my compass back,” I say slowly. When he doesn’t respond right away, I glance at him through fluttering lashes, unsure if I’m ready for whatever reaction will come next.

Across from us, Vinicola sits just outside the glow of the fire, pretending not to listen, but I know better. His eyes flick toward us, his ears tuned into every word.

For once, I don’t mind the intrusion. Somehow, he makes this twisted mess between Zayan and me feel... manageable .

But even with Vinicola close by, I can’t ignore the way Zayan sits next to me, shirtless, his tanned skin gleaming in the firelight. His muscles shift with every breath, and I hate that I notice. He’s glowing in the dark. Orange flecks dance on his tattooed skin.

“There’s no convincing you to just let go of it, is there?” His voice carries a tired resignation, like he already knows the answer.

But I consider it for a moment regardless.

It’s not just stubbornness that keeps me clinging to this compass. It’s not just my damn pride. No, there’s more to it. I wasn’t always this resolute. Reckless, sure. I’ve been called that plenty of times, and I’d be the first to agree. But relentless? The kind of person who refuses to let something go, even when it burns in my hands? That wasn’t me.

Not before the war ended. Not before I watched the seas turn into a graveyard, littered with wreckage and corpses, all because two pirates refused to let go.

Back then, I didn’t have this kind of drive gnawing at me. I didn’t see how quickly everything could slip through your fingers if you didn’t grab it when it was there, right in front of you.

But then the fighting stopped. The bloodshed fizzled out, and what was left? Regret. A cold, festering thing, clinging to the hearts of those who’d waited too long. I’ve seen it in the faces of the people who survived.

Silverbeard, with all his power, couldn’t save Gibbons’ village from the Marauders’ raid. And now Gibbons, with his one good leg and that damn peg, gets so drunk he talks about running up volcanoes like it’s still an option. He’ll never climb one. Never chase any dream that requires more than two legs.

Cali, the tough-as-nails carpenter who’d take on a dozen men, never got to marry the love of her life. She watched him bleed out, too late for any vows. She didn’t seize her moment, and now? There’s nothing left of it but ashes.

And then there’s me. Watching them, learning. Learning that if you don’t reach out when fate hands you something, it slips away, leaving nothing but regret and bitter memories.

So, no. Letting go isn’t an option. Not anymore.

If Zayan had asked me this a couple hours ago, back when that cursed monkey didn’t yet appear in the haze of the jungle, maybe—just maybe—I would’ve considered it. Hell, he’s gotten through to me before. I’ve let him find the cracks in my resolve and sneak through, like when he talked me down on the ship during the storm. He’s good at that, finding a way past my walls when I least expect it.

But now? That moment’s passed.

“No.” The word comes out sharper than I intend, but it feels like the only answer that fits.

He exhales, long and heavy, the kind of breath that says he knows better than to argue. He nods, accepting it, even if he doesn’t like it. “Alright. We find the compass, then.”

I blink, thrown off. His agreement comes too easy, too quick, like he’s not even going to fight me on it. I frown, turning to face him fully. “What?”

“If we sail soon, we might still catch the seagulls circling the wreck. I’ll dive for it.” He says it so matter-of-factly.

I almost laugh. “You can’t be serious.”

“Why not?” He raises an eyebrow, his gaze steady, challenging. “If I don’t dive for it, you’ll probably try it yourself, right? Diving is what I do. It’s what I’m good at.”

I purse my lips.

Would I do it? Try to dive? Diving into deep wrecks is dangerous. And we’re not even talking about some shallow lagoon or a quick plunge for treasure. We’re talking about depths that crush bones and waters where anything could be lurking. We were in the middle of the goddamn ocean when I threw the compass. The kind of place where you don’t come back up unless you’re damn lucky.

Still, would I do it? Fuck, I probably would.

But Zayan doesn’t know about the message from the Lady or how important the compass has become. He’s just ready to risk his life for something he doesn’t even understand.

“Don’t be stupid.” The words come out quieter than I intended, more vulnerable. I hate it.

He shrugs, offering me that lazy smirk of his, the one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Let’s just say I’m still trying to earn my spot in the crew.”

I scoff, but even I can hear how hollow it sounds. My mouth opens to fire back something sharp, but no words come. Instead, I force out, “I… uh, I’ll think about it.”

Zayan tilts his head, his eyes flicking over my face. Then, he just shrugs again, turning his attention to the fire.

“Sure thing.”

The flames crackle as he pokes at them, sending embers swirling into the darkening sky. The scent of fish cooking over the fire fills the air. My stomach twists, but it’s not from hunger.

“How about you just let him join, Miss Captain?” Vinicola pipes up from across the fire. “As your first mate, I don’t mind. That’s what you call them, right? The first ones to join the crew? First mates?”

I blink, caught off guard by his absurdity. A smile tugs at my lips before I can stop it. “First mate, huh?” I echo, glancing over at Zayan, who’s already giving me that look. Oh, this is bound to annoy him. Any first mate worth his salt would hate to hear that title tossed around so carelessly.

“First mate,” Zayan repeats, his voice low and mocking, the edge of a smirk pulling at his lips. “Quite the leap for someone who can barely tie a knot.”

Vinicola, unfazed, grins back. “The sea is free for all, Mister Zayan, and my rank was given by Miss Captain herself. Should I start practicing my stern orders? ‘Tie the ropes, swab the deck!’”

I can’t help it—the laugh that bursts out of me is sudden and loud, catching me by surprise.

Zayan’s smirk darkens, and just as I expected, he catches the bait. He stands up, his whole demeanor shifting, the playful arrogance giving way to something more dangerous.

“And here I was,” he says, “thinking I didn’t want to kill you anymore, bard. But maybe I should reconsider.”

Vinicola’s grin falters for a split second before he stumbles to his feet, backing away with wide eyes. “What? No, no, no, Mister Zayan, I was only offering my humble services!”

I lean back, arms crossed, watching with amused detachment as Vinicola trips over himself, nearly falling in the sand.

Zayan, though, is relishing this a bit too much. His wicked grin stretches wider as he pulls his dagger from his belt, twirling it with a flick of his wrist. “Shall I show you my humble services? I’m quite brilliant with a blade.”

Vinicola yelps—a high-pitched squeal that breaks through the night air—and bolts, kicking up sand in his wake. His scream is so absurd that another laugh bursts out of me, short and sharp, louder this time. The kind of laugh that feels strange coming from me, almost foreign, but damn if it doesn’t feel good.

I watch as Zayan gives chase, his long strides effortlessly closing the distance between them while Vinicola flails, arms windmilling like he’s trying to outrun a hurricane. They dart across the beach like children playing tag. Except… it’s a little more rough.

Eventually, the chase dies down, and the two of them collapse onto the sand, breathing hard. I reach for a piece of the fish we’d cooked over the fire, tearing into it without a second thought.

Later, when the meal is nothing but a memory, I clear my throat. “Tomorrow,” I say, “we fix the ship and set sail. We find that privateer wreck, and we get my compass back.”

Saying it out loud feels like sealing a pact, grounding the plan in reality. No more wondering or waiting. We have a course now.

But the peace doesn’t last.

Vinicola sits a few feet away, fiddling with a stick, tracing lazy circles in the sand. I don’t pay him much mind at first, the weight of exhaustion finally pulling at me. My eyes begin to flutter shut, a rare moment of peace washing over me, until—

“Um, Miss Captain?”

I don’t open my eyes right away. It’s just Vini, and his tone is light—too light to worry about. But there’s a pause, a silence that doesn’t sit right, that hangs too long in the air. I force my eyes open.

He’s holding something in his hand.

“What’s this?” he asks, his voice almost casual. Almost.

At first, it doesn’t register. I sit up slowly, the calm I’d been clinging to evaporating like mist. But then my gaze sharpens, and the sight of it sends a jolt through me.

There, resting in his palm, is the golden compass.

My compass.

The one that I threw away. The one that’s cursed.

My breath catches in my throat. “How did you—“ I choke on the words, barely able to push them out. But before I manage to finish the question, a memory slams into me. Not just a memory—a warning. The monkey’s voice, mocking, sing-song, echoing in my head as clearly as if he were right beside me.

If you reject the invitation again, there will be consequences.

You’re bound by her will.

The feeling of drowning returns.