25. Gypsy

25

Gypsy

T he captain’s quarters on this beautiful, nameless ship are so big that they could store at least four people comfortably. But that doesn’t mean I’m fine with it.

“I wanted my own lodging,” I say, hands on my hips, staring straight into Fabien’s dark eyes, daring him to challenge me. It’s been eight long hours at the helm, steering us toward the nearest inhabited coast, and now that the time for my rest has finally come, it turns out Rancour’s promises weren’t exactly as grand as they sounded.

I should have known better. There’s always a catch. I just didn’t think it’d come down to something as petty as this . I was half-expecting him to cuff my wrists while I slept, ready to toss me into the brig and reclaim his captain’s chair. But no—this is worse. We’re supposed to share the room.

“And you have your own lodging,” Fabien says, with a lazy wave of his hand toward the cabin. The massive bed, mahogany desk, and a small window overlooking the endless blue mock me. “This entire cabin is yours. Consider me merely a guest.”

A guest? My eyes narrow. “Guests eventually leave. You planning to leave?”

He nods, all casual like. “I do.” Then he moves toward the desk and leans on it, arms crossed over his broad chest, head tilted just so. Too relaxed. Too at ease for my liking. Like he thinks I’m buying this charade.

“When?” My voice sharpens, disbelief creeping in. This reeks of deceit.

He smirks, the kind of smug smile that makes my blood itch. “When we’re done with the Trials.”

Of course. The Trials. My jaw tightens as I resist the urge to throw a blade at the wall. There are plenty of them here, too, tempting me.

I let out a frustrated breath and pace the room, my boots echoing against the polished floor. “What about Zayan and Vinicola? Where are they supposed to stay?”

“They’re welcome to join the crew—or join us here.” He rolls the last word between his lips as if savoring the taste of it. As if savoring my annoyance that comes with his saying it like that. “It’s up to you, Captain .”

The way he says it—the mocking emphasis on my title—makes me want to punch him square in the jaw. I glance around the spacious cabin, which suddenly feels too small, too cramped with the thought of all of us packed in here.

“You want us all to be crammed in here like sardines?” I snap, my voice rising. “Pretty unfriendly sardines, I might add. You and Zayan sharing a room? Tell me, how many bloodied necks should I expect after the first night together?”

Fabien chuckles, but there’s no real amusement in the sound. Every attempt at a positive emotion from him is just a mask, a pathetic effort to seem remotely human instead of the burned-out shell he is. Eight hours in his vicinity taught me that.

“I will not harm any of you,” he says. “As I said, we’re linked together.”

I stop pacing and glare at him. “Zayan might not share your sentiment.”

“Zayan’s welcome to try whatever he likes,” he replies. “I’m curious to see what he thinks up.”

My mind races. Sharing quarters with Fabien? Out of the question. Trusting him? Even worse. And yet, here we are—bound together by circumstance, necessity, and the fact that he lied about this cabin.

“This is ridiculous,” I mutter, trying to keep my temper in check.

“It’s practical,” Fabien counters. “We’re on the same side, whether you like it or not. Besides, we need to keep an eye on each other. Who knows what’s waiting for us ahead? This arrangement ensures we’re prepared for anything.”

“Excuse me?” I shoot back, narrowing my eyes. “Prepared for what? For me to hold your hand when you get a nightmare in the middle of the night? Or are you suggesting we sing pirate shanties by candlelight together to fend off bad spirits?”

Fabien’s smirk deepens. “Well, I wasn’t going to suggest the shanties, but now that you mention it…”

I roll my eyes so hard, I swear I feel them hit the back of my skull. “You know damn well this isn’t about practicality. You just want to keep tabs on us, don’t you?”

“Why would I need to keep tabs when you’re already at my mercy?” His voice drops lower, a teasing edge in his words as he leans even further back against the desk. “If I wanted to kill you, I would’ve done it before we set sail. But if you insist on casting me as the villain, I’ll play along. Just try to keep your knives to yourself—I’d hate to ruin the upholstery.”

A bitter laugh escapes me, and I start pacing, my boots striking the floor with a sharp, steady rhythm, cutting through the smug silence in the room. “Upholstery? Really? That’s your concern? You’ve got your priorities all figured out, haven’t you? So, what’s next? Do we get bunk assignments, or are we all cramming into this one bed? Should I grab Zayan a pillow, or would that bruise your ego too much?”

“Be my guest,” Fabien says without missing a beat.

I stop pacing, glaring at him. “Are you serious?”

“Deadly.”

I take a deep breath, pinching the bridge of my nose, trying to rein in the frustration building up inside me. “Fine... Enlighten me. What exactly are we supposed to be ‘prepared for’?”

His smirk falters, just a fraction, and something colder sharpens in his eyes. “The goddess has her ways of getting under your skin.” His voice is lower now, as if he’s letting me in on some dark secret. “We’re bound together, you and me, but who knows? She might try to separate us. She’s a cunning bitch, and I wouldn’t put anything past her.”

I stiffen at that. It’s not what he says—it’s his attitude. I know the Lady is a conniving piece of shit, and I don’t need anyone telling me that. But it’s how he says it, like he doesn’t give a damn that she’s listening. I’ve never met another person who would spit on the Lady’s name like that. Especially knowing for a fact that she’s always watching, always listening.

And just like that, I respect him a little more. It’s twisted, but his point isn’t wrong. Who knows what the Lady’s planning? She already made her appearance in that dream—if you can call a talking monkey sitting on my chest her.

“Fine,” I say through gritted teeth. “If there’s no other choice...”

That slow, smug smile spreads across his face again. “Understood, Captain.”

I turn away from him, scanning the room as if it might offer some relief. The bed, the desk, the small window—it’s all way better than what I had on Medusa’s Gaze . Luxurious, even. The polished wood practically gleams, the rich scent of mahogany filling the air. Everything here looks like it was built to last, like it belongs to someone who doesn’t answer to anyone.

I force myself to focus on the window, staring out at the dark blue of the sea stretching endlessly to the horizon. The waters are calm now, perfect for Ridley to take us the rest of the way to the island while I get some damn sleep. Fabien offered me a chance to rest after that rocky island, but I turned him down. I needed the crew to see me standing tall, to know I’m the one in charge now.

Let them see the new captain of this ship. Let them understand I’m not here to play games.

Surprisingly, they took to me quickly. Better than I expected. I heard a few of them muttering that they finally had a real captain at the helm, not a madman steering them toward death. Not bad for a crew that wasn’t mine to begin with.

I expected doubt, maybe even someone trying to test my authority. The Rancour name pays their wages, and I was ready for a challenge. But none came. In this, at least, Fabien was telling the truth—his men are experienced sailors, not devoted to him but to the ship.

That suits me just fine. For now.

The only problem? I don’t know if I can trust them because of it. A crew that listens without question is one thing, but I want more than that. I need a crew that’s loyal because they believe in something, not because they’re drifting like deadweight. A crew that would fight for me, not just follow orders like puppets.

I stride over to the bed, running my hand over the smooth sheets. Too clean. Too soft. It feels wrong, like something stolen from a life that doesn’t belong to me. I was raised by the sea, in a world where sleep comes on a hammock and dinner tastes like stale bread. Not this.

Plush luxury. I’ve laughed at captains who sail this way—soft ships for soft hearts.

“The sheets seem unused,” I say, glancing at Fabien over my shoulder.

He shrugs. “I prefer the floor.”

Figures.

My first instinct is to say that I do, too—that I can’t remember the last time I slept in a proper bed. But the words stick in my throat, suddenly too vulnerable, too personal. I don’t want to feel any sort of kinship with him. Besides, after what Zayan, Vini, and I went through, maybe sinking into a real bed won’t be so bad.

“Suit yourself,” I mutter, pulling off my boots and tossing them aside. I can feel his eyes on me, watching every move I make. But I won’t let him see that it bothers me. If we’re going to get through the Trials, I need my strength—and that means sleep, even if it comes on sheets too soft for my taste.

Fabien didn’t lie about needing each other. I don’t trust him. I doubt I ever will. But I trust that he’s bound to his creed, whatever it is. And for now, that creed keeps me alive.

I throw myself onto the bed, the mattress softer than anything I’ve felt in years. A part of me almost hates how much I enjoy the comfort. But I shove the thought away, keeping my guard up even as my body sinks into it.

“Rest well, Captain,” Fabien says, his voice softer, almost sincere. I don’t trust it—don’t trust him—but I’m too tired to argue.

“Keep watch,” I murmur, turning onto my side and closing my eyes.

I wake up feeling the weight of a body pressed against me. It’s solid, warm, sinking the mattress beneath us and dragging my body slowly toward it. There’s another one on the other side, lighter but just as warm. I let out a slow breath, breathing them in, suspended in the quiet haze of sleep. For a moment, I think about letting go, sinking deeper, and letting the gentle sway of the ship rock us, lost in that perfect, dreamlike stillness.

But it never lasts.

A click cuts through the air. Sharp. Unmistakable. My muscles tense. There’s a brief silence before a loud, jarring thud.

Where’s my dagger?

Before my eyes are even open, I’m already moving. My body springs upright, hand instinctively searching for the blade at my side. One of the bodies beside me jolts awake, mimicking my movement. The other one, not as quick, jerks but doesn’t rise. It takes everything in me not to strike first and ask questions later.

And then I open my eyes.

“What the fuck is this?” Zayan growls from the doorway, his voice low and dangerous, a pistol clenched in his fist. His eyes flick between me and the two men in bed with me.

I blink, disoriented, scanning the room. Vinicola’s beside me, looking just as startled as I feel, his body still half-slumped in the sheets. He doesn’t get up, just flinches slightly as if hoping not to get noticed. Meanwhile, on the other side, Fabien is already on his feet, gun in hand, pointing it straight back at Zayan. His scowl is darker than a storm cloud, and for a second, I think we’re about to have more than just words flying across this room.

Huh? How in the hell—

My jaw tightens, trying to piece together the chaos of the situation, but my mind’s still foggy from sleep. One second, I was dreaming of calm seas, and now? I’m caught between a trigger- happy Marauder and two idiots who apparently think they can share my bed without consequences.

I glance between them, and a part of me wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all. But this? This is no laughing matter. Zayan’s eyes are blazing with something I don’t have time to figure out, and Fabien—well, if there’s one thing I know about him, it’s that he doesn’t back down.

“Stand down,” I hiss, more to Fabien than anyone else.

But Zayan? He doesn’t look like he’s in the mood for listening.

“I asked you a question,” he grits out, staring at Fabien.

“What does it look like?” Fabien asks, lowering his gun slowly, his tone light, almost bored. He rubs his temple with his thumb before tossing the weapon onto the small wooden chair by the bed. “You’ve never seen people sleep before?”

Zayan’s gaze snaps to me, eyes questioning, as if I’ve somehow orchestrated this ridiculous scene. His confusion is obvious, but there’s something else—a flicker of hurt that he’s too proud to show. The words die in my throat. It’s not like I had much control over this either, right? I mean, Fabien being here wasn’t exactly on my to-do list.

But it hits me—I passed out before I could explain anything to Zayan. And clearly, Fabien didn’t bother to fill him in either on our new living situation.

“Where were you?” I ask, trying to deflect, wrinkling my nose at the tension in the room. Zayan makes a face, clearly not interested in changing the subject.

His eyes dart between Fabien, then to Vinicola, and finally to me again.

“I was getting to know the crew,” he says, voice low and dangerous. “Someone has to figure out what makes them tick. Then I come back to find this—whatever the hell this is.”

I glance at Fabien, who stretches lazily, utterly unbothered by the tension crackling in the room. His calmness grates at Zayan, which, of course, only serves to fuel the fire.

“Well done, Zayan,” Fabien says with a half-yawn, barely paying attention. “How’s your leg?”

Zayan’s grip tightens on his pistol, his nostrils flaring. “How’s my leg? You want to know how’s my leg ? Are you fucking kidding me?”

Fabien shrugs. “Just making conversation,” he replies, his eyes half-lidded like this is the most normal thing in the world. “But if you’d rather discuss the current... arrangement, I’m happy to oblige.”

Zayan’s nostrils flare, his fists tightening at his sides, but he holsters the pistol with a controlled movement and takes a step forward, his voice a low growl. “We need to get something straight. I don’t trust you. Not for a damn second. And finding you in bed with my girl ?“ His eyes narrow dangerously. “It doesn’t exactly help your case.”

My stomach flips at the words— my girl . Oh, no. He did not just go there.

I push myself up, rubbing the remnants of sleep from my eyes, meeting his glare with one of my own. “Zayan, I’m not your girl,” I say, my voice firm. “Nothing happened. I needed sleep. Fabien,” I nod toward him, “decided to crawl into the bed without asking. That’s all.”

I don’t know why I’m even bothering to explain. It’s not like I owe Zayan any damn apology. Hell, I don’t owe him anything. Even the fact that he saved my life once or twice? That was his choice, not mine. I never asked for it.

And yet… here I am. Explaining myself. Making sure he doesn’t get the wrong idea.

Vinicola sits up, blinking groggily. “And I was just… here. No funny business, I swear.”

“There, see?” Fabien adds, his lips curling into a smirk. “So, Zayan, how’s that leg?”

He’s doing it on purpose. It’s clear Fabien enjoys getting under Zayan’s skin. I can’t even blame Fabien for it, really. It’s like he knows just which buttons to push to make Zayan snap. Still, this tension between the two of them? It’s not just a game. It’s a powder keg, and we’re all standing too close.

Two men, both used to power. Two strong personalities. And me, stuck in the middle of their little pissing contest.

How the hell are we going to manage without someone drawing blood?

Zayan’s fists flex again, his whole body brimming with frustration. “Fine,” he spits, venom lacing his words. “My leg’s fine. But this ?“ He gestures angrily between the three of us. “This is not fine.”

I sigh, patience wearing thinner by the second. “Enough,” I snap, standing and slipping my boots on. “We’ve got bigger problems than your jealousy. Maybe I should’ve told you we’d be sharing this cabin before I drifted off, but that possessive bullshit?” I point at him, eyes locked on his. “Cut it. Now. I won’t stand for it. If you don’t want to hear me out as your… whatever, then hear me out as your captain. Understood?”

I cross my arms, locking eyes with Zayan. I hate pulling rank like this—especially with him, considering where we come from. But I’ve had enough. He’s pushing too far.

And yet, even pulling rank doesn’t work. Zayan’s jaw tightens, the tension in his face barely masked, before his eyes flick to Vinicola, then snap back to me with that familiar fire.

“No. Not understood,” he bites out. “This is ridiculous, and you know it.”

My pulse quickens, heat rising in my chest. I bite the inside of my cheek, forcing myself to stay upright, though every nerve in me wants to lash out. I’m just like everyone else here—quick to anger, especially when it comes to my authority or my freedom. And this moment happens to threaten both.

“Uh, Mr. Zayan, this is…” Vinicola’s timid voice cuts through the tension from somewhere behind me, quivering like a leaf in a storm. But Zayan cuts him off so fast, whatever he wanted to say dies between us.

“Quiet, Vinicola,” he growls. “You told me to be honest, and that’s exactly what I’m going to be.”

I don’t even know what he’s talking about. Being honest? What the fuck…?

But before I can even react, Fabien interjects. “Jealousy is a dangerous distraction, my friend,” he purrs.

Zayan steps closer, the air fucking crackling. “I am not your friend,” he hisses, his face inches from Fabien’s. “And you wouldn’t know anything about distractions. You’re the biggest fucking one I’ve ever seen.”

I can feel it—blood’s about to be spilled. It’s in the air, thick and charged, crawling under my skin. Zayan’s going to get us all killed. One wrong move, and this whole damn crew will turn on us for threatening their precious source of coin.

I take a step forward, ready to throw myself between them before this gets any worse, but—against all odds—Fabien surprises me. He steps back, lifting his eyebrows with a look that says this whole thing is beneath him. Then, he smacks his lips and gives a lazy roll of his shoulders.

“If you say so,” he quips, voice as raspy as ever, before sidestepping Zayan and strolling toward the exit, completely unbothered.

Then, just when I think I’ve seen it all, he does something even more unexpected—he glances back at Vinicola and gestures for him to follow. A simple wave of the hand, like he’s calling over a dog.

Vinicola, wide-eyed and torn, looks between Zayan and me, clearly unsure. He hesitates for a heartbeat, then rises to his feet and trails after Fabien without a word. The door closes behind them with a soft click, leaving behind a heavy silence.

And just as I’m about to turn to face Zayan, I hear another sound—a distinct, deliberate click.

That fucker locked us in.

I glance at the door, then back at Zayan, my blood thrumming with anger. The silent message is loud and clear: Sort out your shit, or stay locked inside.

“Perfect,” I mutter, storming over to the door and yanking at the handle. Of course, it doesn’t budge. I spin on my heel, my eyes locking onto Zayan. He’s just standing there, unaffected, like nothing’s happened—like he didn’t just drag us into this mess. There’s still only fury in his eyes.

“See what you’ve done?” I snap, my voice sharp enough to cut.

“At least now I can finally get you to talk to me,” Zayan says, an ugly smile tugging at his lips. “Otherwise, you’d keep running off, wouldn’t you?”

Ugh… what?

I bite back the retort burning on my tongue. The way he’s looking at me—this isn’t how we usually talk. This is something darker, and my patience for it? It’s hanging by a thread.

“What do you want, Zayan? What’s so fucking important you had to pull this shit?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe the fact that you’ve been avoiding me ever since I dropped everything for you. And now I find out you’re cozying up with our enemy?”

His words hit like a punch to the gut. I feel my muscles tighten, and the heat crawling up my neck.

I take a breath, trying to keep my voice steady, but the fury bubbling up inside me is impossible to control. “Is that what this is about? Your fragile ego? You think I owe you something because you made a few fucking reckless choices?”

“I put everything on the line for you, Gypsy,” he growls. “You—of all people—know what that means.”

“I didn’t ask you to do it.”

Zayan’s eyes narrow, a flicker of something dangerous crossing his face—hurt, maybe? But he covers it fast with his usual bravado, stepping closer, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him.

“Maybe you didn’t,” he says, his voice low, cold. “But you sure as hell didn’t stop me.”

I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms. “What do you want me to say, Zayan? That I’m sorry? That I didn’t mean for you to get involved? Because we both know that’s not true. You threw yourself into this because you wanted to. You chose this. Not me.”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “You still don’t get it, do you? It’s not about what you asked or didn’t ask. You nearly died , Gypsy. Nearly fucking died because of chasing the thrill.”

“So what?” I spit out.

My choices are not his to correct. They’re not even his to judge. I am my own judge. There is no one I answer to but myself.

“So I couldn’t let you do that!”

“And why not?” I fire back, stepping forward to close the space between us. “What gives you the right to decide how far I go or how much I risk? Who do you think you are?”

Zayan’s lips curl into a dark, twisted grin, and the fury in his eyes is matched only by the intensity of his voice. “Who do I think I am? I’m the one who knows you better than anyone else. The one who’s thrown himself into one suicidal situation after another with you. I fucking see you, Gypsy. Always have. Always fucking will.”

I nearly stumble backwards, these words hit me so much. And then, for a moment, I feel like I’m suffocating. Like all air is gone from this room. He knows how to rip me apart without even trying. But the worst part? The part that makes my skin prickle with fury? Somewhere deep down, he’s not wrong.

Who else has ever gotten this close to me? Who else have I ever let slip past the walls I’ve spent my whole life building?

No one.

But that just makes the anger flare hotter in my chest. It’s not enough to burn. I want to break something, tear this entire room apart plank by plank, until there’s nothing left but rubble. But probably even that wouldn’t be enough.

“I don’t need saving,” I growl, my voice venomous. “I don’t need you to protect me. I don’t need anything from you.”

“Oh, really?” His taunt is dripping with mockery, his grin widening like he’s savoring every second of this. “You really don’t?”

That’s it. I can’t take it anymore. The fire in my veins ignites, and before I can think twice, I shove him hard, both hands slamming into his chest. He stumbles back, but before I can savor the moment, his hands shoot out and catch my wrists.

His hands are so warm they burn, searing through the anger, through the chaos, and goddamn it, if it doesn’t feel like that burn is exactly what I need. His grip pulls me in, his touch matching the fire in my blood, and for a split second, everything feels perfectly, horribly right.

I gasp. He freezes. And before long, his lips are on mine.

I can taste the fury on his lips, feel the tension in every desperate, heated movement. It’s not gentle. There’s no room for softness between us—there never has been. We’re too sharp, too broken, and this... this feels like a revelation in it all.

His grip tightens on my wrists, pulling me in closer, as if he’s afraid I’ll slip away, and maybe he’s right to be. I should pull away. I should shove him off, scream at him, and let the anger burn away everything else that’s bubbling up beneath the surface. But instead, I let myself sink into the fire, let it scorch me from the inside out, because I don’t know what else to do with all this feeling .

When I finally break away, gasping for air, his forehead presses against mine, his breathing just as ragged, but there’s something else there too—something softer, something that terrifies me more than all the fire between us.

“You hate me, don’t you?” he murmurs, his voice rough but low, almost vulnerable.

I want to say yes. I want to spit the word out like a curse, hurl it at him, but it won’t come. It’s stuck in my throat, choking me. All I can manage is a whisper. “I hate what you do to me.”

He chuckles darkly, the sound vibrating between us. “Good. I hate what you do to me too.” His lips brush mine again, softer this time, as if testing the waters.

It’s too much. All of it. The fire, the anger, the confusion—it all swells inside me until I feel like I might break. I pull away sharply, needing space, needing air.

This has to end. This tension, this pull between us—it’s tearing me apart. Every time I think I’ve broken free, it yanks me right back. My heart’s still pounding in my chest, my breaths coming too fast, but I force the words out before they choke me.

“I meant what I said, Zayan,” I say. “I didn’t ask you to risk your life for me. You can’t hold it over me like some debt.”

He’s watching me closely now, too closely. The grin that always played at his lips is gone—there’s no mockery left in his expression. Just that damn focus, like he’s seeing straight through me.

It’s completely different from moments before.

“Alright,” he breathes.

”I mean it,“ I say, though it comes out more desperate than I’d like. “You can’t keep throwing it in my face. I didn’t ask for this.”

He nods, slow, his eyes never leaving mine. “I know. Alright, I hear you. You didn’t ask.” His voice dips lower, quieter, and then, before I can stop him, his fingers are brushing against my skin. The touch is so gentle, it catches me off guard. His hand cups my face, forcing me to look at him, to really see him.

“It’s all on me,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw. “I shouldn’t have said it like that. You don’t owe me anything, Gypsy. I know that.”

“But you did say it. You do hold it against me,“ I snap, though my voice falters, less sure than before.

I hate the way my thoughts spiral, the way Zayan Cagney makes me feel accountable for everything I try to push aside. I don’t regret much in this life, but he... he makes me regret things I can’t even name.

His hand drops from my face, and for a moment, he looks as lost as I feel. Like he’s unraveling right in front of me, showing a part of himself that he usually keeps hidden. There’s a crack in his armor, one that lets me see the truth he’s always tried to mask with his cocky grins and reckless bravado. It’s just... him. Raw, stripped of everything he hides behind.

“I said it in anger,” he admits, voice quieter now, almost broken. “I didn’t mean it. I never wanted to make you feel like that.”

He hesitates, then takes a step back, his hand hanging at his side like he doesn’t know what to do with it. And damn him for it, because I can feel myself softening—just a little, just enough to hurt.

“I just…” His words trail off, and for a moment, he looks like he’s trying to catch the right ones, but they keep slipping through his fingers. “It always feels like I’m chasing you, Gypsy. Like no matter how close I get, you’re always slipping away. One second you’re in my arms, and the next you’re gone, and I can’t help but want to catch you all over again. To just... hold on a moment longer.”

His voice cracks, and it cuts deeper than I’d like to admit. “I don’t know what it is. I never fucking knew. But what would you do if you were me? If you felt this pull to something as wild as the wind, knowing they were about to do something that would take them away for good?”

There it is. Laid bare between us. That unspoken truth we’ve been dancing around for far too long.

I open my mouth, but the words stick, clawing at my throat like they don’t want to come out. But I say them anyway, because if I don’t, I’ll… I’ll just break. “I’d probably act the same if it were you.”

I said it. I fucking said it. The weight that’s been sitting heavy on my heart, dragging me down, is finally out.

His eyes snap back to mine, surprise flickering in their mossy depths. “What did you just say?”

“I said,” I repeat, my voice firmer now, “I’d act the same. If it were you.” I pause, letting the words sink in, watching the way they hit him like a wave. “Because that’s what you do for people you care about. And I care about you, Zayan. I do.”

His breath catches, but I keep going, because I’m not done yet. “But you have to understand something.” I step closer, my eyes locked on his. “You can’t pin me down. You can’t hold me in place and expect me to stay there, waiting for you. I’m not that kind of person. I’m not someone you lock away. I’m a pirate, Zayan.”

My palms are slick with sweat, and my mouth feels dry as bone, my breath coming in shallow gasps.

“A pirate, huh?” he repeats. “Well, I’m a pirate too. And pirates… we could look out for each other.”

The way he says it, it’s like it’s simple. I’ve told myself a hundred times he’s not mine, that he’s dreaming of some village girl, not me. Anything to keep from admitting that maybe, just maybe, I actually want him.

But I can’t dream about him. Not when I’ve built walls around my soul, a goddamn iron vest to keep anyone from getting in. I don’t want to be the woman who bleeds, the one who feels too much. I need to be fierce, untouchable.

So, why do my lips move on their own accord?

“We could,” I exhale “We really could. But… we also need our freedom. You can’t expect me to be something I’m not.”

It’s the truest thing I’ve ever said. Truth hurts.

“Fuck, don’t you get it?” His voice roughens as he cups my face again, and just like that, the world tips. His touch feels forbidden, like back in the old days when it was wrong. “I don’t expect you to be anything other than what you are, Gypsy. I never have. I just don’t want to lose you. Not to this goddamn compass. Not to the Lady. Not to anything. Or anyone.”

His words hang between us, heavy and fragile, like they could shatter at any moment.

I swallow the knot in my throat and force a smirk. “Yeah?” My voice drips with sarcasm, my armor flaring up because I don’t know what to do with the rawness he’s throwing at me. “You don’t want me to be some soft, gentle thing? A girl you can tuck away, safe from danger so you can have me all to yourself?”

His jaw clenches, but he shakes his head. “I don’t.” His eyes lock onto mine, fierce, unrelenting. “I swear, I don’t. I just want to be right there next to you when you shine.” His laugh is hollow, bitter. “Burn the fucking world if you need to. Just let me watch.”

I feel a crack in the armor I’ve built around myself. A thin line after another, a piece of the iron loses against his rawness.

What the fuck am I supposed to do now? This conversation is slipping out of my control, spiraling somewhere I didn’t want it to go. But seeing him like this… I’m breaking.

I force myself to speak, my voice a little too tight. “Okay.” The word barely comes out. I swallow hard, trying to find the ground beneath my feet again. “So…”

What the hell am I supposed to say to him? My heart is slamming against my ribs, my hands shaking like I’ve lost my grip on everything I thought I could handle.

“So, I’m sorry, Gypsy,” he says, and his eyebrows pinch together like he’s fighting himself. One hand moves to his chest, over his heart. “I mean it. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. Stronger than Silverbeard, Roche, that lunatic we just tangled with—stronger than me, Gypsy. And I don’t want you to change. I just want to be there with you. To fight with you. To be part of whatever the hell this is between us.”

Another crack. And another.

He’s breaking through.

I’m vulnerable. I’ve never been this vulnerable in my life. My mind scrambles for something to grasp, something to push him away with—but nothing comes.

“Okay,” I manage, my voice barely more than a whisper, shaking despite myself. “It’s okay. I…”

But before I can find my footing, his words take a turn.

“Do you want to fuck Fabien?” he asks suddenly, his eyebrows lifting in genuine confusion, like this is the one thing that could shatter everything.

What?

“I… what?” I blink, thrown off balance. “I—“

“It’s the only thing I’d have a problem with,” Zayan cuts in, his voice dead serious. “Other than that, do whatever the hell you want. Dive to the depths of the ocean, spit in the Lady’s face, or fight a fucking Kraken—I won’t stand in your way. Just let me stay by your side. As your partner.”

Partner .

I want to say so much—about how he can’t just have me like that, about how dangerous it is to even think about letting someone this close.

But right now? I’m speechless.

Partner . I never thought I’d hear that word come out of Zayan Cagney’s mouth, let alone aimed at me.

This… this doesn’t have to be bad, does it?

“Partner,” I echo, tasting the word on my tongue. “You… you want to be my partner?”

Zayan nods, his eyes steady on mine. “In everything. In fights, in plans, in life. No more cage, no more jealousy. Just... us, facing whatever comes our way together.”

I stare at him, trying to process it all. It sounds good—too good. But is that something he can really handle? Can he stand by me without trying to tie me down? Can I?

“And you think you can do that?”

Zayan doesn’t flinch. “I know I can,” he says. “I’ll fight by your side, Gypsy, not against you. If that’s what you want, too.”

What I want?

I want to laugh, but it dies in my throat. This is everything I want to hear, but it feels dangerous, like stepping off the edge of a cliff. He’s offering me the one thing I never thought I could have: someone who wants me without trying to change me.

“Partner,” I say again, softer this time. The word feels foreign, like it doesn’t belong in my mouth. But maybe… maybe it’s not as bad as I thought.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice dropping a little lower. He’s watching me closely now, like he’s waiting for me to bolt. But I don’t.

I bite my lip, turning the idea over in my mind. “Alright, then,” I say, biting my lower lip. “We could give this partnership a try.”

His breath hitches, just barely. “Yeah?” He leans in, that cocky grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “So you’re telling me you don’t want to fuck this Fabien man, then?”

“No,” I breathe, my voice soft but full of certainty. “The only person I ever want to fuck…” I pause, letting the words hang between us, feeling the air thicken with the weight of them. “…is you.”

And this… I’m perfectly sure of. In fact, I intend to act on it.