Chapter 43 Choices
The Ghost sliced through the open water, a white sail straining against a sky the color of bruised plums. I felt the urgency in my bones, a deep vibration that resonated with every plank of the deck beneath my worn boots. The ropes, taut and singing, whipped like angry serpents as the wind, smelling sharply of salt and distance, came alive. It shoved us, a forceful hand, dragging us from the receding shore. The village, a smudge of muted colors, shrank with each violent lurch, swallowed by the encroaching, clammy gray of the fog until even the proud chapel spire dissolved into nothingness. Gone. The air grew heavy, thick with the finality of it.The Ghost cut through open water like she had something to prove. I felt it in my bones. Every plank thrummed under my feet, every rope snapped and sang as the wind came alive, dragging us farther from shore with each breath. The village shrank behind us, swallowed piece by piece until even the chapel spire gave up and vanished into fog.
Gone.
No going back.
The deck smelled awful. It was the smell of survival. Salt was caked in white circles. Wet rope was coiled. It looked like something strangled. Blood was near a rusty nail. It was dark and dry. I couldn't recall whose blood it was.
I stood in the middle of it barefoot, wrapped in nothing but a scratchy blanket and stubbornness. My toes curled against the wood, aching, refusing to let go. My ribs still felt hollowed out, like the sea had reached in and wrung something from me it didn’t intend to return.
Water dripped from my hair down my spine, cold fingers tracing every vertebra. The ring at my throat pressed hard and real against my skin.
Proof.
I hadn’t imagined any of it.
Men moved around me, but not near me. They scattered when I looked their way. Bram suddenly found religion in a coil of rope that had never troubled him a day in his life. Reed disappeared below deck so fast his boots squealed in protest. Even Talon drifted off to the far rail, hands behind his back, staring out like the horizon might confess something if he glared hard enough.
Cowards.
Or maybe just smart. Only one of them didn’t move.
Of course.
Fisk stood exactly where I expected him to be, planted in my path like a storm that hadn’t decided whether to break or hold. Arms crossed. Feet braced. Every inch of him tight enough to snap. After our moment under the ship. He walked out needing a minute. I counted to 61 and emerged.
The salt on his coat, a gritty white residue, hadn’t even dried, still clinging damply. His anger, once a burning heat, had cooled, or perhaps it had simply sunk, a heavy stone in his gut. The ship lurched beneath our feet, a deep, resonant groan echoing from its wooden bones. The wind shrieked through the rigging, a wild, tearing sound against the vast, grey sky.
But between us?
Silence.
Sharp as drawn steel.
I tightened the blanket around myself, not for modesty. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. My jaw ached from clenching it shut.
“Go on,” I said. My voice came out rough, scraped clean by salt and pride. “Say it.”
His jaw ticked.
Once.
Twice.
He didn’t look away.
“You could have died.”
No warmth emanated from the words, no angry outburst, only stark, unvarnished truth. It landed with a weight, heavy as an iron chain.
I lifted my chin. “Would’ve been my choice.”
Something flickered across his face. Not anger. Something worse.
He said, "I shouldn't have left you behind." He added, "I should have known you would do something reckless."
I laughed. It tasted like seawater. “You would have had to lock me in. Then throw away the key. That’s the only way it might have worked for you.”
A low sound, fractured like brittle glass, escaped his throat. For a fleeting second, a raw fear, a thing he fiercely guarded, flickered in his eyes.
He covered the distance between us in two powerful strides, his boots thudding softly on the damp ground. He halted inches away, close enough that I could see individual droplets of water clinging like tiny jewels to the dark hairs of his beard. A palpable warmth radiated from him, a stark contrast to the biting chill that had settled deep into my bones, a warmth that felt like a gentle caress against my skin.
“Do you even know how close—” He cut himself off, voice fraying. “You’re not meant for this.”
I stared at him. Then I laughed. Ugly and Sharp.
“Meant for what, exactly?”
His eyes slid away. That told me everything.
“You’re not like them,” he muttered.
Something inside me went very still.
Very dangerous.
I tilted my head, slow, deliberate. “So what? I stay behind? Pour drinks? Wait for scraps? Wait for someone to decide I get to live?”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. I felt it anyway. Every inch of it. All the ways the world had tried to shrink me.
All the ways he almost had.
“My father left,” I said, quieter now. Each word cutting its way out. “My mother didn’t get a choice. And you—” My voice cracked, and I let it. Let him hear it. “You were about to do the same.”
His breath hitched.
“I’m here now. So deal with it.” The words landed like a stake in the deck.
He dragged a hand through his hair, rough enough to hurt. “You could have drowned.”
I grinned
“But I didn’t”
That did it.
Silence fell again, thick and heavy. The ship moved, the crew moved, the world moved—But not us.
His voice dropped, almost a confession. “I won’t be the reason you die.”
There it was.
Something old in him. Rotting. Heavy.
I didn’t ask. I stepped closer instead, letting the cold soaked into my bones bleed into him.
“That’s not your choice, Captain.”
For a second, I thought he might shove me back. Instead, something broke. A smile cracked across his face. Quick. Bright. Gone just as fast.
“Don’t tempt me,” he muttered.
But there was no heat left in it. Just… relief. We stood there breathing the same air, too close, too aware.
I could feel the crew pretending not to watch. Feel the moment stretching thin. I softened, just a fraction.
“I’m not asking to be safe,” I said. “I’m asking to matter.”
That hit him harder than anything else. He stilled. Really stilled. For a heartbeat, I thought he might pull me in. Instead, his hand came up, brushing a wet strand of hair from my cheek. His fingers lingered.
Too long.
Not long enough.
“I hope you’re worth the trouble,” he said.
“Just the trouble?” I murmured.
His laugh was quiet. Ruined. The last of the tension snapped.
Behind him, Bram grinned like an idiot. Reed peeked up from below and gave me a quick, frantic thumbs-up before vanishing again. Even Talon glanced over, something sharp and thoughtful in his eyes.
Then I felt it.
Something cold stuck to my arm under the blanket. I peeled the wool back. And laughed.
The map.
Salt-stained. Ink bleeding at the edges.
But still there.
Still mine.
I held it up.
Fisk’s attention snapped to it instantly. He took it carefully, like it might fall apart in his hands.
“What’s this?”
“The map, Remember? I Won it,” I said lightly. “Cards. One-eyed bastard. Swore it was cursed.”
He unfolded it.
His whole body went still.
Recognition.
“Isle of Storms,” he said.
I nodded.
Bram appeared at his shoulder like he’d been summoned. “Nobody comes back from there.”
Talon drifted closer, silent as ever. “That’s a death run.”
I didn’t hesitate.
“I didn’t jump into the ocean to turn back.”
The tension snapped. A subtle, almost electric shift rippled through the air, a change so profound it was palpable. Their gazes, once sharp and wary, softened, their eyes no longer seeing a stray or a threat, but something else entirely.
Fisk’s mouth curved. “You’ve been carrying this where?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I teased.
Bram whistled low. “And you remember it?”
I shrugged. “I remember what matters. Plus, my blood showed me a path I think.”
Fisk folded the map and tucked it inside his coat, close.
Close to his heart.
“You’ll walk me through it,” he said. “Tonight.”
Not quite an order.
The ship shifted beneath us, catching new wind, turning toward something bigger than all of us.
I moved to the rail, blanket wrapped tight, hair drying stiff in the wind. The land was gone.
Only sea now.
Only danger.
Only choice.
Fisk climbed to the quarterdeck, already barking orders, already captain again. But just before he turned away—He looked back.
Just once.
Checking.
I met his eyes.
I Didn’t look away. I wasn’t going anywhere. Not now. Not ever again.
Beside me, Bram muttered, “You scare him.”
I smiled.
“About time.”
The wind bit at my face, sharp and alive. The ring thudded against my chest with every heartbeat.
I closed my eyes. I let it all settle. The fear. The hunger. The joy. It was impossible. It was reckless. I had chosen this. Storm, death, or treasure.
It didn’t matter what exactly.
For the first time in my life, the path ahead belonged to me.
And I would burn before I let anyone take it away.