Chapter 20 Red Sails Rising
Dawn seeped in slow, like it wasn’t sure it was welcome.
Light pressed through the warped glass of the porthole—thin and pale at first, then warming, dragging gold across the far wall. It caught on the edge of the desk, the lip of a glass, the creases of rumpled sheets.
I woke with my cheek pressed into linen that didn’t belong to me.
It smelled faintly of smoke and salt.
It smelled like Fisk.
My hair was everywhere, tangled and damp at the roots, sticking to my face, my throat. When I shifted, the blanket slipped, cool air sliding in where warmth had been hoarded without me noticing.
I stilled.
Listened.
The ship breathed beneath me. A slow, steady rise and fall. No screaming wind. No violent crash of waves. Just wood settling back into itself with quiet groans.
And something else—
A memory.
Glass knocking softly. A low exhale in the dark. I turned my head. The bed beside the chair sat empty.
The pillow and blanket still dipped where he’d been. The lamp had burned low, the wick curled into black. A bottle rested on the desk, a finger of rum left inside, catching the morning light like amber.
He was gone.
My fingers curled into the sheet.
I pushed upright, clutching the blanket around my shoulders. His shirt hung loose on me, one side slipping down my shoulder as I moved.
I didn’t fix it.
Just watched the light creep closer.
It reached my hands. Warmed my knuckles. Glinted off the ring at my throat, flashing bright before dulling again.
Outside, the ship was quieter.
No laughter. No shouting. Just low voices drifting through wood. Boots scraping. Rope pulling through rough hands.
I swung my legs over the side of the chair. The floor was cool under my bare feet. The ship shifted, and this time I shifted with it without thinking.
Better. Not steady. But better. I was getting used to being on the ship.
I dressed in yesterday’s clothes, still damp, the fabric clinging where it hadn’t dried. His shirt stayed. I knotted it at my waist, fingers fumbling once before I pulled it tight.
When I gathered my hair, wringing out the last of the water, the scent of him rose again—faint now, but there. It settled low in my chest, smoothing the sharp edges the storm had left behind.
The door slammed open.
I jumped.
Reed filled the doorway, breathless, hair sticking up in every direction like he’d lost a fight with the wind and hadn’t bothered fixing it.
“Ma’am—” he started, then corrected himself. “Captain says you should come up. We’ve got a mark.”
My brows pulled together. “Since when does the captain send for me?”
“Since just now,” Reed said, already backing away. “Quarterdeck.”
I didn’t make him repeat it.
The ship was awake when I stepped onto the deck.
Not loud.
Focused.
Men moved with purpose. Hands busy. Voices low. Lines hauled, retied. Damp canvas snapping as sails were reset. Buckets sloshing seawater across the boards, washing away what the storm had left behind.
The air felt… tight.
Like something waiting to snap.
I found him at the rail.
Spyglass to his eye. Coat hanging open, still damp at the edges. Bram and Silas stood near him, watching the horizon like it might strike back.
Talon perched above, still as carved wood.
I stepped beside them.
The wind caught my hair, tugged it loose around my face. I didn’t bother pushing it back.
“Morning, Captain.”
He lowered the glass.
Turned.
For half a heartbeat, something flickered there. Recognition. Something softer. Then it was gone. He handed me the spyglass.
“Look.”
No wasted breath.
I lifted it, squinting against the light.
At first—nothing.
Then—There.
A shape.
Low in the water. Slow.
I adjusted the glass, breath steadying as the image sharpened. Torn sail. Listing weight. A ship dragging itself forward.
“It’s like their ship is limping,” I said. “But, What is that other ship off in the distance?
Behind me, a quiet exhale.
Approval.
“Good eye.”
I lowered the glass, handing it back. Our fingers brushed. This time, neither of us ignored it. Bram took it from Fisk and he was already scanning farther east to the other ship I spotted.
“Bram.”
Bram didn’t even look. “Red Eel. Close enough to smell us.”
The name settled cold in my stomach.
I folded my arms, more to keep still than for warmth. “So?” Looking at Fisk, excitement filling his features. A grin cut across his face. Sharp. Controlled.
“We take the prize,” he said. “Quick. Clean.” His gaze flicked to the horizon. “Then we disappear.”
He clapped once.
The sound cracked across the deck.
Everything moved.
Orders spilled from him, fast and precise. Men shifted before he finished speaking, hands already working, preparing, ready. He turned back to me. Captain again.
“You stay below.”
My spine locked.
“No.”
It came out before I could temper it. His gaze settled on mine. Not surprised. Not angry. Measuring.
“I need you breathing,” he said, quieter now. “Preferably on this ship.”
“And I need you to stop deciding that for me.”
The wind tugged at his coat. At my hair. Something almost like a smile touched his mouth.
“Didn’t think you’d listen anyway.”
My chin lifted. “Good.”
For a second, neither of us looked away. Then Bram cleared his throat. The moment snapped. Harrow turned, already issuing the next order. But I felt it—That thread between us, pulled tight. Talon appeared at my side like he’d always been there.
He pressed a pistol into my hand.
Cold and heavy. Heavier than I thought it would be.
“Try not to shoot yourself,” he muttered.
I weighed it once. “I make no promises..”
His mouth twitched. Then he was gone. The merchant ship grew closer. Too quiet. No crew on deck. No movement. My grip tightened on the pistol. My pulse tapped hard against my wrist. At the prow, Harrow lifted his hand.
Everything stilled.
Then dropped.
Harpoons flew. Lines caught. The ships slammed together hard enough to rattle teeth.
Men surged.
Steel rang.
The world fractured.
I stayed at the rail.
Watched.
Couldn’t not watch.
Reed crashed into the fight, grinning like he’d been waiting for this his whole life. Bram moved like a wall breaking forward, every strike clean.
And Harrow—Fisk—He didn’t fight. He moved. Through men. Around them. Ahead of them. A blade came for him—he wasn’t there. A shout rose—he bent it, redirected it, owned it. He turned once. Just once. His eyes found mine across the chaos. A check. A count. I lifted the pistol.
Ready.
He nodded. Then he was gone again. My breath stayed trapped in my chest until it was over. The crew poured back aboard, dragging crates, sacks—anything worth taking. Laughter broke through now, sharp with adrenaline.
Harrow climbed over the rail last. Blood streaked his forearm. Not his. Maybe his. His coat was torn. Hair plastered to his head.
He looked— Alive. He found me immediately. Of course he did. That same nod. Quieter now. Something in it just for me. Before I could speak, Bram grabbed my arm.
“Look.”
I did. And the world narrowed. Black sails. Red trim. Cutting through the mist like a blade. The Red Eel. Harrow went still. The laughter died. The air tightened. He stepped close to me, close enough his voice didn’t need to carry.
“Inside,” he said. He pointed below deck. Below, the water.
Not loud.
Not sharp.
But final.
“Stay with Reed.”
His hand brushed my arm as he stepped back. Brief.
Gone too soon.
“If they catch us,” he added, quieter still, “they won’t stop at taking the cargo.”
My throat tightened. I wanted to argue. To stay. To stand where he stood.
But the look in his eyes—Not command.
I turned.
Ran.
Below deck, the walls closed in. Reed waited, sword gripped too tight. I pressed my back to the wall beside him, pistol raised, breath falling into rhythm the way he’d shown me. I would not let my fear cripple me right now.
In.
Hold.
Out.
Above us, the ship tilted hard. Wood groaned. Men shouted. The chase began. I closed my eyes for a heartbeat.
And felt it.
Not fear.
My fingers tightened on the pistol.
This time—when the storm came—I was ready to meet it.