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Chapter Text

The first time Sloane heard about pirates, she was six years old. A former maid had read both her and her brother Liam a bedtime story about men with long beards, weirdly shaped hats, and wooden legs. They lived on huge ships every day of the year and lived recklessly.

She was instantly captured by their carefree way of living and the fact that they were just… free. Not having to worry about what to say or what to wear. Always doing what you want.

It exhilarated her. That power over your own life.

This everlasting curiosity lasted for ten years—until her beloved pirates took everything from her.

15 years later

The dream always starts the same.

She is standing on the side of their parents’ ship, looking out into the ocean. The wind is whipping strands of Sloane’s hair across her face, annoying her. She always forgets to rebraid it before going upstairs onto the deck. But now it’s too late to do it again, so she has to live with the consequences of tucking her hair behind her ears every two minutes. The view makes it worth it, though.

The sun is rising slowly, casting a mystical flare over the water. It shimmers in different shades of blue, orange, and green. It’s so captivating to watch that she subconsciously leans her whole upper body over the railing.

“If you want to go swimming, just say so—I’ll give you a push,” says a voice next to her. She startles at that familiar, confident drawl of her brother.

She didn’t notice him approaching, but he’s standing right next to her, a hip casually leaning against the railing, arms crossed, and one eyebrow raised. He wears that infuriating smirk he always gives her when she’s in her own world.

She rolls her eyes at him and gives him a gentle shove, then laughs when he loses his balance. But he quickly catches himself.

“I just mean, it looked like you were about to jump, so I only offered my help. You know how good I am at pushing you down… well, anything.”

“Yeah, I remember when we were ten and you pushed me off that tree. I broke my arm because of that,” she counters.

“I didn’t calculate that you’d twist in the air when I gently nudged you. So that was technically your fault.”

“I’m sorry that I didn’t consider your calculations. Should I repeat – I was ten!” She laughs.

“Do you know what I was able to do at the age of ten?” he asks her playfully. She’s about to respond to his nonsense when the dream begins to shift.

It happens every time, but no amount of trying or wishing can change the outcome.

The sun disappears and the sky turns ominously gloomy. Gone are the beautiful shades of blue, green, and orange. In their stead are dark tones of grey and black. It doesn’t look natural, but all Sloane can focus on in that moment is the enormous ship that practically flies toward them.

She knows this ship from stories told by old fishermen who came into her town for trade. Its blue sails are engraved into her mind forever. The Nightvein.

A monster of a ship, commanded by none other than the monster himself: Fen Riorson. A captain known for his ruthlessness and sharp sword. He is known for raiding whole cities and leaving nothing behind.

Sloane tries to move as the ship gets closer and closer, but she’s frozen in place. All she can do is watch it approach.

“Sloane, we really need to go!” Liam yells at her side. He grabs her arm and pulls—an attempt to get her to move.

In mere seconds, the Nightvein crosses the distance between them.

“Sloane, please! We need to go now!”

She looks at her brother—into the same blue eyes as hers—and sees the plea for her to just move. And she would move. For him, she would do anything. But her feet are rooted in place.

The two ships collide in a loud boom; she feels it in her very bones. She’s thrown against the railing, and without her brother’s strong grip, she would’ve actually fallen overboard.

She looks around, but all she sees is Liam, towering over her. His arms are thrown over her in an attempt to shield and protect her.

“Everything will be fine, I promise you,” he whispers in her ear. “I think the worst is over.”

Then a second explosion rocks the ship again. She shuts her eyes and ducks into the warm embrace of her brother’s arms.

But Sloane can’t feel him anymore. She opens her eyes instantly and searches frantically for him—but she can’t find him anywhere on the deck.

A cold sense of dread washes over her. Her whole body starts to shake, and she grips the railing until her knuckles turn white to help pull herself up.

What she then sees will haunt her for all eternity. Her hands fly to her mouth and a sob escapes her.

Liam is facedown in the water. Around him is a halo of red, like he hit his head.

Sloane screams his name. Over and over she screams it until her throat is sore and her voice gives out. But he doesn’t respond. And he doesn’t move.

Sloane’s eyes snap open, and she sits up with a hand over her racing heart. Sweat rolls down her face, and her throat hurts like she’s used it too much without drinking water.

She’s certain that she actually screamed Liam’s name—but after five years of those nightmares and no sign of improvement, everyone in the house pretty much ignores Sloane’s dreams.

She rubs her fingers across her face and sighs deeply. She doesn’t dream of Liam’s death as frequently anymore, not like in the first few years after. But every time it happens now, it leaves her with an intense sense of dread and emptiness.

Her dreams are also more vivid and imaginative than the real event that happened.

They had been on a journey aboard their parents’ ship. Liam had teased her for standing too close to the railing. And there had been an encounter and a collision with the Nightvein, but it was extremely foggy that day, so they must not have seen each other.

Still, that question—that what if—will follow her for the rest of her life. If she had just moved, if she had just gone with Liam… would that have changed anything? Would he still be alive?

That familiar sense of grief washes over her. That feeling deep in your bones, the kind that never really goes away.

She misses her brother with every fiber of her being. But he wouldn’t want her to wallow in sadness and grief for the rest of her life.

So Sloane swings her legs over the bed and stands up. She’s sure she won’t be able to go back to sleep and so she decides starts her day early.

Her and Liam grew up in the family of the infamous Governor Mairi, a member of the royal court. They had the best tutors growing up and, overall, their upbringing was very privileged.

Their childhood home sat high on a cliffside, a sprawling estate with white stone walls, arched windows, and balconies that looked out over the endless sea. Inside, marble floors reflected the soft glow of chandeliers, and servants moved through the halls so quietly, it was easy to forget they were there at all.

Their days were filled with structured lessons—history, languages, diplomacy—and always followed by something practical: swordplay for Liam, dancing or embroidery for Sloane. While other children played in the streets, they were memorising trade routes or being taught how to address nobility at formal banquets.

Sloane learned how to dance at a ball at the age of eight, and Liam was a master of swordplay with a sharp mind for politics.

With a small smile on her lips at the memory of her brother struggling to remember the right trading routes she gets ready to embrace the day.

Chapter Text

“Oh, Miss Mairi, you’re already up. I didn’t know you were going to start the day quite this early. Otherwise, I would’ve come sooner,” her maid fusses as she enters Sloane’s room.

“You know, Greta, I’m 21 years old. I can get dressed on my own quite well,” Sloane responds, which earns her a disapproving glare.

“Should I remind you of the time you put your dress on inside out and then backwards, and didn’t notice until someone pointed it out to you?”

At that, Sloane rolls her eyes. It wasn’t her fault that all dresses these days looked exactly the same no matter which way you turned them.

She was already dressed for the day—a light shirt with her favorite pair of trousers (all the right way around) — but Greta still fusses to do her hair.

She secretly doesn’t like it when Greta does that. It makes her feel like a child again, not allowed to do things on her own—mundane things, like choosing her clothes or doing her own hair.

But it makes Greta feel useful, so she sits through those uncomfortable moments and lets her take care of her.

Sloane catches her eyes in the mirror after a few quiet minutes.

“Do you want to tell me why you’re up so early?” Greta asks her kindly as she brushes her hair.

Sloane sighs and looks away. “Oh, the usual, you know. Just seeing my brother die for the thousandth time. Leaves you with a pretty blue feeling, so you don’t want to close your eyes anymore in fear you’ll see it again.”

The brush stops.

“Still?”

Sloane just shrugs, still unable to meet her eyes.

“Oh, Miss… I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be. You can’t do anything about it.”

“Just because I can’t do anything about it doesn’t mean I can’t feel sorry for you. I can still give you my empathy and believe that such a lovely young miss shouldn’t feel the loss you’ve already felt.”

At that, Sloane finally looks back. Greta’s face is so full of understanding that she grows curious about what her maid has gone through herself.

“I miss him. Terribly. And I feel like I’m alone in missing him. Nobody talks about him anymore. My father is busy hunting the pirates he deems responsible for Liam’s death. And Mother just gets that glassy look in her eyes whenever I mention him, and I’m afraid she’s going to faint if I say anything more. So, I just… don’t.”

Greta muses over her words for a couple of seconds. Then she says, “I am here if you need to talk about him.”

“Thank you.”

Sloane means that sentiment. But her nightmares always make her overly emotional, and she knows if she talks about Liam any longer, she might cry. And she hates crying in the morning.

As if Greta can sense the shift in Sloane’s mood, she changes the topic.

“What do you want to do today?” she asks, raising the brush again and continuing to work on her hair.

“I have riding lessons in the morning. Hank finally agreed to take me to New Caldera. I heard they have a library with books dated hundreds of years back. After that, I’m probably meeting with Xaden.”

Greta raises one eyebrow at the mention of Xaden’s name. A whole-body shiver races through Sloane.

“How many times do I have to tell you that he is just a friend?”

“You just mention him a lot,” Greta says innocently.

“He’s like a brother. Just thinking about him any other way makes me want to throw up.”

Greta just chuckles and continues to braid Sloane’s hair so it hangs in a low ponytail.

Only when she deems her work sturdy enough to last a few hours on horseback does she finally leave Sloane’s room.

But not before squeezing her shoulder and whispering in her ear, “He would’ve liked the woman you became.”

It hits her like a brick, and she can only muster a small smile as she watches Greta go.

She takes a second to compose herself, then leaves to find her riding instructor, Hank.

For a long time, she hadn’t wanted to ride—hadn’t even wanted to be near horses. But eventually, she convinced her father to just let her try.

Turns out, she really had a way with them. And so, she and her parents came to an agreement: she could continue her training, as long as her instructor was always with her.

It was a little annoying—Hank could be a real mood killer—but she had learned to get used to his gruff demeanor. Eventually, she even discovered his weakness: lemon cookies.

That’s how she got him to agree to take her to New Caldera. She’d heard great things about their library and couldn’t wait to see it with her own eyes.

Sloane enters the stable where they keep their horses and heads straight to her favorite one. A smile instantly spreads across her face when she sees the familiar head turn her way.

“Hello, my girl,” she greets Thoirt, her chestnut mare. Thoirt had originally been deemed too difficult to handle. But, as it turned out, she had a soft spot for Sloane. And after a lot of convincing on her part, her parents had finally agreed to let Thoirt be officially hers.

“Are you excited for today?” she asks while stroking her head.

“You do know she’s never going to answer you, regardless of how many times you ask that question, right?”

Sloane glances at Thoirt after hearing that nasal voice. She swears she sees the mare roll her eyes.

“Thank you for the clarification, Hank. What would I do without you?” she says, turning to give him her sweetest smile.

“Enough chitchat. Do you want to tack her up yourself, or should I call someone to help you?”

She gives him a pointed glare.

“I’m sorry I asked. I’ll wait for you outside.” With that, he turns and leaves her alone.

She always found a sense of calm when grooming Thoirt and saddling her up. It cleared her mind, let her tune out the world.

It didn’t take long to get Thoirt, and then herself, ready. The kitchen staff had packed something to eat for the journey, and the stable boys helped secure it for the ride.

Just as she climbs up onto Thoirt, she sees a flash of familiar black hair. It’s accompanied by probably the most gorgeous man she has ever laid eyes on.

Xaden grins at her and strides toward them.

She had met him five years ago, after Liam’s death. He was an angel in disguise, helping her through the toughest time of her life.

If she’s being honest with herself—she did have a little crush on him when she first saw him. How could she not, when he looked like the gods had personally crafted him? He is unnaturally tall, with wide shoulders, heavily muscled arms, and—don’t even get her started on his face. She always found it deeply unfair that anyone could look that good.

But as she got to know him better, that crush transformed into something more delicate. She meant what she said to Greta earlier—she sees him more as a brother than anything else.

“Where are you going today?” he asks. His voice, usually low and gravelly, always softens when he speaks to her.

“I thought word got around quickly about where we’re going. I told Greta this morning, and I figured one of the other maids would’ve passed it on to you,” she teases.

“How many times do I have to tell you I hate when you assume I sleep around? You know that’s not true,” Xaden replies, rolling his eyes. She just smiles sweetly at him.

He steps up beside Thoirt to make sure the girth is secure.

“Where are you going?” he asks again.

“To New Caldera. I want to have a look at their library.”

She swears she sees his eyes widen at the mention of the town, but he quickly composes himself.

“That sounds nice. Have fun. Come find me when you’re back,” is all he says before turning around and heading into town.

Sloane watches him retreat with a flicker of confusion, just as Hank appears beside her.

“Let’s go. We’re already behind my planned schedule.”

And with that, they ride off.

The ride is peaceful and uneventful. The weather is in perfect condition, as is the road, so they reach the town after one and a half hours.

They round the corner to the library, and after she jumps down and stretches, Sloane gives Thoirt’s reins to Hank.

“Please don’t take too long. I know you were looking forward to this trip, but I don’t have all day.”

Hank and his way with words. She tries not to take it personally, so she just gives him a quick nod and turns toward the building.

The library in New Caldera doesn’t look like much from the outside—just an old stone structure with ivy creeping up the walls and a faded wooden sign swinging in the sea breeze.

But the moment Sloane steps inside, the smell of aged paper and candle wax wraps around her like a familiar cloak. The air is warm and still, heavy with dust and something older—knowledge, maybe.

Shelves packed tight with leather-bound books stretch from floor to ceiling. Some are chained in place, too valuable or too dangerous to be left unguarded. Scrolls peek out from cracked cubbyholes, and old maps line the walls—some marked with forgotten islands or winding trade routes through pirate waters.

Light filters through narrow windows, casting long shadows across the creaky floorboards. In the far corner, a frail man hunches over a table littered with quills, parchment, and ink stains. He doesn’t look up, just murmurs something in a language she doesn’t understand.

Sloane smiles. This is exactly the kind of place she dreamed it would be.

She quickly loses herself wandering the aisles, grazing the spines of the books with her fingertips and reading everything that catches her interest.

She must’ve been inside for about two hours when she hears Hank’s voice calling out, tone annoyed: “Miss Mairi, you need to wrap this up. The horses are getting restless, and I have another appointment today.”

“I’ll be right there,” she calls back, earning a disapproving glare from the man in the corner. She winces and turns back to the book in front of her.

She found it in the aisle where the books are chained to the shelves. It lay there—unchained—so she thought to have a look.

It’s an old one about the legends of the sea. The last chapter captures her attention most: it describes a treasure hidden on some lost island. It is said that whoever finds this treasure will become indestructible. There’s even a map that shows the way to the hidden island.

The whole chapter is loose, already falling out of the book.

“Miss Mairi!” Hank calls again, his irritation clearer now.

With one last look around, she pockets the loose chapter—intending to bring it back after reading it again and rushes outside.

“Finally. Took you long enough. We need to hurry up if I want to make my appointment.”

Hank doesn’t give her time to respond as he swings into the saddle and looks at her accusingly.

“I’m sorry,” she says before mounting Thoirt herself, and they begin their ride back home.

Hank practically flies out of the saddle the moment they return to the stable.

Sloane, on the other hand, takes her time—grooming Thoirt one last time before venturing out into town to find Xaden.

She searches everywhere for him but can’t find a trace. After her third round through town, she gives up and heads back home.

The whole trip took longer than expected, so she decides to have an early dinner in her room and read the story of the lost treasure again.

Maybe she can even find something in her parents’ library to elaborate on the legend.

She searches the entire library but finds nothing that matches the story closely enough. She even flips through old maps, hoping to spot some detail about the hidden island, but to no avail.

And so, the hours slip by. When she finally looks outside again, the sun has already set.

As she returns to her room and gets ready for bed, her thoughts return to the story for the hundredth time.

This night, she doesn’t dream of Liam—

but instead of an adventure to find a place that doesn’t want to be found.

She wakes to voices in her bedroom.

It takes her a moment to register that those voices are real—and not part of a dream.

“I’m just saying, if I were a girl, I’d totally have a hidden compartment somewhere,” whispers the first voice.

It’s male and coming from somewhere to her left.

“And where would you build that?” a second male voice whispers back, from the same direction. They must be by her desk.

She carefully cracks one eye open and sees two tall, dark-clothed figures standing there, obviously looking for something.

“Why would she need so much paper? It’s like she wants to write a book,” the first voice whispers in awe.

“Some people like to write, Ridoc. Maybe you would too, if you’d learned how to do it,” the second replies dryly.

“Why would I waste my energy on writing when I can get others to do it for me?”

“You really are hopeless.”

Sloane has had enough.

While the two men bicker over literacy, she silently gets up and moves to the fireplace. She grabs the poker, then turns to face them.

“What are you doing in my room?”

The two men flinch almost comically. It takes everything in her not to laugh.

“Holy shit, you’re quiet,” says the first one, clutching his chest. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Her humour vanishes quickly—she reminds herself that she’s standing in her room, alone, with two tall, unfamiliar, and now that she gets a better look, armed men.

She grips the poker tighter.

The second man notices and slowly raises his hands in a surrendering gesture.

“We’re not here to hurt you,” he says calmly. “We’re just looking for a book you might have.”

“Why would I have a book that interests you?” she asks. “You don’t strike me as the type to read much.”

“Why? Because we’re strong men who only like to fight?” Ridoc asks with a grin.

“No—because you can’t read if you don’t even know how to write.”

The second man lets out a sharp laugh, which he quickly muffles with a cough, while Ridoc mutters, “Ouch.”

“Did you go to New Caldera today?” the second man asks, regaining his composure.

“Why?” Sloane replies, wary.

“There’s a book—about legends of the sea. Did you see it?”

“Why?”

“It’s important to us.”

“Why?”

“You sound like a broken record.”

“Ridoc! Not helpful,” the other snaps, then turns back to her. “Look, all we know is our captain wants that book—and he thinks you have it.”

“You’re pirates?” she asks, stunned.

Ridoc makes a face that says Obviously.

“Yeah, well, I don’t have it,” Sloane throws back.

“We were at the library. The only important part of the book was missing. He put two and two together.”

Realisation hits her. “The loose chapter,” she mutters, moving to her nightstand—still holding the poker.

When she turns back with the pages in hand, she hears Ridoc mutter, “I called it. Secret compartment.” While the other one mutters, “Next time I’m taking Bodhi.”

Sloane rolls her eyes at that childlike behaviour of the two - what great pirates they make.

“Why does your captain want this chapter?”, she asks.

“For personal reasons,” Ridoc says.

“Not good enough.”

“We really can’t tell you more,” the second man says gently. “Just give us the pages and we’re gone. You can go back to sleep, and we’ll be back on our ship.”

“I want to come with you.”

Silence. For the first time since she woke, they’re just staring at her.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” the second one finally replies.

“Then I won’t give you the pages.”

“It’s really not an option.”

“Again—no pages unless I come with you.”

“We could just take them, you know.”

“Try,” she challenges, lifting an eyebrow.

“We’re running out of time, Garrick,” Ridoc says. “Let’s just take her with us. The captain can explain. Then she can come back. But we really need to go.”

Garrick glares at him. “He’s going to kill us. They’re both going to kill us,” he mutters, then lets out a deep sigh and turns to Sloane. “You have five minutes to get dressed.”

Three minutes later, they’re on the way to the port.

Sloane’s blood hums with excitement and curiosity. She doesn’t know what came over her—but the moment they asked for the chapter, she knew she had to follow.

That’s when she sees the ship. And her blood turns to ice.

She would recognise those blue sails anywhere—they’ve haunted her dreams for years.

Still, she walks all the way up onto the deck.

A hand involuntarily flies to her mouth as she sees the figure waiting there. She’d recognise that massive frame anywhere.

And then Xaden smiles at her—that familiar, impossible smile—and says,

“Welcome aboard the Nightvein, Sloane.”

Chapter Text

The only thing Sloane could do is stare at him. And then she laughs. She laughs so much that she doubles over, clutching her belly because it hurt.

She tries to compose herself a couple of times, but every time she looks at Xaden, the laughter starts again.

“Are you finished?” he asks after five minutes.

“I’m sorry,” she says between laughs, “but this is all just so ridiculous. Oh my god, I really thought I’d be standing in front of a real pirate crew. But I mean, come on—those guys in my room? Next time you prank someone with this story, make sure you hire believable pirates.”

“Again, ouch,” says Ridoc from behind her.

“This isn’t a prank, Sloane. My name is Xaden Riorson. I’m the son of Fen Riorson and the rightful captain of the Nightvein,” Xaden says with so much authority that the laughter dies in her throat.

“You’re the captain?” Sloane asks, her voice laced with confusion. “I thought your father was the captain.”

“It’s a long story.”

“Then tell me.”

“Sloane, we really don’t have the time. Do you have the chapter?” Xaden asks, growing more and more impatient.

“Why do you need this chapter so badly?” she asks, growing more frustrated.

“It doesn’t need to concern you. Just—please—give it to me.”

“I won’t give it to you unless you explain why it’s so important.”

“Now you know what we meant. She’s stubborn as hell,” Ridoc interjected. The look Xaden throws at him is downright deadly.

Ridoc pales slightly and quickly backs away. “Oh well, did you guys hear that? I think Bodhi just called me. Let me go check really quick,” he says, disappearing into the room behind him.

“Can you just tell me what this is all about?” Sloane asks Xaden, whose eyes are still locked on the doorway Ridoc vanished through.

He slowly turns back to her, sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Okay, I guess we’re doing this now.”

“Doing what now?”

“If I’m going to explain everything, you need to let me talk and stay quiet, okay?”

Sloane raises an eyebrow at his tone but then nods for him to continue.

He takes a deep breath and begins.

“My father was called the ‘King of Pirates’ long before I was even born. He ruled the sea, was merciless and cruel. But because of that, he was respected among the other pirates. Ans, as you can imagine, that kind of power makes a lot of enemies. One of them is Captain Col Aetos.”

Sloane had heard of him before. A Spanish captain, described as even more cruel than Fen Riorson. He’d been sailing the English sea for almost two decades, tormenting both the government and local pirates with his hunger for power.

“Captain Aetos saw my father as his greatest threat, but he didn’t have the followers or resources to do anything about it. Until five years ago.” He paused and looked at her.

Her heart starts to beat faster and faster. A thousand questions burning in her mouth, but she lets Xaden talk.

“We were on our way back from a trading journey when they attacked us. We weren’t prepared or armed well enough to fight them, so we did the only thing we could—we tried to outrun them. The Nightvein is one of the fastest ships. Normally, it wouldn’t have been a problem. But that day, it was very foggy.”

No, Sloane thinks.

“We really didn’t mean to crash into you that day,” she hears Xaden say through the ringing in her ears. “You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Her whole body feels like it is on fire. She suddenly feels lightheaded from holding her breath too long.

“So you mean to say that my brother died that day because you all were too much of cowards to face your opponent?” she asks after a moment.

He takes a deep breath. “What I’m about to say might come as a surprise to you. But you need to promise to hear me out, okay?” he says, now looking noticeably paler.

“What can you possibly say to me that’s more of a surprise than what you just told me?”

“Promise me you’ll hear me out,” he repeats.

“Fine. I promise.”

“Okay, here we go,” he says, shaking out his hands and taking a deep breath. “Liam is alive.”

Everything … stops.

The wild thumping of her heart. The buzzing in her ears. The heat in her veins.

Everything just fades—until only three words remained in her mind.

Liam is alive.

And then she snaps.

With a speed she never knew she could muster, she charges at Xaden—only to be caught by strong arms at the last moment.

“Do you know what I’ve been through since the moment I saw my brother in that water? Do you know how I’ve suffered these last five years, day in and day out?” she screams in his face, struggling against the arms holding her back.

“Please, let me explain, Sloane,” Xaden pleads.

“Let you explain how you denied me the truth for five years? How you let me live in a world without him?”

“You promised to hear me out. I promise I’ll tell you the whole truth now. Just… please, Sloane, give me a chance to explain what happened.”

She studies him—the pleading look in his eyes, the genuine remorse in his voice. The fire inside her begins to dim, and finally, she nods. The arms around her fall away, and when she turns, she sees Garrick watching her with quiet sympathy.

She feels sick to her stomach and turns back to Xaden.

“You left pretty quickly after we collided,” he begins. “We were quite far ahead of the Hellmaw—that’s Captain Aetos’ ship—and in the fog, we could breathe for a moment. That’s when we saw Liam in the water. We thought he was dead, but we brought him aboard to make sure. He was unconscious, had swallowed a lot of water… but he was alive.

“He drifted in and out for days, only saying, ‘Where is she?’ and ‘Is she safe?’ At first, we didn’t understand what he meant. But after four days, he finally woke up for real. We told him what happened, where he was. He asked if someone else had been in the water with him. A girl. I guess he thought you’d fallen in too.

“Once we assured him he was the only one, we offered to take him home. But… he didn’t want to go. He begged us to let him stay. Said it would be his honour to sail with us. Said he didn’t want the life that waited for him when he returned.”

Silent tears stream down Sloane’s face. In the final years she’d had with Liam, she’d seen something change. He smiled less. Tasks were met with indifference. But she never knew it was this bad. That he would rather be dead to them than return.

As if he can hear her spiralling thoughts, Xaden continues, “But he never stopped talking about you, Sloane. Every day. He’d say how you could light up a room just by walking in. How fearless you were. Kind. Brave. Brilliant. Loyal. He wanted to come get you—but not until our fight with Aetos was over. He wanted to keep you safe. And that could only happen if Aetos was no longer a threat.”

Sloane swallows the lump in her throat.

“We planned for years,” Xaden says. “I was asked to keep an eye on you while Liam couldn’t. I spent my days near you, my nights on the ship. We tried plan after plan. But we took too long. A few months ago, Aetos ambushed us. We didn’t stand a chance. He killed my father… and took Liam prisoner.”

Sloane’s blood runs cold, and a dark anger rises inside her.

“I’m certain he’s still alive,” Xaden adds quickly. “If he were dead, Aetos would’ve made sure we knew. He’d have taunted us with it.”

But that doesn’t calm her—it only sharpens the fury.

“But—and here’s the fun part—we’ve got something Aetos wants,” Xaden says. “The key to becoming indestructible.”

He pauses for dramatic effect.

“There’s an old legend. A treasure hidden on a lost island. Only one map exists. The treasure isn’t gold—it’s a cure. It heals everything. You’ll never be sick or injured again. It’s even It’s even rumoured… to bring back the dead.”

The pieces fall into place in Sloane’s mind. The story from the library. The chapter she took.

“It’s the story from the chapter I found,” she murmurs.

“Yes!” Xaden says, nearly breathless. “And a little birdie told us Captain Aetos’ son, Dain, is after it too. He was seen yesterday in New Caldera. We don’t know if he’s working with his father or acting alone, but either way—we need to find that cure before he does. It’s our only shot at getting Liam back.”

Her decision is made before he even finishes.

“I’m coming with you,” she says firmly.

“Not a chance,” Xaden replies instantly, like he knew it was coming.

“If you think there’s a world in which I don’t come with you to rescue my brother—after believing he was dead for five years—then you don’t know me at all, Xaden Riorson.”

He stares at her with those dark eyes and a deadly glare, but she’s not afraid. She knows, in her heart, that this is the path she needs to take. So, she stares right back.

After a long moment, he deflates.

“There’s no arguing with you, is there?”

“No.”

“Fine ... I’ll talk with Garrick and Ridoc while Violence shows you around,” he says, turning to leave.

Just as she’s about to ask who “Violence” is, a small woman appears in front of her.

Sloane flinches so hard her teeth clack together.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you,” the woman says sweetly. She has brown hair with silver ends braided neatly down her back. She definitely doesn’t look like someone called Violence.

“My real name’s Violet,” she adds, like she can read Sloane’s thoughts. “Only Xaden calls me Violence.”

Sloane senses there’s a story behind that, but she holds her questions.

“I’m Sloane,” she replies.

“I know. Liam talked about you all the time. We’re actually good friends,” Violet says with a warm smile.

Sloane opens her mouth to argue that Violet has no claim on her brother, but Violet speaks again.

“If it were up to me, I wouldn’t have held you back. It’s time someone showed Xaden he doesn’t get to walk around with a god complex.” Violet links her arm through Sloane’s and starts walking toward the door Ridoc disappeared through. “I can already tell—we’re going to be great friends.”

Chapter Text

Sloane had been on quite a few ships before. Her parents owned three, and then there was that time she and Liam lived on a massive ship for a week.

She had never thought of them as beautiful, though. Loud, damp—maybe exciting in the abstract—but never beautiful.

Until now.

“This way,” Violet chirps, her arm still looped through Sloane’s as if they’ve been friends for years. “Mind the ropes.”

They step onto the main deck of the Nightvein, and Sloane’s breath catches in her throat.

They’d stood in a secluded, dark corner before, so she hadn’t had a good view of the whole ship. But now that the clouds had cleared and the moon hung bright in the sky, she could see everything clearly.

The ship is massive, but not bulky. Every line looks like it was carved by the wind and sea. Midnight-blue sails stretch high into the sky, the mast swaying gently in the breeze.

The deck beneath her feet is worn smooth by years of boots and battle stories, the wooden floorboards creaking under her weight.

There’s an energy here—like the ship is alive beneath her.

“She’s fast,” Violet says with a proud smile, clearly noticing Sloane’s silence. “Built for speed, not show. Xaden had her reinforced after the last cannonball incident.”

“Incident?” Sloane asks as they navigate their way around a barrel of coiled rope.

Violet chuckles quietly. “Long story. Let’s just say it involved Ridoc, rum, and an unfortunate misunderstanding with a navy patrol boat. The rest I’m leaving open for your own interpretation.”

She gestures toward the stern. “Captain’s quarters are back there—off-limits unless you want your eyebrows singed by his glare. Galley’s below deck, and so are the sleeping quarters. Women have the privilege here of having their own bunks, so you’ll probably room with me. This way you don’t have to deal with Garrick’s snoring, and Imogen can keep her sacred private chamber.”

As they walk, they weave past crew members tightening ropes and checking crates. Everyone moves with purpose. Like clockwork. Like a family that doesn’t need to speak to know what needs to be done.

Sloane nods slowly, trying to absorb it all—the tang of salt in the wind, the distant cry of gulls. Even though the ship buzzes with life, she somehow feels peaceful. Calm, even.

And with a pang in her heart, she understands why Liam chose not to come back. She can see him fitting perfectly into the scenery before her.

While her thoughts spiral, Violet leads her to the rail. She taps the polished wood and says, “They say the Nightvein can outpace any storm. Don’t know if that’s true, but she’s never failed us.”

Sloane runs her fingers along the railing. “She’s… incredible.”

“I know.” Violet beams, then tilts her head, observing Sloane. “Before you meet the crew, we need to get you into new clothes.”

“What’s wrong with my clothes?”

Violet shoots her a pointed look and gestures at Sloane’s outfit.

In the rush to leave with Ridoc and Garrick, she’d thrown on her riding trousers from earlier and a thick wool tunic. Underneath, she still wore her nightgown—and she’d forgotten to put on socks.

Violet has a point.

“Come on. I’m sure we can find you something decent to wear. Then, you can meet the crew.”

“Well, I think we need to ask Imogen later if she has some spare clothes for you,” Violet says fifteen minutes later, regarding Sloane with a slight grimace.

She’d given Sloane some linen pants she described as sturdy yet comfortable at the waist and loose yet functional on the legs. What they didn’t consider was that Sloane was about six inches taller than Violet — so the pants looked more like children’s clothing.

“I look ridiculous,” Sloane sighs as she spins around to look at herself.

“You don’t—” On the last word, Violet lets out a sudden laugh but quickly recovers. “You don’t look ridiculous.”

Sloane raises her eyebrows at her.

“You don’t look very ridiculous. Only a bit.”

At that, Sloane laughs herself. “I’m just gonna change into my old trousers,” she says as she moves to take off the pants.

“We don’t have time. The buttons take too long to open, and the sun is starting to rise. That means we need to set sail soon, and everyone will be too busy to greet you. I want you to meet them before all that,” Violet says, taking Sloane’s arm and practically pulling her through the door.

For a woman that small, she is extraordinarily strong.

Sloane ducks her head as she follows Violet down the narrow steps and into the heart of the ship. The space is warm, filled with the cackle of the fire-hearth and the murmur of low voices.

“Don’t let them intimidate you,” Violet turns to her before the opening. “Half of them are more bark than bite. Especially Ridoc. You’ll see.”

With that, she enters the room — and a wave of mixed scents hits Sloane right in the face. The air inside the galley is thick with the smell of stew and sea salt, a mix both comforting and slightly off-putting.

She takes in the people before her. There are six people hunched over a long table in the middle of the room. And just like the crew on deck, she can see that they work in tandem here as well — the way they pass food and step around each other at exactly the right time.

Like a perfectly studied dance.

“What did Cookie create for us this time?” Violet asks as she saunters over to the table and picks up two apples.

“For once, nothing you could use to try and repair the sh—” Ridoc starts, but the last bit of his sentence is cut off because he looks up, spots Sloane in her tiny trousers, and starts to laugh.

“What— What are—” he tries to say a few times, but every time he looks at her, he starts to laugh even harder.

She has much more empathy for Xaden now that she knows how annoying this feels.

“I think what he means to say is ‘What are you wearing?’” a guy says from her left. He looks suspiciously like Xaden. A much friendlier and more approachable Xaden.

“I’m sorry, but you look like you’re wearing children’s clothing,” Ridoc says through his laughter.

Sloane shoots Violet a pointed ‘I told you so’ look as she comes back to her and hands her one of the apples.

“That’s what I wanted to talk about with you, Imogen,” Violet says, looking toward a woman with short, pink hair. She is pretty in a tough way — like she’d know her effect on people and purposely uses that against them.

“As long as that gets Ridoc to shut up, I’m happy to help,” Imogen says, not once looking up from her bowl of whatever they’re eating.

“But she looks so good in them,” Ridoc cackles, just as Xaden walks past him and gives him a light slap on the back of the head.

“It’s really not that funny. Grow up. Be ready in twenty.” With that, he walks back outside — but not without giving one final glance to Violet.

Sloane really needs to ask about the history of those two when she’s alone with Violet.

“But imagine how boring your life would be without me,” Ridoc calls after him.

“Yes, our lives would be colourless and meaningless without you,” Garrick says, clutching his heart theatrically.

“You are hot as hell, Tavis, but I’m not getting between you and whatever you have with Imogen. That woman is scary as fuck,” Ridoc says and shoots a wink at Imogen.

At that comment, Garrick starts coughing hard, and even Imogen looks up from her bowl, shooting Ridoc a glare that matches Xaden’s in menace.

“Where are our manners?” Violet cuts in, obviously trying to deflate the situation. “I think it’s time for introductions.”

“We don’t have manners to begin with,” Ridoc mutters.

“You don’t really have a sense for when to finally shut up, do you?” Imogen says.

Sloane watches all this with a smile on her face. They really are a big family of idiots.

“Ridoc you’ve already met,” Violet says to her. “He actually joined the crew only a few months before Liam did. A nobleman’s son as well, if you’d imagine. But the sea called him, as the saying goes.”

Ridoc, who grins at Sloane, goes distant for a short moment, as if he remembers the life he had before his time here. But he’s quickly back with his goofy demeanor.

“The trousers were too tight and the rum tasted too expensive,” he shrugs.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Sloane says.

Imogen snorts. “I’d like you to say that again after a week in close proximity with him.”

“That is Imogen,” Violet says next. “She’s the one to help you out in any emergency you can imagine. And she’s exactly as mean as she looks.”

“It would be a shame to lose my reputation,” Imogen says.

“That big bear in the chair next to her is Garrick,” Violet continues.

“I remember,” Sloane says. “You were in my room and held me back when I tried to attack Xaden.”

Garrick gives her a grimacing smile. “I have to say, you’re stronger than you look.”

“Thank you?”

“You’re welcome.”

“He’s Xaden’s third in command and one of the longest-serving crew members here. His father was friends with Fen, so they practically grew up together. And if you feel like the ship is going to break apart in the night, don’t worry — it’s with great certainty Garrick’s snoring,” Violet says.

“And if you’re wondering why this one—” she points to the man on the left, “looks suspiciously like Xaden, it’s because he’s Xaden’s cousin.”

“This one has the name Bodhi,” he says.

“He’s the second in command and probably the one with the most common sense here,” Violet muses.

Sloane smiles at him, and he returns it. She can already tell that this statement is true. He oozes a sense of calm and clear-headed clarity.

“That old cranky man in the background is Cookie. He’s — surprise — the cook. Most of his meals are edible. You just need to get used to it,” Violet says.

“Then there’s Cat. She’s actually more bite than bark, so maybe avoid her as much as you can,” Ridoc continues.

“And the twins, Tommy and Timmy. They’re weirdly attached at the hip,” Garrick says. “And don’t fret when you’re not able to tell them apart. I’ve known them since they joined, and… I still can’t.”

“They’re actually really easy to tell apart, but I mean, you are a man, so I guess it’s not your fault that you’re not so attentive,” Imogen says, patting his arm.

Sloane swears she sees his cheeks blush at the contact.

“Oh, and don’t forget Karl,” Ridoc throws in.

“What does he do?” Sloane asks.

“We actually have no idea,” Bodhi says, which makes Sloane laugh.

“Quit your chitchat! The ship doesn’t sail herself!” Xaden calls from upstairs.

They all groan but stand to follow his order. Sloane moves to join them, but Imogen’s hand on her arm stops her.

“We really need to give you a new pair of trousers first. The crew wouldn’t be able to concentrate if you keep looking like that.”

“Where are we going?” Sloane asks Bodhi. She’s in a new — and much more comfortable — pair of trousers. After she and Imogen returned from her room, she was handed off to Bodhi. It seems like Violet had more important duties than babysitting her.

“To an island called Aretia. It’s about a two-day trip,” he answers.

“What are we doing there?”

“Besides the best rum on the western ocean? There’s an old crew member we need — someone who can help us reach Therassa.”

Therassa.

The name echoes in her chest - It’s the island where the cure is said to be.

“Come on. I show you how we sail.“

The first morning blurred past in a haze of salt, sunlight, and shouted instructions. The sails snapped like dragon wings overhead, casting long, moving shadows across the deck. Sloane was still getting her sea legs — which apparently meant she’d be bumping into everything and everyone until further notice.

She tried to help where she could. Mostly that meant carrying things, tying things, or getting told not to touch things.

“You’re doing great,” Violet said, handing her a slice of bread and patting her on the shoulder. “Most people puke on their first day.”

Sloane didn’t puke. But she did come close during a particularly enthusiastic roll of the ship that sent her staggering into Garrick. He caught her without blinking, steadied her, and said, “You’re really doing great.”

By the end of the first day, her hands were raw and her thighs ached from the constant bracing and crouching and climbing. She had salt in her hair and splinters in places she didn’t think wood should reach. And still — somehow — she didn’t hate it.

The second day started before dawn. The sea was calm, dark and glassy under the early light. From the crow’s nest, Tommy (or maybe Timmy — she hadn’t cracked that code yet) called something down in a singsong voice, and the ship came alive again. Orders echoed from the quarterdeck, boots pounded the floor, and the sails shifted with a sound like thunder cracking in reverse.

Bodhi found her near the bow and handed her a mug of something hot. It was awful — bitter and smoky — but it warmed her hands and made her feel like she belonged, just a little.

The crew, for all their chaos and noise, moved in fluent motion. Like the strange, mismatched family they are. They bickered constantly, tossed insults like knives, and yet — not once did someone falter. Everyone knew where to be. When to move. How to catch the line before it snapped.

Even Sloane was starting to learn. Imogen gave her a crash course in knot-work that ended with both of them tangled in rope and Violet laughing so hard she cried. Ridoc tried to convince her the ship had a ghost in the hull. Garrick showed her how to brace her knees properly when the ship pitched.

And Liam… Liam was everywhere and nowhere at once. In the jokes they told. In the stories that trailed off into silence. In the way Bodhi’s eyes softened whenever he mentioned his name.

That night, they arrived in Aretia.

Sloane was exhausted after the two-day journey, but she still insisted on joining the others to meet the mysterious ex-crew member. They hadn’t told her much—only that this person was a brilliant strategist and essential to the journey ahead.

“Try to stay close,” Violet says as they step off the ship. “Aretia’s usually safe-ish, but it’s night, and… well, you never know.”

So, Sloane sticks close.

Until she doesn’t.

She’s too distracted by the vibrant streets around her—low buildings made of sun-bleached wood, lanterns casting golden pools of light, and the buzz of evening life echoing through alleyways. In the daze of motion and color, she misses the turn the crew takes.

She stops suddenly when she can no longer spot Violet’s silver hair or Imogen’s unmistakable pink one.

A man collides into her back, making her stumble forward.

“If you stop in the middle of the street, don’t be surprised when someone walks into you,” a cranky voice grumbles behind her.

She turns—and freezes. The man’s face is weathered, his eyes bloodshot, and his breath reeks of alcohol. He rakes his gaze down her body, and her stomach churns.

“Well well, would you look at that,” he slurs with a grin, revealing several missing teeth. “A real feast for the eyes.”

“I’m sorry I stopped,” Sloane says evenly, “but I need to get going.”

She tries to sidestep him, but he moves with her.

“I’m sure you’ve got a few minutes for me,” he says, leaning in close enough for her to smell the rot and rum on his breath.

“I really don’t.”

“Don’t be such a stuck-up little bi—”

“Didn’t you hear the lady?”

The voice cuts through the air like a blade. Deep and melodic. Laced with a soft accent—Spanish, maybe, Sloane thinks. Every syllable commands attention, wrapping around her like velvet and steel.

The man in front of her startles and stumbles back at the voice, then turns toward its source. His eyes widen.

“I—I’m sorry,” he mutters.

“Don’t apologise to me,” the stranger says calmly. “She’s the one who deserves it.”

Sloane looks up at him. And her breath catches.

The first thing she notices is that he’s tall. Like, really tall. Broad-shouldered. His hair is a light brown shade and curls slightly on the base of his neck. It’s held back by a red bandana, which makes his face much more visible. His features are sharp but not unkind—a strong nose, full lips, and a small mole just above his upper lip.

In the dim streetlight, his eyes look nearly black, but something about them feels warm. Watchful.

And he’s already looking at her.

In that moment, she feels seen in a way she never has before. It’s disarming. Electric.

“I’m sorry,” the drunk mutters, drawing her attention back.

“Do you accept his apology?” the stranger asks, never breaking eye contact.

“I do,” she says, her voice quieter than she expected.

“I wouldn’t let you off so easily,” the man tells the drunk. “But I’m feeling merciful tonight. Now get lost before I change my mind.”

The drunk doesn’t hesitate—he scurries off into the shadows.

For a long moment, neither of them speaks, just looking at each other.

“Thank you,” Sloane says, breathless.

“You shouldn’t be walking alone at night,” he replies, circling slowly around her with his hands behind his back. “Didn’t your parents teach you that?”

“They also told me not to talk to strangers,” she replies, raising an eyebrow. “And yet, here I am.”

A soft laugh escapes him. “What drives such a gorgeous woman into the alleyways of such an ugly town?”

The compliment lands like a spark on kindling. But before she can respond—

“Sloane? Sloane, where are you?” Violet’s voice cuts through the street.

“I’m here!” she calls back, turning—only to find the stranger gone.

She blinks. He’s nowhere. Like he vanished into thin air.

Violet jogs over, breathless. “What are you doing over here?”

Sloane hesitates. She considers telling the truth. But something inside her keeps it close.

“Just… looking around.”

Violet eyes her, skeptical, but lets it go. She loops her arm through Sloane’s again and leads her back the way she came.

“Come on. I want you to meet my brother.”

Chapter Text

“Sloane.”

The name echoed in his mind like the last note of a song he never wanted to end. It lingered — soft and haunting — imprinting itself into every corner of his thoughts like a melody that was stuck in your mind.

He should have walked away.

But it was already too late.

She had threaded herself into his bones — quietly, irrevocably — and now that he’d felt the magnetic force of her presence, the quiet and steady music of her voice, he knew: he would not be able to stay away.

Not for long. Not forever.

Something in him, something unnamable, had already begun to shift.

Even if no one had told Sloane that Brennan was Violet’s brother, she would’ve guessed it instantly.

They shared that rare kind of understanding—an instinct for people that made you feel seen, heard. Like you could tell them every secret you’d ever sworn to keep, and they’d never hold it against you.

There was something steady in him, a quiet loyalty that hummed beneath the surface. Sloane saw it in the way he was simply present the moment they stepped into his home.

His first words weren’t a greeting, but a question: “What do you need?”

No judgment. No hesitation. Just support.

Now, the fire crackled low in the hearth as silence settled over the room. The only other sounds were the muffled voices drifting in from the street and the soft thump, thump, thump of Ridoc tossing an orange into the air and catching it, over and over again.

They’d spent the past hour filling Brennan in on everything that had happened in the last three days.

“So, Dain’s also after the cure,” Brennan says at last, leaning forward. “Do we know why?”

“We just said we don’t,” Imogen replies, rolling her eyes.

“Maybe you forgot something,” Brennan says mildly.

“Well, we didn’t,” Imogen snaps. “Dain is after it, and if he gets his hands on that map, we’re fucked.”

“Why would it be so bad?” Sloane asks before she could stop herself.

The name Dain hadn’t meant anything to her before. But now, watching how it twisted the air in the room, how every muscle in the crew’s bodies tensed at its mention—she was curious.

Imogen exhales through her nose, annoyed but willing to explain. “Dain is the son of Captain Col Aetos. You might know him by another name—” she pauses, looking at Sloane. “The Red Reaver.”

Her breath catches. She had heard of him.

Everyone had.

The Red Reaver was a legend — A pirate known not for glory, but for blood.

If someone wanted a job done that was too dirty, too violent, too impossible, they called him. And if a pirate wanted another pirate gone, but didn’t want the stain of it, they also called him.

Sloane had grown up hearing the fishermen in her town say that if things got too bloody for you, they were just bloody enough for the Red Reaver.

“I think Violet can tell you a little more about him,” Imogen continues, cutting through Sloanes thoughts.

Sloane turns to Violet—only to find her gaze fixed, not on Sloane, but on Xaden. His jaw is clenched, his whole posture taut.

“We grew up together,” Violet says at last, still not looking away from him. “Dain, Brennan, me and our sister Mira.”

She swallows. “He was left in our parents’ care when his father was at sea—which was pretty much always.

“We used to ride horses, climb trees, cause all kinds of mischief. Drove our parents mad.” A small smile ghosts across her lips as she looks at her brother. Brennan mirrors it.

“But then, one day, his father came back.” Her voice lowers, eyes growing distant. “No warning. He literally dragged Dain back to his ship like he was cargo not his son. Dain cried. He begged him to stay with us. But he took him anyway.”

She pauses. The fire pops in the silence.

“I saw him again a few years later,” she continues, quieter now. “But he wasn’t the same. It was like staring at a stranger instead of a friend. Gone was his boyish grin. His curious eyes. I don’t know what his father did to him. Maybe I don’t want to know. But it was enough to make him try to kill me.”

No one says after that.

Even Ridoc stops tossing the orange.

“We don’t know if he’s after the cure for his father, some other power-hungry pirate, or for himself. We just know we need to reach it before he does,” Violet concludes.

“Well, that was depressing,” Ridoc throws in, now peeling his orange — breaking the tension so effectively that Sloane chuckles at his absurdity.

At her smile, his own grows wider, like making someone laugh is his life’s mission and he’s just fulfilled it.

“You look so much like your brother when you smile,” Brennan says, and just like that, Sloane stops smiling.

She turns toward him. He’s watching her with a gentle look in his eyes.

“Even when you frown, you’ve got that same little crease between your brows, just like him.”

“Oh, you’re right. I hadn’t noticed before, but it does look like Liam,” Garrick says, leaning forward as if to inspect her better.

“If you want a closer look, just come here. But be warned, I’m stronger than I look,” she says, tilting her head.

That earns her a round of laughter from the whole room. Even Xaden cracks a smile.

“You know how to sail?” Brennan asks once the room settles again.

“Bodhi showed me around a bit, and Imogen taught me how to tie knots. I’m really good at tying knots,” she replies, a little proudly.

“If you mean good in the sense of trapping us in the rope, then yes. You’re excellent,” Imogen deadpans.

“A sturdy knot can be very practical… if you know what I mean,” Ridoc adds, waggling his eyebrows while chewing a mouthful of orange.

“Oh, I know how you like a little rope play,” Brennan fires back, leaning against the table with a grin.

Ridoc gasps so dramatically he chokes on his orange. “Brennan! Not in front of your sister!”

“Please,” Violet says, deadpan. “I lived with you two on the same boat for three years. I heard enough to haunt me for life.”

“I wanna go,” Ridoc mutters, standing up. “I don’t want to have this conversation ever, so I’m just gonna go.”

“If you make those jokes, live with the consequences,” Bodhi calls after him.

“I can’t hear you!” Ridoc shouts over his shoulder as he disappears into the night.

Sloane can only smile as she watches the scene unfold. It’s almost laughable that she ever thought these pirates were dangerous.

“If we want to set sail tomorrow, I suggest we all get some sleep. It’s a long journey,” Xaden says, and just like that, the room begins to scatter.

They make plans with Brennan to meet at the ship at sunrise — he has business to attend to first.

As they walk back, they pass the alley where Sloane met the stranger. Between meeting Brennan and hearing Dain’s story, she had almost forgotten the encounter.

Almost.

Something tells her she won’t be forgetting it anytime soon.

Back on the ship, Sloane doesn’t feel tired. She climbs to the quarterdeck, needing air, needing stillness.

It’s no surprise when her thoughts go straight to Liam. She wonders what he’s doing right now. If he’s thinking about her, too.

She misses him. She can’t wait to see him again.

Then her mind drifts — to Dain and his father.

If they think some mythical cure will stop her from reaching the people she loves… they clearly haven’t met her yet.

(Which, technically, they haven’t. But the sentiment still stands.)

And then… the stranger. His voice. His eyes. The magnetic pull that still hums in her bones. She wonders if she’ll ever see him again.

And what she’d do if she did.

“Can’t sleep?” a voice says behind her, making her jump.

Bodhi steps beside her, hands tucked into his pockets.

“Not tired,” she answers. “You?”

“Just got out of a debrief with Xaden and Garrick. Saw you out here. Thought I’d offer some company… unless you’d rather be alone.”

“It’s fine. I like your company,” she says, nudging him with her elbow. “I actually have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“What’s the deal with the relationships on this ship? I swear I’m sensing tension from at least five different couples.”

Bodhi chuckles. “I was wondering when you’d ask.”

Sloane raises a brow, waiting.

“Well, first we’ve got Ridoc and Brennan. That started, what, four years ago? A year ago Brennan left the Nightvein to take over more land-side business. But you saw them earlier — doesn’t take long for those two to fall right back into rhythm. I’d say they’re reuniting right now.”

She can see it. Ridoc’s chaos and Brennan’s calm — a perfect balance.

“Then there’s Imogen and Garrick,” Bodhi continues. “They’ve been dancing around each other for years. It’s honestly exhausting. They just toss each other these lovesick glances and never do anything about it.”

“Why not?” Sloane asks.

“I think they’re scared,” he says, voice a little quieter now. “Which makes no sense. Time is short at sea. If they don’t act soon… they’ll run out.”

A distant look crosses his face, as if he’s remembering something — or someone.

“I think I can guess the next couple,” Sloane says, trying to steer the conversation somewhere lighter.

“Violet and Xaden,” they say at the same time.

“You’d be surprised by all the drama behind those two,” Bodhi laughs.

“Try me.”

“Have you met Cat yet?” he asks.

“Only in passing. I accidentally got in her way, and she told me if I was just going to stand around like that, I might as well walk the plank and drown.”

“Oh, so you caught her on a good day.”

“If this was her good day, I don’t think I want to know what a bad one looks like.”

“Smart,” he grins. “She and Xaden were a thing for quite a while.”

Sloane whips her head toward him so fast she’s surprised it doesn’t snap.

“Really?”

“Yeah. It was more… arranged than anything else. Fen wanted Xaden to be with someone from ‘pirate royalty.’ Cat fit the bill. But then came Violet. He took one look at her and that was it. He never said it out loud, but I’ve known him long enough to recognize the signs.

“What signs?”

“The way his eyes always find her first in a crowd. The way his body tilts toward her, even when he’s trying to look uninterested.”

Sloane nods, slowly piecing it together.

“Things with Cat got tense after Violet joined. Strained to the point they stopped even pretending to share a room. It became all façade — just something to appease Fen. But Fen’s gone now, and those two? Now they just orbit each other, full of things they never say. Like Imogen and Garrick.”

She lets that sink in for a moment, then mutters, “Well, I hope they figure their shit out faster.”

Bodhi lets out a laugh.

“You should get some sleep,” he says, nudging her gently. “We’ve got a long journey ahead.”

The first light of morning stretches across the harbour in golden streaks when Ridoc and Brennan appear at the edge of the dock. Brennan walks with that quiet confidence that makes people step aside without a word. Ridoc carries two bulging canvas bags and somehow still manages to grin like he slept twelve hours and didn’t spend half the night doing gods know what.

“I told you we’d make it,” Ridoc calls up the gangplank.

“You said that after insisting on stopping for pastries,” Brennan replies flatly.

“I hope you brought the good stuff,” Violet says as they walk on deck.

“Honeybuns, only for you,” Brennan grins.

“You’re my favourite sibling, do you know that?”

“Don’t let that hear Mira.”

Life on the Nightvein wakes up. Ropes creak, sails are unfurled, and the crew find their usual spots — all muscle memory and half-grunted good mornings.

Sloane already stands by the main mast, her hair braided back tightly. She tightens a final coil of rope just as Bodhi slides up beside her.

“Ready for something new?” he asks, nudging her with his elbow.

She nods. “Absolutely.”

“Good. Because today, you’re climbing.”

Her stomach twists, but it’s more excitement than fear.

Bodhi shows her the rigging, how to lean into the sway of the ship instead of fighting it, how not to look down — so of course, she does exactly that halfway up. The sea yawns beneath her like it could swallow her whole. But she keeps going, muscles trembling, until she reaches the crow’s nest. The view is staggering.

The wind rushes through her, cold and wild, and for a second, she feels infinite. Small, but infinite.

Around noon, Xaden and Brennan break into an argument about the route to Therassa.

“I’m telling you we need to go west,” Brennan argues, jabbing a finger at the map.

“It clearly shows that the right way is east,” Xaden answers calmly, like he already knows he’s right.

“The peace lasted eight hours,” Ridoc mutters, standing beside Sloane, watching them both with his arms crossed. “That’s a new record.”

“What was the last one?” she asks, watching Brennan flail his arms around in growing frustration.

“About six hours,” Violet replies from her other side.

“Didn’t you read the tale in the chapter?” she mumbles quietly, mostly to herself.

Ridoc and Violet turn to her, faces blank and confused.

“Well, that explains everything,” she sighs and walks over to the arguing pair.

“It’s northwest.”

They both stare at her like she’s grown a second head.

“It’s literally the first sentence of the tale: ‘Northwest ye sail through wind and wrack, where stars run cold and skies turn black.’”

“Sloane, I’m really glad you came with us,” Xaden says, kisses her hair, and goes over to John, the helmsman.

Sloane turns back to look at Ridoc and Violet. Ridoc covers his mouth to suppress his laughter, and Violet just shrugs.

The rest of the day goes on uneventful, but is very educational for her. Garrick shows her how to chart the ship’s position with an old brass sextant. Imogen throws a rope at her and teaches her how to adjust sail angles depending on the wind.

By the time her head hits the pillow, she falls asleep almost instantly.

She wakes up with a hand clamped over her mouth.

In panic, she rips open her eyes just to be greeted by Violet, who’s pressing a finger to her lips, signalling to be quiet.

Her heartbeat doesn’t slow down, but her panic dims slightly.

“The ship’s under attack,” Violet whispers as she removes her hand from Sloane’s mouth.

“Who is it?” she asks, even though she already knows the answer.

“Tommy spotted the Mindseeker – Dain’s ship – approaching in the dark. They haven’t reached us yet, but they’re extremely close. I need you to stay here,” is all she says before sliding soundlessly out the door.

A problem of Sloane is, she never really does as she’s told.

So, she slips out of the room and onto the deck.

It’s totally quiet up there. She sees absolutely nobody. Not from her crew and definitely not from Dain’s.

She looks around a few times to maybe catch a glimpse of someone. But they’re not here.

Sloane feels rather than sees or hears that someone stands behind her. The hairs on the back of her neck stand up and goosebumps spread across her body.

“I was wondering when we were going to see each other again,” a low, crisp voice says, inches from her ear. Her breath catches.

It’s the voice.

She spins around in lightning speed and looks into the handsome face of the stranger that haunted her thoughts for the past day.

With the wind blowing through his hair and the moon shining directly into his face, he’s even more striking than before.

Then the pieces click into place.

Violet’s warning. Him being here. The realisation hits her like a brick.

“You,” she breathes.

“You,” he echos.

Dain begins to circle her again, like he did in the alley.

“You left quite the impression on me, do you know that, amor?” he says.

The nickname rolls down her spine like warm honey. Smooth and soft. It makes her shiver again.

“Imagine my surprise when no other than Violet Sorrengail called your name. I knew exactly what you were all planning,” he chuckles darkly.

He starts counting on his hands.

“One: only the chapter in the last book with the tale of Therassa is just… gone. What a coincidence.

“Two: only a couple of days later, I see a girl who looks suspiciously similar to a certain Liam Mairi, walking arm in arm with Vi. A little less coincidental.

“Three: I find the same girl on deck of the Nightvein,” he crooks his head, three fingers raised. “I don’t believe this is a coincidence anymore.”

She bolts to the door, but he’s already there, blocking it, sliding a knife into the lock. She didn’t even see him draw it.

He cages her against the door.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says softly.

“And I should believe you why exactly?”

“I am not the bad guy,” he says, almost earnestly.

“Your father kidnapped my brother.”

“Sounds like that was my father. Not me.”

“You tried to kill Violet,” she protests.

“She’s still hung up on that?”

“You’re after the cure. The only thing standing between me and my brother.”

At that, he falls quiet.

Behind her, someone rattles at the door.

“I can help you,” he whispers. His breath warm against her skin.

“The door won’t open,” she hears someone call from the other side - but all she can focus on is Dain. His face is so close to hers she sees freckles scattered across his nose.

When she looks up into his eyes, his are already on hers.

They stare at each other for a heartbeat. Two.

The rattling and noises behind them grow more frantic.

“Think about it,” he murmurs at last, hands sliding past her to grip the knife.

“I’ll see you again,” is the last thing he says to her before he yanks the blade free, darts across the deck and jumps over the edge.

What the fuck?

The door burst open. Brennan, Garrick, and Ridoc practically tumble through it, momentum carrying them to the floor. Xaden and Violet step over them and are on her in an instant.

“I told you to stay inside!” Violet yells. “What were you thinking?” Then she throws her arms around her, hugging her tight.

“Is he gone?” Xaden asks after checking she’s okay, then scanning the deck.

“Yes,” is all she manages to say.

“What did he want?” Bodhi asks.

Sloane isn’t even sure herself.

Chapter Text

The first time Dain was ever really happy, it wasn’t on a ship like his father desperately hoped for. It was in a tree, hanging upside down, seeing who could stay in that position the longest.

The fight was between him, Brennan, Mira, and Violet — the children of Lilith and Asher Sorrengail — the ones who were supposed to take care of him when his father left for one of his voyages.

Dain knew they weren’t really voyages. They were raids, where his father burned through cities and left nothing behind. But he liked to pretend otherwise.

Pretend his father wasn’t capable of such cruelty.

It didn’t work most of the time — playing pretend — but sometimes it brought him a little peace.

He liked Lilith and Asher.

Lilith could be harsh at times, didn’t coddle with words. She was practical and headstrong. Dain believed, if she truly wanted to, she could move mountains. She didn’t often show affection, but he saw it in her eyes — the way they lit up when she talked about her children. When Brennan proved his logical thinking, when Mira showed her strength, when Violet expanded her knowledge.

It made him envious. His father would never look at him the way Lilith looked at her children.

Then there was Asher. He was passionate — mostly about books and knowledge — but nothing compared to his passion for his children. He loved them deeply, cared tremendously.

In his first month with them, after seeing how a father was supposed to love his children, Dain cried most nights when the lights were out. It made him wonder if the problem was him. That he just wasn’t the kind of child a father could be proud of.

But then Lilith and Asher started to look at him that way.

Asher loved that he finally had another child to share his love for books with, someone who shared his fascination for languages.

Lilith’s eyes shone with pride when Dain picked up new words in foreign tongues.

But the best thing about them were their children.

Dain was an only child. He’d never dared to ask his father about other family. So, he never really knew what he was missing.

He liked Brennan’s calm nature. He was a few years older and the perfect older brother. He showed Dain how to shave, which rum tasted best, what pick-up lines worked — and how to use them.

He liked Mira’s brutal honesty. If she had an opinion, she told you. She taught him never to be ashamed of his capabilities, how to talk himself out of arguments, and — surprisingly — how to pick the best stones for skipping across the water.

But he liked Violet the most.

She was closest to his age, and they were attached at the hip from the start. They shared a love for language, a fascination about books and nature, and a mutual understanding of complicated parents.

Violet didn’t get along well with her mother. Her mother couldn’t really grasp the power house that was her daughter. And Violet missed the way Lilith sometimes looked at her when she talked about something new she learned — and Lilith never really defended her reputation. It wasn’t the same as what Dain endured with his own father, but it was close enough. It meant he could say, “My father sucks,” and she’d reply, “Mine doesn’t — but do you want to hear what my mother said to me?”

They were always together. Reading, riding, stealing food from the kitchen.

But they also did a lot as a group of four. Like hanging upside down from trees, trying to outlast each other.

Brennan fell first — but only because Mira kicked at his feet and knocked him off balance. He landed with a thud.

Then Mira fell, a second later, from the force of her own kick. Brennan laughed in her face.

“Karma is real,” he said to her.

Dain shared an amused glance with Violet. It was down to the two of them now.

Violet looked thrilled. She was normally the first to fall — smaller than the rest and not as strong in the legs yet. Sweat ran down her face. She didn’t have much longer.

So, Dain did what any best friend would do. He let go.

He hit a root, and it hurt like hell — but the look on her face made the pain worth it.

They had eight glorious years together.

Then his father came back.

Dain was out with Violet, picking flowers for her field book. When they returned home, he felt it — that heavy, charged air, like standing in the path of an oncoming storm. Like lightning was about to strike.

“Where were you?” his father asked, first thing, after not seeing his son in eight years.

“Hello, Father,” Dain replied.

“Why are your clothes dirty?” The man looked him up and down with disgust. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll get you new ones on the ship. Vamos.”

He turned to leave.

Dain didn’t move. His feet didn’t budge and his mind went blank. He looked to Asher, standing in the doorway beside his wife. Asher’s eyes were full of sorrow, and brimming with tears.

In that moment, Dain realised — they couldn’t stop this.

They had always known his father would come back. They just hoped they could life in their fantasy world a while longer.

“Dain! Come on,” his father called, already annoyed.

Still, Dain didn’t move. His eyes flicked to Lilith, then to Mira, Brennan… and finally, to Violet.

She looked terrified. When she felt his gaze, she turned to meet it. Tears welled in his eyes. He knew this was probably the last time he’d ever see her.

He didn’t know what his father’s plans were, but they didn’t include this life. This home. This family.

“I won’t repeat myself,” his father said, now threatening.

Dain turned to face him, jaw clenched.

“I don’t want to go with you,” he said, standing tall, voice steady.

His father laughed — cold, hollow, humourless.

Then, seeing Dain’s seriousness, his face darkened.

“If I say we’re going, then we’re going,” he growled and strode toward him.

Dain’s courage crumbled. Fear flooded him. 

He didn't want to go.

He backed away, but his father’s long strides caught up fast. He grabbed Dain by the arms — hard. Dain cried out in pain.

“No!” he screamed and began to thrash.

His father dragged him, relentless. Dain fought, clawed, struggled — but he was no match.

He didn’t want to go.

He looked back. Brennan was holding Violet back as she screamed his name, tears streaming down her face.

It didn’t matter.

He cried out a final goodbye to the only family he had ever known before he was dragged aboard the ship.

The whole way there, his father raged — said it had been a mistake to leave Dain with the Sorrengails. That they’d made him soft. Pathetic. Weak. That a few months on the ship would fix him.

It made Dain cry harder.

His father threw him into a cramped cabin with only a tiny window, shut the door, and didn’t open it for three days.

Dain never cried again after that.

He did a lot of things for his father he didn’t want to do. Honestly, every mission his father sent him on, he dreaded. But he learned early that if he stayed compliant, if he followed orders, his father left him in peace.

So, he put on a mask and did what was asked of him.

Became the villain. The Red Reaver.

But there was one good thing that came from all of it.

His crew.

He didn’t like them at first. They were loud. Noisy. Completely unaware of the concept of personal space.

But for the first time since his childhood, he felt like he belonged. Like he had friends. Like he wasn’t completely alone.

There was Aaric, his first mate. Calm under pressure — until he wasn’t. Dain had seen him lose his temper more than once. Aaric also had this unnerving sense of foreboding. Useful in emergencies. Disturbing the rest of the time.

His second mate was Rhiannon. Sharp as a blade and tireless. A natural born leader. Dain wouldn’t be surprised if she captained her own ship someday.

Her other half was Tara — nicknamed Blaze by the crew, for … obvious reasons. She was loyal to the bone. Once you were in her inner circle, she never let you down. Not ever.

If empathy could take human form, it would look like Sawyer. Dain had never met anyone with a heart as wide as his. It made life at sea harder sometimes — but it also made him lethal when it came to protecting the people he loved.

Dylan was the newest recruit. Quiet. Reserved. Still finding his footing. But Rhi and Tara had taken it upon themselves to draw him out of his shell — and once those two had a mission, there was no escaping it. If you wanted to or not.

Then there was Amber — the one he’d known the longest. Not that he bragged about it. She’d had a crush on him since the first month they’d met and had never quite gotten over it, no matter how often he told her he didn’t feel the same and probably never would. Still, she was ambitious, dependable, and always showed up when someone needed her.

But his favorite crew member was Iris. The ship’s cook.

Dain knew his mother. Loved her, even. But his father kept her far away on land. He saw her once a year, maybe twice, if he’d somehow made his father proud.

Iris filled a part of that void. Not all of it — only his mother could do that — but enough to leave a permanent mark on his heart.

None of them were perfect. Each had their own quirks and flaws — traits that might make others question their abilities. But they were his.

His crew. His friends. His family.

Every single one of them would take a bullet for the others.

He hadn’t heard from his father in months when the man appeared out of nowhere one day.

They had just docked in one of the smaller ports near Athebyne to stock up on food and rum when he arrived.

“Hijo,” his father greeted him. Though greeted might be the wrong word. He practically hissed the term. Dain had to suppress a laugh. He was a lot of things, but not his son.

“Captain Aetos,” Dain replied stiffly.

“I need to talk to you. In private,” Col said, marching straight to the captain’s quarters. No how are you, no what have you been up to. Straight to business, as usual.

“Everything okay, Captain?” Sawyer asked as he came up beside him, his uncanny sense for emotion kicking in.

“I’m going to speak with Captain Aetos. Store the supplies and prepare to leave port. I have a feeling we’re heading out.”

“Aye.”

Dain walked slower than usual to his quarters—partly to avoid dealing with his father, partly to piss him off. He was getting a headache and hadn’t even talked to him. Great day.

“I have a new mission for the Red Reaver,” his father said in Spanish when Dain stepped through the door. He always switched to his mother tongue when giving orders.

“Have you ever heard of the island Therassa?”

Dain had. He’d read the book with the story about the hidden island and the cure it held years ago. But he only nodded.

“I want that cure. And you’re going to get it for me,” Col said without leaving room for argument.

“The map is in a book somewhere in New Caldera. You have one month to bring me the cure if you want to see your mother again.”

The threat wasn’t new. He always used her against him.

By the time Dain stepped back onto the deck, the weight of ten minutes with his father had already drained the entire day.

“Where to, Captain?” Ezra, the helmsman, called. The crew turned to look at him an waited.

“New Caldera,” he ordered.

The crew sprang into action.

“We have a situation,” Aaric said as he stepped forward. “While you were with Captain Aetos, Melgrem came by and ‘delivered’ something from him.”

“What?” Dain asked, brow furrowing.

Aaric stepped aside, looking sheepish.

Behind him stood a man Dain knew all too well.

And suddenly, it made sense why his father was so hell-bent on getting the cure. Sure, he wanted the power—but it was also about getting back at Xaden Riorson.

He sighed. The day couldn’t get any worse.

“Welcome aboard the Mindseeker, Liam.”

Correction. The day did got worse.

Athebyne wasn’t far from New Caldera, so they arrived around midday.

Liam insisted on being part of the search team for the book, and Dain didn’t have the energy to argue. While Rhi and Tara scoured the market, he and Liam went to the library.

As they rounded a corner, Liam suddenly yanked Dain back.

“What the fuck, Mairi?” Dain snarled, annoyed. He didn’t have time for this.

“Shhh.”

Liam’s face had gone pale in comparison to a few seconds ago, his eyes wide in panic.

Dain scoffed and peeked around the corner.

There was only a man standing before the library, holding two horses. Nothing unusual.

“What’s gotten into you?”

“My sister just walked into the library.” Liam’s voice was haunted.

“There’s literally no way you can tell that it was her from this distance.”

“I would know my sister blind,” Liam snapped.

“Can’t we just go in and ask for her help?”

“No. I don’t want her involved in pirate business.”

That was the end of the discussion.

They waited several hours for her to leave before finally entering the library—only to find the chapter they searched for gone.

But his bad day didn’t stopped there.

Later, his spies reported that the Nightvein had set sail for Aretia. Dain had a gut feeling that Xaden had the map. It would make sense—he’d just went to pick up his best strategist.

So they followed.

Dain went ashore alone to gather intel. He didn’t have the energy for another person and he was also quicker this way.

When he spotted the Nightvein’s crew leaving the ship, he followed them.

He tried to avoid looking at Violet. It hurt him too much. He focused instead on Riorson’s towering frame.

But then he saw her.

Devastatingly beautiful.

Painfully not from his world.

Still, he somehow had to meet her.

And when that poor excuse of a man wouldn’t leave her alone, Dain felt a surge of rage—and an opportunity.

He was mesmerised from the beginning.

But then Violet called her name.

And the pieces fell into place.

Liam’s wish hadn’t been granted. His sister was very much involved in pirate business. In his pirate business.

Dain debated whether to tell him. It would be amusing to watch Liam realise his hope was shattered. But Dain wasn’t that cruel.

He’d never seen someone fall apart the way Liam did. His face crumbled with devastation. And the man practically collapsed, sobbing in front of the entire crew.

Amber scoffed and walked away. But Sawyer crouched beside him, offering comfort the only way he knew how.

After a while, Liam looked up. His eyes were red and swollen, but his voice was steady.

“We need to help her,” he said. “I don’t care what it takes. We need to help her.”

Maybe Dain saw a piece of himself in Liam in that moment—that raw, desperate determination. The kind he once thought would protect him from his father’s reach.

Maybe it was pity that this determination would be his downfall.

Maybe it was because he also desperately wanted to see Sloane again.

So he said yes.

Five nights had passed since his visit on the Nightvein. Five nights dreaming of her, of remembering how the moon lit up her face, how she moved.

It was pathetic how much she consumed his thoughts.

He was on his way to Iris for comfort and distraction when Rhi slammed into him in a full sprint.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, instantly alert.

“The Nightvein’s under attack,” she wheezed. “Your father found them.”

Chapter Text

Sloane wakes – again – to the press of a hand over her mouth.

But this time, it’s not gentle.

Not familiar.

Her instincts scream before her eyes even open.

There’s the weight of a body above her, the sharp clench of fingers digging into her cheek, the stench of sea salt and sweat. A knife glints in the darkness beside her head— a little too close. Too real.

Panic ignites.

But it doesn’t paralyse her.

She’s tired of freezing. Of waiting to be rescued.

Her knee jerks up, hard and fast—driven by fear and fury both. It connects with something soft. The man above her gasps, loosens his grip for half a second. It’s enough.

Sloane twists, teeth sinking into his wrist. He swears, yanks back, and she rolls, grabs for the dagger under her pillow— but it isn’t there, stupid, stupid—but her hand closes around the base of her water pitcher on the bedside table instead.

She swings it without thinking. Ceramic shatters against his temple.

He drops like a stone.

Breath rasping in her throat, Sloane scrambles to her feet, chest heaving. She’s barefoot, shaking, heartbeat thundering in her ears. The man on the floor groans, blood trickling down the side of his face. He’s still alive.

“Who the hell—”

Her door crashes open.

“Sloane!” Bodhi’s voice, rough and panicked. He takes in the scene in a split second—her, wild-eyed with the jagged remains of a pitcher in hand, and the bleeding man unconscious on her floor.

He blinks. “Shit. You okay?”

She nods, then shakes her head. “I think so. Who is he?”

“One of Aetos’ bastards,” Bodhi growls, stepping inside. He nudges the body with the toe of his boot. “We’re under attack. They hit just before dawn—stealth crews trying to take us out from all sides.”

Sloane stares at the man. At the blood. At her shaking hands.

And at the fact that she did this.

She won. Pride fills her chest.

“Get your boots,” Bodhi says. “It’s chaos out there.”

“I want to help,” she says immediately, moving toward the trunk by her bed.

“You’re staying below deck. It’s safer—”

“I’m not hiding while people are fighting and dying. You can either let me come or waste time arguing, but I’m not staying down here.”

Bodhi mutters something under his breath—probably a swear—and tosses her coat at her.

“Then hurry the hell up. And don’t die, alright?”

“No promises,” she mutters, lacing her boots with shaking fingers. “But I’ll try.”

The ship rocks beneath her feet as she follows Bodhi up the narrow corridor and through the hatch onto the main deck—and walks straight into war.

The morning sky is painted in streaks of gold and blood. Smoke curls up from a fire already half-stomped out by someone’s boots. Screams echo over the creak of ropes and the crash of steel. The acrid scent of burning wood, sweat, and something sharp—metallic—burns her nose.

Chaos reigns.

Sloane freezes for a split second. Just one.

Because the scene in front of her is too much. Too vivid. Too real.

Imogen and Garrick fight back-to-back at the portside rail, moving like a well-oiled machine. She can’t look away from how they move—perfectly synchronised, like a deadly kind of dance. Imogen spins, her blade catching the light, while Garrick parries behind her without missing a beat.

On the quarterdeck, Brennan drags a bleeding Ridoc behind a stack of crates, shielding him with his own body while slinging one of his twin daggers at a charging attacker.

Violet stands above them, at the upper helm, calm and terrifying. Her arm whips out, her aim flawless—each dagger finding a target like she’d written their names on the blades.

Sloane turns—and her breath catches.

Xaden Riorson is a storm at the heart of the battlefield. Power coiled into every movement. It’s mesmerising and hypnotic to watch him fight. She notices that he’s fighting someone larger than him— broader, much older.

And meaner.

Sloane doesn’t need to be told who he is.

Captain Col Aetos.

There’s no mistaking it—the same profile as Dain, only twisted with cruelty.

Col’s blade moves with precision and experience, each strike meant to maim. But Xaden meets him without fear, their swords clashing in a brutal rhythm.

Sloane barely has time to process any of it.

Because suddenly, someone charges at her.

The attacker is fast—lean, dirty, and armed with a jagged knife. She ducks just in time, the blade grazing her sleeve. Bodhi turns, eyes widening, but he’s too far now—locked in combat with someone else.

So it’s on her.

She faces him alone.

Sloane steps back, barely dodging a second swipe, and then lunges forward, slamming her elbow into the attacker’s throat. It works—but not well enough. He stumbles, but then grabs her arm and twists. She cries out. Her knees hit the deck.

He grips her hair, making her look him in the face, grinning.

And then he’s just gone.

Dragged backward by a large figure with a very stormy expression.

A sword plunges through the man’s chest and he drops, lifeless, to the deck.

Sloane stares up, breathless.

Dain.

He stands above her, blade still dripping, eyes dark and wild and familiar all at once.

“Every time we run into each other,” he says between breaths, “you’re about to die.”

“Every time,” she gasps, “you make a dramatic entrance.”

He smirks and offers her a hand. She takes it without hesitation.

Around them, more of his crew flood the deck— fending off attackers with deadly precision.

“What—how—why are you—?” she stammers.

“Long story,” he says, pulling her upright. “Mostly involves me getting tired of my father being a prick.”

She laughs, just a little—hysterical maybe—but it still counts.

A voice roars across the deck.

“You traitor!”

Captain Col Aetos breaks away from Xaden just long enough to spit the word at Dain. His voice is venom, his eyes burning. “You side with them? These thieves and liars?”

“You mean yourself? Oh no, I side with people who don’t try to murder me in my sleep,” Dain calls back. “Weird, I know.”

“You’ll regret this,” Col snarls. His men are retreating now, being clearly outnumbered. “You’ll regret ever turning your back on your own blood.”

“And you’ll regret ever thinking I was your blood  to begin with.”

It’s over quickly after that. Aetos and his surviving men vanish into the mist, leaving the deck slick with blood and scorched by fire.

The crew of the Nightvein breathes again.

But not for long.

Because suddenly they are turning on Dains crew.

Ridoc, bleeding but on his feet again, raises his weapon. Garrick, Imogen, even Cookie—all of them turn, tense and wary as a circle forms around Dain and his crew, muskets and blades drawn.

“Hold up,” Dain mutters, raising his hands, expression tight. “We are not here to fight.”

“You expect us to believe that?” Garrick asks. “You’ve tried to gut half our crew at some point.”

“I literally just saved your ass,” Dain remarks.

“I had the whole situation under control.” Xaden demands, stepping forward.

Dain opens his mouth—but Sloane cuts in before he can.

“He saved my life.”

Everyone turns to look at her.

“If Dain hadn’t stepped in, I’d be dead,” she says, voice loud and clear. “That counts for something, right?”

Xaden’s jaw works. He doesn’t say anything.

She pushes on. “You don’t have to trust him. But maybe…maybe don’t point a gun at the guy who just saved your people.”

The silence stretches.

Finally, Xaden lowers his sword. “One good deed doesn’t erase a list of bad ones.”

“No,” Violet says gently, appearing beside Xaden. “But it’s a start.”

Dain’s eyes find hers.

His face is locked in his cold mask of indifference, but Sloane can the truth in his eyes. Something in them changes when he looks at Violet. It looks a lot like grief.

Violet nods once. “I believe you want to help. I believe that’s still in you.”

Xaden turns to look at her. She meets his gaze unafraid, not shrinking away from his stormy expression.

Xaden sighs, then mutters, “Fine. They can stay.”

At his words, the rest of the Nightvein’s crew lower their weapons and an audible sound of relief echos from the Mindseeker’s crew.

They all scatter around awkwardly, not knowing what to do with themselves.

Sloane glances over—just once—at Dain, who looks more lost than ever in the middle of Xaden and Violet.

But he meets her gaze.

Smiles.

Just a little.

Her stomach flips and she quickly has to look  away again.

The noise of the deck dulls to a low thrum in Sloane’s ears, a muted storm of laughter, introductions, and the occasional sword clang where someone’s still clearing bodies. Dain’s crew blends slowly into the space like mismatched puzzle pieces, but for now, no one’s bleeding out or yelling—which is as close to peace as this ship’s ever known.

And then she sees him.

Liam.

Stepping up from the main stairwell with two others of Dains crew, mud on his boots and blood on his collar but very much alive.

She doesn’t breathe.

Can only look at him.

He freezes when he sees her.

And then they both move.

She crashes into him, arms wrapping tight around his waist, and he catches her with a gasp like he’s been punched in the ribs. He buries his face in her neck and just breathes. She can feel his body trembling – although that could also be her own.

They don’t say a word for a long time. Just holding each other.

Sloane’s fists clutch the fabric of his coat. She doesn’t care if she’s crying. She is, obviously. But he is too. His breath hitches against her temple. His shoulders quake with the kind of relief that only comes after surviving something you thought you never would.

“I thought you were dead,” she whispers finally, voice shaking. “For so long, Liam, I thought—”

“I know,” he breathes, pulling back enough to press his forehead to hers. “I know, I’m sorry, I should’ve— I wanted to come back for you, I did—”

“You didn’t.”

His eyes close. “I didn’t.”

“But you’re here now.”

“Yeah.” His smile is a little watery, a little crooked. “I’m here now.”

“Don’t you ever leave me again,” she says fiercely, voice breaking.

“I won’t,” he says, arms tightening around her. “Not unless you want me gone.”

“I don’t. Obviously I don’t.”

“Then you’re stuck with me.”

They cling to each other again, and when Ridoc tries to come over with a clever quip, Brennan grabs him by the collar and drags him back with a quiet, “Not now, you idiot.”

Sloane doesn’t know how long they cling to each other. In this moment, an eternity doesn’t feel long enough.

But eventually they’re ushered into her room where they pass out immediately, curled in the small hammock that was never meant for two people but holds them anyway.

It’s dark when they wake. Sloane’s hair is tangled in Liam’s shirt, his arm a warm weight around her ribs. For a few moments, they just lie there, listening to the ship creak softly in the water.

Then she breaks the silence.

“I was a little mad at you,” she says, quietly. “For disappearing. For leaving me behind.”

“I know,” he murmurs. “You have every right to be.”

“I thought you were dead. And then I come here, and they said that you’re alive. All this time you’ve been alive. I thought I meant less to you,” she admits quietly.

His grip tightens. “Sloane. You were all I had. You are all I have.”

“Then why?”

“I was going to come back.” His voice is thick. “I had this plan—stupid maybe, but it made sense in my head. I was going to take you away. Somewhere safe. Somewhere warm. Just us. No parents, no pressure. And certainly no pirates. I even found a place. An island with fresh fruit and terrible furniture. I thought… once it was safe, I’d come get you.”

“You didn’t make it.”

“No.” He swallows. “I got caught instead. And no everything is worse.”

She pulls back just enough to look at him.

“I never wanted you dragged into this mess, Sloane. But now you’re here.”

“I’m here because I made that choice,” she says gently. “That isn’t your burden to bear. And you’re not the only one who dreamed of a safe place. We’ll still get there. Together.”

He breathes out, shakily. “You really think we can?”

“I have to.”

They lie in silence for a while longer.

And in that silence, Sloane thoughts begin to drift.

She thinks of Dain’s smile, the strange flash of sadness in his eyes.

Of Violet’s steady voice.

Of Xaden’s constant frown.

Of Bodhis kind smile and Ridocs jokes.

Of what her life would be missing, if she never had the urge to take a small, unimpressive map and two pirates never standing in her room.

But then Liams stomach growls so loudly that even the dead could hear it, and they decide that emotional trauma is best resolved with a huge breakfast.

As they pad down the narrow path, Sloane blinks sleep from her eyes, Liam trailing behind her, yawning so wide it cracks his jaw. Her hair’s a mess and she’s pretty sure she’s still got sleep-creases on her cheek, but the scent of something actually edible wafting from the kitchen overrides any lingering self-consciousness.

She’s not sure what she expected.

Definitely not this.

Chaos, for starters.

There’s an entire battle happening around the galley table, but instead of swords, it’s breakfast. Two crews, previously at each other’s throats, now passing plates and arguing over who gets the last strip of bacon.

Tara’s perched on the table like it’s her throne, gesturing wildly with a fork. “No way Ridoc, you did not outrun a banshee hound in barefoot!”

“I did,” Ridoc insists with a grin, his arms crossed behind his head smugly. “Ask Garrick.”

“He screamed like a child the whole time,” Garrick says without looking up, casually reaching across the table to grab a hunk of bread. “But he did outrun it.”

“You know what?” Tara says, laughing. “Respect.”

On the far end of the galley, Cat is leaned dangerously close to Aaric, who is holding a mug of coffee like it’s his entire personality.

“You flirting with me, darling?” he drawls, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth.

“Trying to figure out how your face still works with that much smug packed into it,” Cat replies sweetly.

“I like her,” Aaric tells Sloane as she enters, like she’s his wingwoman or something.

“Don’t drag me into this,” Sloane mutters, but a smile is already pulling at her lips.

At the stove, Cookie and Iris — Dain’s cook, and apparently miracle-worker — seem to be in a battle over who can slice fruit the fastest. How both of their hands are still whole, Sloane has no idea.

Sloane nudges Liam forward. “Are we sure we didn’t dream the alliance part?”

“Pretty sure,” Liam murmurs. “This is real. Unfortunately.”

Violet waves from the corner, looking entirely too composed with a coffee cup in hand. “Xaden’s been glaring since dawn. I think the stress of watching his mortal enemies butter toast next to Ridoc is going to give him an aneurysm.”

She points to the corner and sure enough, Xaden stands there with his hands crossed and a resentful look on his face.

“I’m concerned that if he doesn’t stop glaring like this, the crease between his eyebrows will become permanent,” Violet whispers to Sloane and she chuckles.

Dain, notably, is not here.

Sloane feels her gaze flick to the other corners of the room anyway. Just in case.

Rhiannon, seated between Bodhi and Dylan, raises her hand halfway. “Okay, serious question. If we’re all apparently on the same side now, do we have a shared roster? Are there trust falls? Do we get matching uniforms?”

“Uniforms would be cute,” Amber pipes up, sipping her tea. Her tone is cool, eyes flicking briefly to Sloane and then away again. Not hostile. But not warm, either.

“We’re pirates, not a marching band,” Violet says, eyebrow raised.

“I was promised chaos,” Imogen says, grinning. “This is actually kind of cozy. Which is worse.”

A moment passes where everyone sort of glances at each other, realising that somehow, impossibly, they’re getting along.

Xaden pinches the bridge of his nose. “I hate all of this.”

Sawyer taps a spoon on the table. “Maybe we should go around and, I don’t know, say one interesting thing about ourselves?”

“No,” Ridoc and Tara say at the same time.

Rhi raises her coffee in mock solemnity. “I was once arrested in three cities in the same night.”

Garrick chokes on his water. “How did you do that?”

“Not important,” she adds with a wink. “But it’s a good story for later.”

Bodhi leans back in his chair. “This could be fun. Or someone might stab someone with a spoon. Either way, I’m entertained.”

Sloane watches the whole situation with a smile tugging at her mouth. It’s strange. Surreal. A little absurd. But… not awful.

She glances again toward the doorway.

Still no Dain.

“Looking for someone?” Violet asks quietly, voice low enough not to carry.

Sloane stiffens, then tries to play it off. “No. I just… thought he might be here.”

“He’s not,” Violet says knowingly. “Hasn’t left the Mindseeker since yesterday. Won’t even look at Brennan and most certainly not at me.”

Sloane tries not to look like that affects her.

Fails.

“Oh.”

Violet watches her for a moment. Then, casually, “He still looks at you, though.”

“I don’t care,” Sloane mutteres.

“Yeah sure,” Violet chuckles. “You two simply ooze sexual tension.”

“I—what? No, there’s nothing going on between us.”

“Of course,” Violet says with a smirk. “Which is why you keep checking the door.”

Sloane opens her mouth. Closes it. Glares into her mug.

She is luckily saved from further investigation by a flying plate launched at Ridoc. He dugs just in time before it could hit his head.

“What the fuck!” he yells at the culprit – Tara – who has already another plate in her hand.

“You insulted the hand of my girlfriend.”

“Jesus woman, that was a joke!”

“Not to me.”

Amber, across the room, mutters something under her breath.

Xaden sets down his coffee with unnecessary force. “Enough. Out. All of you. Now.”

Everyone groans but complies, chairs scraping and voices rising as both crews spill out toward the deck.

The sea is quieter than expected.

It doesn’t match the chaos above deck, where two ships — two crews — try to figure out how to move as one.

The Nightvein and the Mindseeker sail side by side, tethered together with thick ropes and the thinnest thread of trust.

Orders are shouted, sometimes twice, because apparently both ships have someone named Kellan, and neither answers to “you with the red hair” fast enough.

Ropes get crossed. Sails are adjusted and re-adjusted. And Imogen has already threatened to throw Amber overboard twice — once for calling her a “rookie,” and once for actually climbing into the Nightvein’s crow’s nest “just to get a better view.”

“Pretty sure this is illegal,” Rhiannon mutters as she helps Cat tie off a cargo barrel. “Feels illegal.”

“Everything we do is illegal,” Cat points out, teeth bared in a grin.

Garrick and Bodhi are deep in some kind of debate over rudder drag versus current resistance — neither of them seems to notice that Ezra, the Mindseeker’s helmsman, is quietly redirecting both ships with the ease of someone who knows when to ignore nonsense.

On deck, Violet watches it all with arms crossed and a vaguely entertained expression.

“They’re… definitely trying,” Brennan says amused, stepping up beside her.

“They are,” Violet replies. “That’s what’s terrifying.”

Down below, the hallways creak with foot traffic. Laughter drifts from the cabins — unfamiliar voices mixing with familiar ones. Someone plays a tune on a broken lute. Someone else sings horribly off-key.

And Sloane?

She stands on the Nightvein’s upper deck, watching the Mindseeker float steady beside them. Her hands rest on the rail, fingers twitching with indecision.

Dain hasn’t set foot on the Nightvein once.

And it’s not like she’s been actively looking for him all day.

That would be ridiculous.

And maybe a little desperate.

She just… notices.

That he’s not there. That he keeps his distance. That he’s a mystery half-unraveled, and she’s not sure if she wants to tug the rest of the thread — or if it’ll unravel something in her, too.

But still.

The ships are docked together for the night. The water is calm. There’s a rope swinging idly in the night breeze.

And Dain?

Dain is just on the other side.

If he thought that he could brood on his ship all day long, he would be in for a surprise.

Not on her watch.

Sloane stares up at the rope from the Nightvein’s deck, hands on hips, lips pressed tight in concentration. The Mindseeker rocks gently a few meters away, close enough to tempt her, far enough to humiliate her if this goes wrong.

“This is a stupid idea,” she mutters.

The rope continues to sway, smugly.

She checks again. No one’s watching.

Violet’s below deck. Liam’s asleep. Xaden is presumably glaring at things somewhere in the dark.

Sloane takes a running start, grabs the rope, and swings.

Her aim is true.

Her momentum, however, is… not.

She misses the Mindseeker’s deck by what feels like a nautical mile and dangles midair for a humiliating second before gravity remembers she exists and swings her back toward the Nightvein.

She tries again.

This time, she makes it halfway.

And then backwards again.

“Third time’s the charm,” she grits out, hopping from foot to foot to summon courage or balance — she isn’t sure which. “I am brave. I am nimble. I am—”

She launches.

Too much force.

Far too much.

Sloane crashes onto the Mindseeker’s deck in a heap of limbs, cloak, and wounded pride, knocking over a bucket that rolls across the planks like it’s trying to escape the awkward.

Someone next to her claps slowly.

She groans and looks up — only to see Dain leaning against the mainmast, arms crossed, a grin threatening the edges of his mouth.

“That was impressive,” he drawls.

“Please kill me now,” Sloane murmurs, face hidden between her hands.

“You know,” Dain says, voice casual, “there’s a plank that connects the ships.”

She blinks at him. “You—are you serious?”

“Mm-hm. Been there since sunset.”

“And you watched me do all that?!”

“Watched is a strong word. I was… observing.” He pushes off the mast and offers a hand. “Besides, I wanted to see if you were determined enough.”

“To die?”

“To see me.”

She glares but takes his hand anyway. “You’re insufferable.”

“You’re persistent.”

“Only when I want to commit acts of violence.”

“I’d say that’s the best kind of persistence.”

He helps her up with surprising gentleness. For a second, their hands linger — then she pulls back, brushing her clothes off like it’s to hide the heat creeping up her neck.

“You could’ve helped me,” she mutters.

“I could’ve. But this was… way more entertaining.”

“I hate you.”

He raises a brow. “You always say that when I save your life. Or your dignity.”

“Exactly.”

They fall into step along the deck, the soft creak of the wood beneath them, the sea whispering around the hull. A lantern glows near the helm, casting long shadows and golden light across his face.

“Why are you even here?” Dain asks, not unkindly. “Didn’t peg you for the midnight rope-swinging type.”

Sloane shrugs, eyes flicking away. “Wanted to make sure you’re not dead.”

“Touched.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

Silence stretches between them. Not heavy — just full. Like both of them are holding something they don’t quite know how to hand over yet.

He gestures toward a crate, and they sit, shoulder to shoulder but not quite touching.

“You ever think about just… getting on a boat and disappearing?” she asks after a long minute. “Not for battle. Not for missions. Just—sailing.”

“Every day,” he says, too fast. Too real.

“Where would you go?”

He shakes his head. “That’s not how it works.”

“It could be,” she urges. He posses something that makes her want to know his every thought.

“You don’t know me, Sloane.”

“Maybe not everything,” she says. “But I know what you look like when you save someone who should’ve died. I know what it looks like when you laugh. Even when you try not to.”

Dain doesn’t say anything for a long time.

Then: “You know what I was like as a kid?” he says, but quickly snaps his mouth shut like he didn’t mean to say anything. But Sloane lets him work through his thoughts.

Eventually he continues. “Quiet. I was a quiet kid. Did what I was told. Then… didn’t.”

“Big rebellion arc?”

He smirks faintly. “Let’s just say I figured out who I didn’t want to become.”

Sloane nods. “I used to make mud potions in my backyard and try to curse the mean girls.”

“That makes sense.”

“And one time I ate a worm because Liam said it’d give me magic powers.”

“That also makes sense,” he muses.

“I still have the emotional damage from it.” Sloane shivers from the memory.

Dain chuckles under his breath.

She watches him as he leans back against the mast, the moonlight catching in his dark curls. There’s something else behind his eyes — something angry and tired and lonely.

“You don’t share much, do you?” she says softly.

“There’s not much worth sharing.”

“I think there is.”

He doesn’t reply — just looks at her like he’s trying to memorise the shape of her outline. Goosebumps rise across her arms, and she suppresses another shiver – this time not from a traumatic childhood memory but from the eyes of the man next to her.

“Are you cold?” Dain asks.

“No,” she replies quietly and a little out of breath.

She really needs to work how to function properly around him. Her behaviour is becoming a little too pathetic, even for her.

A shout echoes faintly across the water, breaking the delicate silence around them.

“Shit,” Sloane mutters, standing. “That’s Liam. If I don’t get back, he’ll assume you’ve kidnapped me.”

“Tempting.”

“Don’t.”

He gestures lazily to the side of the ship. “You could try the rope again. I’d rate your landing a solid four.”

She turns toward the railing—and sees it.

The plank.

Lit gently by moonlight. So obvious it’s almost rude.

“You—” she spins back to him. “Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

Dain shrugs. “Wanted to see how determined you were.”

“You are such an ass.”

He grins, then quiets when she takes a step toward him again. There’s something gentler in her expression now.

“You should go talk to Violet,” she says. “She’d really like to see you.”

He goes very still.

His jaw tenses — only for a moment — then he covers it with a smirk. “I’ll think about it.”

She nods and turns. But just as she places her foot on the plank, he calls softly, “Buenas noches, Sloane.”

She glances over her shoulder.

Her breath catches.

“Goodnight, Dain.”

Then she walks back across the plank, not daring to look back.

But if she had… she’d have seen him still standing there.

Watching.

Like maybe—for the first time—he didn’t want to disappear after all.