Lead The Way

Cassian had learned long ago that trust was a delicate thing, slow to build and quick to shatter. But here, aboard The Red Wind, it was something else entirely. It was a currency, traded in shared laughter and bruised knuckles, in the passing of a flask beneath the moonlight, in the silent understanding between men who had bled for each other.

And, for the first time, Cassian was learning how to buy his way in.

It had started with the fights. With the way the crew had tested him and found him willing to fight back. Then came the meals, squeezed between bodies at the long, battered table below deck, where bowls were passed hand to hand, where insults and jokes flew freely, where warmth pressed in from all sides.

Now, Cassian knew their rhythms. He knew that Elias had a habit of tapping his fingers against the wood when he was lost in thought. That Nina always stole extra rations, but never for herself—always for the youngest deckhands, or for Rook when he forgot to eat. He knew that Saoirse hummed when sharpening her knives, a quiet, contemplative sound that curled through the quarters like the echo of a forgotten song.

And they knew him.

They knew that he spoke with his hands, that his stories grew wilder when he drank, that he had a gambler’s tongue and a smuggler’s heart. They had stopped ignoring him, stopped treating him like an outsider who didn’t belong, and in their own way, they had begun to fold him into the crew.

Cassian, of course, had every intention of using that.

That night, the air was thick with salt and the slow-burning embers of a dying pipe. The crew sprawled across the deck, their bodies loose with exhaustion, their voices tangled in low murmurs. The stars burned bright overhead, their light reflected in the endless black of the sea.

Cassian sat cross-legged on the worn wood, rolling a small bone die between his fingers. He had won it from Elias earlier that evening—part of a bet the other man swore had been rigged. Cassian had merely grinned and pocketed the prize.

A quiet settled over them, the kind that only came in the stillness between waves. Somewhere, someone plucked at the strings of a lute, the notes soft and wandering. Cassian let the moment stretch, waiting, waiting—

Then, just loud enough to be heard, he said, "Strange, isn’t it?" Cassian mused, letting the words settle like embers catching on dry wood. He turned the die between his fingers, slow and deliberate, before flicking his gaze upward. "A captain who doesn’t trust his crew enough to tell them where they’re headed. Makes you wonder what he’s hiding."

The reaction was immediate. A few heads turned. Elias, lounging against a barrel, raised an eyebrow. Nina, who had been tying and untying a knot in a length of rope, stilled. Others glanced at each other, curiosity sparking where there had been only languid contentment moments before.

Only Saoirse reacted differently.

Her knife, which she had been idly running over a whetstone, paused mid-stroke. In the dim light, her sharp blue eyes fixed on Cassian with something unreadable—something quiet, but firm.

A warning.

Cassian met her gaze with an easy smile, as if he hadn’t just unsettled the quiet peace of the evening. He stretched out his legs, making himself comfortable, pretending not to notice the way the air had shifted.

It was Elias who broke the silence.

"It is a bit odd, when you put it like that." He exhaled, watching the smoke curl from his pipe. "A captain usually shares his course with his crew. That’s how trust works, ain’t it?"

Nina hummed in agreement. "Or at least with his quartermaster. But I suppose we don’t have one of those anymore."

A murmur rippled through them.

Cassian let himself sink deeper into the moment, let his words weave through the group like a net tightening around its catch.

"See, I just find it interesting," he continued, rolling the die across his knuckles now. "We’ve got a fine ship, a fine crew, and a fine captain—" his voice dipped just slightly on the word, just enough to make it unclear whether he meant it sincerely or not "—but no destination. No real purpose. Feels like we’re being led somewhere blind."

Saoirse’s voice cut through the night, low and edged. "You should hold your tongue, boy."

Cassian turned his most innocent expression on her. "Did I say something untrue?"

Her knuckles flexed against the handle of her knife, but she said nothing.

A sharp gust of wind caught the sails above them, snapping the canvas taut. The ship groaned against the tide, and in the quiet that followed, Cassian could feel the weight of his words settling over the crew, pressing into them.

It was Nina who spoke next, her tone lighter, though there was something careful in it. "Maybe he doesn’t know where we’re going either."

Cassian gave a small, knowing hum. "Then maybe he should say that."

It was a simple statement, but the implication dug deep. Captains were meant to lead, meant to inspire confidence. A leader who didn’t trust his crew was one thing—but a leader who didn’t know where he was going? That was something else entirely.

And Thorne, for all his sharp edges and quiet authority, had yet to offer them a reason for their course.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then—

"You lot are getting bold."

The voice came from the shadows, smooth as dark water.

Cassian felt the shift in the air before he even turned.

Thorne stood at the edge of the gathered crew, half-lit by the lantern glow. His coat hung open, the collar loose, as if he had been caught in the middle of something before being drawn here. His hair was tousled by the wind, and his amber eyes, sharp as cut glass, fixed on Cassian with something unreadable.

And—

Cassian saw it now, clear as day.

The map.

Tucked into Thorne’s belt, close to his hip, wrapped in leather and bound with a strap.

He was carrying it. Always carrying it.

Cassian’s mouth curled, slow and knowing. "Not bold, captain. Just curious."

Thorne’s gaze darkened. He stepped forward, the weight of his presence enough to make a few of the crew shift uncomfortably. "Curiosity gets men thrown overboard."

Cassian only grinned. "And yet, here I am."

The tension between them stretched, a thin, thrumming line drawn taut between the two of them.

Cassian could feel the way the crew was watching, the way their attention flickered between them, between the casual ease of his posture and the quiet storm brewing in Thorne’s expression.