Read The Silent Tide :: Over the Fog

The air in the captain’s quarters was thick—thick with something neither of them dared to name, hanging between them like the taut ropes of a ship caught in a storm. Cassian could hear the relentless pounding of his own heart, could feel the ghost of heat where Thorne had shoved him back, where the space between them had been reduced to nothing.

And he could see it too—that flicker in Thorne’s amber eyes, something raw, something Cassian shouldn’t have found fascinating, but did.

Then—three sharp knocks.

The spell was shattered. Thorne’s expression smoothed over in an instant, features slipping back into the unreadable mask he always wore. He turned without a word and flung open the door.

Saoirse stood there.

She was as steady as the tide, always unreadable, always composed—but tonight, something was different. She wasn’t afraid—Saoirse never showed fear—but there was something taut in the set of her jaw, something just barely off in the cool steel of her gaze.

That was enough.

“Captain,” she said, voice low, steady. “You have to see this.”

Thorne didn’t ask. He simply stepped past her, and Cassian followed.

Outside, the night swallowed them whole.

A dense fog had rolled in over the deck, wrapping itself around the masts and rigging like spectral fingers, muffling the familiar groan of wood under the weight of the ship’s movement. The lanterns burned weakly, their glow devoured by the mist before it could stretch more than an inch outward. Beyond the rail, the sea was nothing but a whisper of waves against the hull—an abyss without horizon, without certainty.

Then—

A sudden flutter of movement.

Something sliced through the fog above them, a dark shape barely discernible in the heavy air. Then a voice—thin, strange, unnervingly clear.

"Not all dead, not all dead."

A parrot.

The bird swooped low, its claws brushing against the hair of a crewman. The man let out a yelp, staggering back with a curse. Others recoiled, eyes widening as they turned skyward, some instinctively making gestures against bad luck.

"What in the devil’s name—?” someone hissed.

Cassian followed the erratic flight of the bird, unease curling in his gut. A parrot. Out here, in the open ocean, with no land in sight. That was not right.

But it wasn’t the bird itself that unsettled him. It was the way it called out those words, over and over, circling the ship as though trying to warn them of something unseen.

Then, as if conjured by its cry—

A shout from above.

"Shipwreck off the starboard bow!"

A surge of movement. Sailors rushed to the rail, gripping the wood as they peered through the mist. The fog thinned just enough to reveal jagged shapes in the water—shattered planks, broken beams, the skeletal remains of a ship torn apart. Tattered sails floated like ghosts among the wreckage, the sea cradling the remnants of something that had once been whole.

Then—

"Man overboard!"

The words cut through the night like a blade. Cassian’s head snapped to the side, following the frantic pointing of one of the men. And there, drifting amid the ruins, barely clinging to a splintered fragment of wood—

A boy.

He was limp, half-submerged, his body rolling with the waves. Water sluiced over his face, his long, reddish hair plastered against his skin in heavy strands. He should have looked dead. But then—his chest rose. Fell.

He was breathing.

Cassian barely registered the voices shouting orders, the hands gripping his arm as the crew prepared to pull the boy aboard. His focus remained locked on the figure in the water. There was something eerily delicate about him—too pale, too otherworldly to be a pirate. His lashes were dark and heavy against his skin, his lips slightly parted, as if caught in the middle of a breath.

And clenched in his fist—just above the surface of the water—

A small pendant.

Cassian’s breath hitched. His vision sharpened, the world narrowing to that tiny object, glistening with seawater.

He knew it.

A piece of home. A relic of childhood. Something Matthias should never have lost.

And yet—here it was.

That night, Cassian lay awake in his cot, the pendant cool against his palm. The edges were worn smooth with years of handling, but he could still trace the faint engravings.

A twin to the one hanging from his own ear.

His throat tightened.

The last time he had seen Matthias with this—

Cassian squeezed his eyes shut. The memory surged up anyway.

They were children, slipping past the guards in the dead of night. Matthias had been grinning, his golden-brown curls tousled from the wind, eyes bright with mischief.

“You’re terrible at sneaking,” Cassian had whispered.

“And yet,” Matthias had whispered back, “here we are.”

He had stolen something—Cassian didn’t even remember what anymore, but he did remember Matthias pressing the earring into his hand later that night, laughing as he swore, “Now you have to keep it. So if I ever get caught, we’ll both be guilty.”

Cassian had rolled his eyes. “That’s a terrible deal.”

Matthias had just grinned wider. “Too bad, you’re stuck with me.”

A lump formed in Cassian’s throat.

He turned the pendant over in his palm.

Too bad, indeed.

By morning, the rescued boy had been locked away in the brig. The parrot—or rather, the raven, now that they had gotten a proper look—had been thrown in with him.

Cassian stood outside the cell, arms folded.

The brig was shrouded in shadow, lit only by the dim glow filtering through the overhead grates. The air was thick with salt and damp, a clammy chill seeping into the bones.

The boy sat huddled against the far wall, knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around himself in a futile attempt to keep warm. His clothes were still soaked, clinging to his frame like dead weight, and his long, reddish hair dripped, leaving dark patches on the wooden floor.

He was trembling.

Not just with the occasional shiver of someone who was cold, but with that deep, uncontrollable tremor—something verging on feverish.

But the worst was his expression.

His eyes—some shade Cassian couldn't quite place in the dim light—shifted from one side to the other, vague, unfocused, as if he wasn't entirely aware of where he was or how he'd got there. His breathing was quiet but shallow, quick, the way an animal breathes when it's too weak to run but still aware of the danger surrounding it.

Cassian studied him from the other side of the iron bars, that familiar coil of wariness settling in his chest. He had seen too many things disguised as something harmless. But… this felt different.

The boy did not plead. Did not try to explain himself. He didn’t even look up as Cassian moved.

He just… curled in on himself a little more, as if he were trying to disappear entirely.

The raven, however, was watching.

Its beady eyes tracked Cassian’s every movement from its perch in the corner of the cell, feathers fluffed up in clear distrust.

Cassian ran his tongue over his teeth.

"Not much of a talker, are you?" His voice cut through the silence, but the boy barely reacted.

The raven, on the other hand, cocked its head and rasped in perfect mimicry,

"Not much of a talker, not much of a talker."

Cassian shot the bird an unimpressed look before turning his attention back to the boy.

Shit. He looked too pale.

Something twisted in Cassian’s stomach.

He had seen too many sailors freeze to death after spending too long in the sea. And though this one didn’t look quite at death’s door, he wasn’t exactly far from it either.

Cassian clicked his tongue, shifting slightly when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps.

Thorne came to a slow stop beside him. His posture was as relaxed as ever, that usual air of easy indifference hanging over him, but there was something sharp in his gaze as he took in the scene before them.

"Are you planning on telling me why you’re down here?" he asked, voice low and even.

Cassian didn’t look away from the boy.

Slowly, deliberately, he reached into his coat pocket, fingers closing around the small, familiar shape.

Then, without a word, he pulled out the earring, letting it dangle between his fingers.

"I want to talk to him."

Thorne’s eyes flickered briefly to the tiny piece of jewellery. His expression barely shifted, but Cassian caught the subtle way his jaw tightened.

"And why would I allow that?"

Cassian rolled the earring between his fingers, watching the way the faint light glinted off its surface.

"Because I’m willing to trade for it."

Silence.

Then Thorne leaned in just slightly, his voice dropping to something barely above a whisper.

"Do you think that’s worth the price?"