As the sun dipped beneath the horizon, the cabin was bathed in golden light. Shadows stretched softly across the walls, and the warm glow settled over the children like a blanket. Their heads began to droop, one by one, lulled by Scarlett’s steady voice as she read aloud—already three stories deep.

At some point, Evelyn had crept up onto the bed. Scarlett now found herself pinned, a child on either side and Evelyn nestled in close beside her. She tried to keep her posture straight, but weariness tugged at her eyelids, her body leaning more with each word.

Then—a soft knock at the door.

All three children flinched, heads lifting in unison.

Scarlett nearly called out, but paused, remembering the lock she’d drawn across the door. She gently shifted, easing herself out from beneath the tangle of limbs, and handed the book to Olive as she stood. Her fingers smoothed down her dress as she crossed the room, heart ticking up with quiet caution.

"Yes?" Scarlett cracked the door open, peering into the dim hallway.

"Evenin’, miss." A tall man—nearly too tall for the cramped corridor—dipped his head in a polite bow. "If you’d like, supper’s bein’ served up on deck."

"Oh." She opened the door a little wider, glancing back at the bed. "Thank you."

Behind her, the children were already scrambling into formation, standing in a neat line and holding hands. She smiled as Via stepped forward, arm outstretched expectantly.

The tall sailor led the way, pausing at the top of the stairs to offer his hand. Scarlett hesitated, but accepted it, letting him help her up onto the deck.

"Thank you," she said again, a touch of surprise in her voice. The sudden courtesy she’d begun receiving still felt odd. It was unexpected, but not unwelcome.

As she stepped out and guided the children onto the deck, the golden light of the setting sun bathed everything in a soft, fading glow. Her eyes adjusted slowly to the open sky and shifting shadows.

All along the deck, sailors lounged on crates and leaned against railings, murmuring among themselves. Maybe it was her imagination, but the moment they emerged, the idle chatter seemed to hush, replaced by low whispers.

"Lady Scarlett!" Artur broke away from a group of guards and jogged toward her.

His smile was warm, his hair tousled by the ocean wind.

"Sir Artur," she greeted, brushing her own windblown hair back behind her ear.

She had felt them take off some time ago but hadn’t noticed just how far they'd sailed. The land was gone — no distant shoreline, no hint of home. Just sea in every direction. Her stomach fluttered uneasily.

When she looked back at him, she found his gaze still on her. Light brown eyes, steady and searching, staring at her like he was looking for something.

He blinked quickly, looking embarrassed as he cleared his throat. "Right—food. Let’s get you four settled." He opened his arms and gently herded them toward a stack of crates near the railing.

"Oh, really, we can manage." She offered a polite, uncertain wave. "You don’t have to trouble yourself."

"Nonsense," he said with a grin. "Just sit tight. I’ll be right back."

She sat, her smile tight, feeling a faint flush rise to her cheeks. She wasn’t even sure why it irritated her so much. Maybe it was the years of etiquette training drilled in by her mother, whispering that it was rude to be waited on so brazenly. Or maybe it was the helplessness of it all—being carted off, dependent on strangers, unable to even fetch her own meal.

The thought dug in deeper. Why had she even accepted their food in the first place? What if it had been drugged? Of course it hadn’t been—obviously—but still. She could almost hear Harmon’s voice in her head, sharp with disapproval.

"What's the matter, Miss Scarlett?" Via hoisted herself onto one of the crates, swinging her legs back and forth. "You're not feeling… um… oh right—seasick, are you?"

Olive turned from where he stood, fixing her with a serious stare. "You’re not gonna faint again, are you?"

Scarlett chuckled softly, shaking her head. "No, I’m alright. But thank you."

Olive let out a loud huff and plopped down on his crate, arms crossed. "Good. I didn’t like that."

Evelyn, seated quietly at the base of Scarlett’s crate, glanced up and gave a single, solemn nod.

"Well then, my apologies. I’ll do my best not to faint again," Scarlett said, keeping her amusement carefully tucked behind a straight face.

"Alright, here we go." Artur appeared behind her, balancing four bowls in one arm. He leaned in so she could take one. "There's bread too, if anyone's not up for stew. I usually get a little queasy a few hours after we set sail."

She accepted a bowl and passed one down to Evelyn. "I’m managing just fine, thank you."

"I’m not nauseous!" Olive announced proudly. "I’ve never felt better."

Artur chuckled and nudged Olive’s shoulder as he handed him a bowl. "Sounds like you’ve got the makings of a fine sailor, little man. And what about you?" He turned to Via with the last bowl. "Feeling alright, little lady?"

"I feel great!" Via beamed, swinging her legs as she dug into the stew.

"Oi! You!" a voice barked from the far side of the ship. "Don’t go crowdin’ our guests."

A tall man strode toward them. Gray streaked his dark hair, and salt-and-pepper stubble shadowed his sun-weathered face. His clothes were sharper than most of the crew’s, though still worn from use.

"Apologies, sir." Artur straightened and gave a quick salute.

The man’s piercing blue eyes landed on Scarlett, holding her in place like frost. "Was he bothering you, miss?"

"Oh, no—no, not at all." She quickly waved her hands. "He was just bringing us food. Really, he’s been nothing but kind."

The man chuckled, scratching his jaw. "Good to hear. Just didn’t want any of my men gettin’ too nosy."

"Sorry, Captain," Artur muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Captain?" Scarlett looked up again, squinting at the man now silhouetted by the setting sun.

He smiled faintly. "Suppose I should've introduced myself. Captain Benann, at your service. And this beauty here is the Lady Marion Fleur D'été. Welcome aboard."

"Thank you, Captain." Scarlett nodded politely. "She’s a beautiful ship. Was she a retired Navy runner—or is she still in service?"

The captain’s eyebrows lifted with interest. "You’ve got a sharp eye, lass." He scratched at his stubble. "She’s retired—same as me. Took her with me when I left the service."

Scarlett glanced toward the railing. "Her carvings are exquisite. The scrollwork along the rail—was that Garversan’s design? I thought I saw the same pattern running all the way down her cant frames."

He let out a hearty laugh that echoed across the deck. Scarlett flushed as heads turned—Artur looked puzzled, and the children blinked up at her with wide eyes.

"Well, I’ll be," the captain chuckled, shaking his head. "I don’t think half my crew could tell you what scrollwork is, let alone who carved it. You sure you ain’t a shipwright in disguise?"

She ducked her head, cheeks warm. "My older brother’s in the Navy. And my father used to do craftsmanship work before he went into trade. I guess I picked up a bit."

She and her father hadn’t shared many interests, but ships had always been their common ground. They could talk for hours, dissecting hull designs or sail configurations. By fourteen, she could name every part of a ship—down to the smallest brass screw. Harmon had been mortified when she visited his current station and spent twenty minutes just admiring the stern’s designs.

"You’ve got a sharp eye," Captain Benann said, a note of admiration in his voice. "Aye, she was a Navy runner in her prime. Looked even finer back then." He exhaled and set his hands on his hips. "Time wears everything down. But she’s still got fight in her."

"Lady Scarlett, you're like—ten times smarter than I thought!" Olive nearly toppled off his crate in excitement. "You know everything about boats!"

Her ears warmed. "Oh, I only know the little things. I couldn’t steer one to save my life. Sailing—that’s the real art."

Laughter rippled through the nearby men. A few elbowed each other, clearly amused, and her cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink.

The captain studied her a moment longer, amusement glinting in his bright blue eyes. “You’ll be a lively bunch to have aboard,” he said with a chuckle, brushing his chin with a thoughtful finger as he scanned the deck. “Well, I’ve done my part with the pleasantries. Wouldn’t want to be a bother.”

He raised a hand and called out, “Rozz! Take a break—I’ll take over!” Then, without another word, he turned and strode away, the salty wind catching the hem of his coat.

"He's an interesting man, isn’t he?"

Scarlett jumped. Artur had somehow materialized at her side again, a habit she was starting to find either irritating or deeply impressive.

“I don’t know,” she muttered, steadying the bowl she’d nearly spilled. “Not the strangest man I’ve met.”

Artur leaned in, his voice low. “Most men say he’s gone mad.”

“Mad?” Scarlett drew back with a scoff. “He’s a little eccentric, maybe, but that hardly qualifies.”

“Who’s mad?” Via piped up, scooting closer on her crate, eyes darting between them.

“No one, dear.” Scarlett gave her a quick smile. “And you shouldn’t listen to gossip. It rots your brain.” She shot Artur a pointed look.

He lifted his hands in mock surrender. “It’s not gossip if everyone knows it. They say he spends entire nights just standing out there”—he nodded toward the sea—“staring into the dark. Won’t let just anyone aboard, either. Once, he threw a scout overboard. No warning. Just grabbed him and tossed him.”

Scarlett folded her arms. “That’s absurd.”

Artur shrugged. “Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

“If it did, then I’m sure there was a reason. And I highly doubt it had anything to do with madness.”

He shrugged, a cheeky grin tugging at his mouth. “Isn’t it more fun to think he’s mad? Adds a little drama to the voyage.”

Scarlett bit back a smile. “Go peddle your stories somewhere else. It’s hardly proper to spread rumors in front of children.” She waved him off with a flick of her hand. “Shoo.”

He chuckled, stepping back. “My sincerest apologies.” He turned to the kids with a wink. “Always listen to Miss Scarlett. She’s much more civilized than I am.”

To her surprise, they all nodded solemnly, as if he’d delivered gospel truth.

She shook her head in mock dismay, clicking her tongue. “Really. Spreading nonsense. Calling the captain mad…”

Via leaned forward, brow furrowed. “But what’s he mad about?”

Scarlett laughed. “Oh, no, dear. Not angry mad—mad like… crazy mad. But don’t worry, it’s just silly sailor talk.”

“I like him,” Olive declared, standing proudly on his crate. “Did you see that scar on his arm? Do you think he got it from a sea monster?”

Evelyn glanced up from her bowl, brushing her hair out of her face. “Sea monsters aren’t real.”

“Fine,” Olive huffed. “Then maybe pirates.”

“Pirates?” Via squeaked, sliding off her crate. She scurried over and clutched Scarlett’s dress. “Miss Scarlett, are there really pirates out here?”

Scarlett smiled gently, prying Via’s fingers off her. “No, sweetheart. Pirates don’t usually bother with small ships. They go after merchant vessels in the southern seas.”

Via relaxed, but still looked worried. Scarlett nudged her gently back toward her crate. “Now, how about you finish your stew? I don’t think they’ll want us lingering out here after sunset.”

Scarlett sighed, fingers tightening around the railing as she gazed out at the glowing horizon. The sun had just slipped beneath the reflective water, leaving streaks of gold and rose in its wake. Her fingertips traced the soft, salt-worn carvings in the wood, following each curve and dip as her mind wandered.

The doctor had returned earlier, kindly suggesting she spend more time in the open air before retreating below. He was convinced she still had a mild fever, but she was sure she was fine. She hadn’t argued, though it felt strange to be out on the deck alone.

Well, not alone, she reminds herself. I'm still surrounded by all these people. But still… alone.

The salty wind stirred again, brushing past her and stinging her eyes even with them closed. She leaned into the rhythm of the ship, breathing with its rise and fall. Her head, still faintly sore, felt clearer—less tight and fogged. The sea rolled beneath her, steady and unbothered.

"Ah, so you fancy the night sea too," a gruff voice murmured beside her, caught up in the wind.

She opened her eyes, blinking. "What—?"

The captain stood next to her, one hand resting on the railing, eyes fixed on the horizon. "She’s at her best after sundown. The waves find their rhythm, the air clears its lungs, and the stars… well, they make the sky feel less lonely."

Scarlett followed his gaze. "I suppose it is quieter."

"They say the sea speaks clearer in the dark. She comes alive when the world sleeps." He inhaled slowly, then let it go with a sigh, like a ritual.

Scarlett hesitated, hearing Artur's words echo in her mind. He is a tad… eccentric. She thought to herself.

"Does it… speak to you?" She asked softly.

He chuckled, head tilting. "Let me guess—someone’s already told you I’m a lunatic?"

She flushed. "That's a rather harsh word to use."

"Aye," he said with a deeper laugh. "But not inaccurate. Still, madness isn’t so bad. Sometimes it's better to be mad. More fun that way." He winked at her.

She gripped the railing tighter as the boat gave a sudden lurch. “Woah.”

The Captain didn’t flinch. His expression darkened slightly, eyes fixed on the horizon. “The sea moves in ways men were never meant to understand. I’ve seen her moods—stranger than any storm.” He glanced at her, the blue of his eyes catching what little light remained. It was the same look everyone seemed to be giving her. Like they were looking for something—a reaction to something—to catch her in some kind of lie. “I imagine you might know something about that.”

Scarlett’s brows drew together. “I… don’t think I do, Sir.” Another sway of the ship made her knees buckle. “W-woah.” She widened her stance, hands tightening on the rail.

Then, a glow bloomed beneath the water.

Pale light shimmered just beyond the edge of the deck, casting rippling shadows across the planks. It moved like a living thing—slow, deliberate—painting the sea silver.

Her breath caught. The glow grew stronger, closer, and the ship tilted again under its presence.

She pushed her hair out of her eyes and leaned cautiously over the edge. “What… what is that?”