Not long after Mart had left, Lux also retreated to his cabin. Fantoom took the last sip of his wine. He glanced at Aravin, who set his fork down beside his empty plate, clearly unsure what to do next.

“Do you have a guest room?” he asked Cami.

The boy shook his head.

“Lux is very particular about his privacy,” Fantoom added. He grinned when Aravin turned toward him. “So you can guess where that leaves you.”

“On the couch,” he muttered.

Fantoom chuckled. “Wouldn’t recommend it. You can’t stretch out properly on that thing. But suit yourself. You know where to find my cabin if you change your mind. You’ll be spending plenty of nights here.”

Aravin shot him a murderous glare.

Fantoom winked, pushed his chair back, and stood. “Dishes are all yours.”

“Let me guess,” Cami said to Aravin, grinning. “You’ve never washed a plate in your life?”

“No. But I imagine you’ve got a sung tutorial ready?”

The boy laughed, as if they’d been friends for years.

Fantoom couldn’t help but smile. Cami always had a way of disarming people. He hoped it would help Aravin find his footing here, because Fantoom had no intention of backing out of their agreement. Assuming our partnership actually lasts, that is.

He walked over to Lux’s cabin and knocked lightly before opening the door. His friend had the largest room on the ship, though it didn’t feel that way—every inch was packed. In one corner stood a bed; along the walls, tables overflowed with tangled prototypes whose purpose Fantoom could only guess at: tools, piles of books, mountains of sketches and intricate diagrams.

The space was three times higher than the other cabins and held two additional levels crammed with equipment. A few weeks ago, Lux had replaced the spiral staircase with a floating platform—though it had already caused more than one unplanned hard landing.

On the corner of the desk where Lux was now working stood the gramophone he had invented—a device that had been playing almost nonstop ever since. Though Lux was far from talkative himself, he couldn’t stand silence, as if unwanted thoughts might fill it. The records featured songs produced by Cami.

Fantoom believed this invention could easily make Lux rich, but as usual, his friend had little interest in sharing his creations with the world.

He stepped closer, stopping just behind Lux, and studied the vaporizer that filled the air with a gentle hiss. The copper tubes trembled softly as water bubbled in the glass flask below.

Lux had once explained that the steam passed through the herbs, releasing their pain-relieving properties as a fine mist. He then collected the vapor in small bottles to later brew tea with—along with extracts of other plants.

“It never stops amazing me what you can do,” Fantoom said.

Lux didn’t answer. His gaze remained fixed on the device.

"Worried about your father?"

"No."

Fantoom stepped back and dropped onto the bed. Tilting his head, he could just catch a glimpse of the sky through the glass dome above. It reminded him of the night they had camped out on the top floor as twelve-year-olds, "sleeping right under the stars."

"What do you think of that story about the dying light?"

"Mm. Could be true." Lux's voice was absent, as always when he worked. Still, Fantoom knew he caught every word.

"Wouldn't Cami have told us, if it were real?"

"Cami doesn't know everything."

"No, but this... this would be huge."

"Not if it's something they expect solved. You took the commission, didn't you?"

"Yeah. But not for the reason they think."

"Because of the Soultaker." Lux hummed under his breath. "He crossed your path sooner than expected."

He had. He had been in the middle of Tranendal. Fantoom hadn't seen it coming. And he was the protégé of none other than Aravin—Aravin, with whom Fantoom had shared a bed only a year ago.

If he'd managed to stay in his good graces, maybe they could have made contact sooner. Maybe they wouldn't be stuck here, rotting for the past two years. The world outside was calling, but he was shackled to that cursed forest.

"Cami called Aravin a lifesaver, when he examined him three days ago."

Fantoom glanced sideways. Lux turned too.

"Did he say anything more specific?"

"No." Fantoom let out a breath. Whatever flicker of hope he'd felt was already smothered by the girl's revelation. "I was hoping..." His voice drifted off.

"I know what you're hoping."

Fantoom straightened against the wall, blinking hard against the sting beneath his eyes. 

"Could've meant anything."

"I know that." He bit his lip. He wanted to say that those Scions might be his only chance. That , Aravin might save him with a tincture. He didn't voice it, though—it would have felt like an insult to Lux. Lux had been trying for years to find a solution, never succeeding. The man hated tinctures and would never inject anything himself; he simply didn't trust them.

"Are you going to tell them?"

"What?"

Lux shrugged. "About the deal you made?"

"Eventually. Once they can't return." Fantoom wasn't eager to bring it up preemptively. If they backed out of the visit, he'd be even further from home. "Aravin won't be happy about it either way."

A grin spread across Lux's lips. "He's really gotten under your skin, hasn't he? Lucky you, showing up right in front of you. If I believed in such things, I'd say it's fate."

"Let's see how it plays out first. Aloïs might not even let his friend go. He's hardly been forgiving so far."

Lux chuckled softly. "Good. You have to fight a little for love."

Fantoom raised an eyebrow. "You're the one who needs to say that. You're in a bunker."

"Well. Unless that light goes out, I'm not dying anytime soon." Lux turned back to his blood specimen, unaware of how sharply his words echoed through the cabin. It was a simple truth.

Just as simple as the truth that kept Lux in his bunker. Not indifferent, as someone else might think. Hope didn't live for him—it was like a flower that had to be ripped out as quickly as possible. Only then could his life remain orderly, predictable, with the chance of unexpected pain kept as low as possible.

Fantoom stood up and left the room.

For a while, he stood with arms crossed, leaning over the railing to stare at the stars. The air was crisp. Maybe he should go to bed, since tomorrow would be a tough day. Yet he knew he would only toss and turn, too restless for sleep. A nightcap might help.

He entered the lounge and saw Aravin slumped on the couch, shifting as soon as their eyes met.

"Behind the bar, there's a panel to shut off the steam drive, so the lamps go out." He opened a small cabinet, fetched the jar of golden poppy, and heated the water. Once the tea had steeped, he handed a cup to Aravin. The man accepted it after a brief glance.

Fantoom sat beside him. The tea couldn't mask the spicy, nutty scent that surrounded the man. Something stirred inside him, waking. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the Scion—his sharp jawline, alert eyes, and features that could shift from hard to soft in a moment.

"I could set up part of my cabin so you could work on your tinctures?"

"I won't start until we have a dragon."

"Not for me. For yourself. I thought brewing tinctures was your passion. You look unbearably bored."

Aravin's gaze flicked aside briefly, then wandered again. "And that can only happen in your room?" he muttered.

"Well, if you want to work in peace. Cami would stick his nose in constantly."

"Better him than you."

"I can watch from a distance too."

Irritation flared in Aravin's eyes as he jerked his head sideways. 

Fantoom lifted a corner of his mouth. "Sorry. Force of habit."

"And here I thought I was the only one for you." The mockery dripped from his words.

There had been others. Men, women. Never for long. He had never allowed them on his ship or close to anything else. Fantoom still didn't understand why he'd brought Aravin along, but it showed that there had been a different desire than merely satisfying lust. And it was clearly still there.

Fantoom blew on his tea. "You're the only one I thought about."

The man didn't answer, but Fantoom could see the words hadn't left him unmoved. He'd implied he hadn't had many lovers, and Fantoom wondered why. Surely not because he lacked attention. Was it the Soultaker? The pain etched into his face every time Aravin looked at him. The source of that pain remained a mystery. Both of their pain—the Scion clearly hated him.

His thoughts drifted back to the first time he saw Aravin, in Forgotten Worries, a mediocre tavern where the atmosphere hardly lived up to the name. Always a gloomy place.

Fantoom had been sitting in a corner with a man trying to sell him a new type of harpoon weapon. Within two sentences, he realized the man hadn't even made them yet—he wanted to craft them specifically for him. Naturally, the price was ridiculously high.

Before Fantoom could say anything, the door opened, and a young man stepped in who, despite the dark cloak he wore, looked far too well-kept. His sleeve caught as he sat on a barstool, revealing an arm full of copera.

While the harpoon salesman continued talking to him, Fantoom rose and stood next to the newcomer.

"Looking for a recommendation?" he asked, leaning his arms on the bar.

The man turned his head, revealing a strikingly handsome face. Carefully, he scanned the mask, then Fantoom's flashy clothing. Still wary, curiosity shone in his brown eyes.

"Please. You look like a man of taste."

Fantoom's lips curled. "Then I'd avoid everything they serve here." He stepped back, gesturing invitingly. "Come, let me take you to one of the better places in Koperhaven."

The Scion slid off the stool, holding his gaze for a breathless second before turning toward the door. Fantoom placed a hand lightly between the man's shoulder blades and guided him away, to an establishment where the food was tastier, the music more pleasant, and where he could discover what had brought this stranger to such a remote place.

It hadn't been his intention to rob Aravin. On the contrary—toward the end, he'd abandoned that idea and impulsively asked to meet again the next day. The man sparked something new in him, and Fantoom was adventurous enough to navigate unknown waters—or air currents, in his case. Until he realized he was flying straight into a wall and had to choose between dumping the ballast or crashing.

Yes—that might have been an exaggeration. But Fantoom knew that beyond brief pleasure, there could be nothing between them, and he had convinced himself that was all he wanted. After one passionate night, he had deliberately smashed his own windows.

Against all expectations, Aravin now sat next to him on the couch. He had so little time left, and if he wanted to taste even a fraction of what even an inexperienced boy like Cami could sing with such passion...

"I could hardly believe it. That you have melancholic moods."

The voice hit his ears so abruptly it took him a few seconds to pull himself completely from memory. "Melancholic moods?"

"Something like that," he said. "According to Cami. He said you sometimes get gloomy. And now... it's almost like your world is only shades of gray."

Cami and his big mouth. He shook his head. "You've examined my body rather unorthodoxly up close. I'd think you noticed it's made of flesh and blood, not gears and mechanisms. So yes—I'm a human with feelings."

Aravin rubbed his thumb along the rim of his now-empty mug. "You come across as very confident. As if you have everything under control."

"I am confident." He snorted. "But no. I don't have everything under control. No one does." Even worse—I can barely fly for two hours, as if I'm leashed.

Aravin raised his eyes, hesitated. "What are you so afraid of, then?"

Fantoom downed the rest of his tea. "That's quite a personal question."

Aravin shrugged. "You seem like the type who'd rather talk about personal matters than about things that don't matter."

"No one likes talking about their fears." He shifted on the couch, his knee brushing Aravin's. The man pulled away immediately. "Or do you? You're afraid of me."

"I'm not."

"You do. You fear the things I stir in you."

The red flush spreading across his cheeks answered what his lips refused to.

Fantoom stood. "My bed's big enough for two, and I'm not going to pounce on you. Do yourself a favor—go lie there, not on this couch. Tomorrow will be a tough day, and a lousy night will endanger not only you but the others as well."

"Danger?"

"Yes. The visit to the Bone Forest will demand sacrifices."

Aravin's eyes widened. "The Bone Forest?"

"Repeating words doesn't change their meaning. Turn off the gas lamps before you sleep. Here—or at mine." He set his empty mug on the table and left the lounge.

Aravin remained behind.

Halfway through the night, after Fantoom had long drifted off, he awoke to the creak of the door. The candelabra in Aravin's hand cast a soft glow.

"You're right," he muttered. "This couch is awful."

Fantoom felt a faint smile touch his lips as he slid aside to make room. He said nothing and drifted back into a dream world where his days weren't numbered.