So many possibilities spin through my mind, and I feel like there is more I don’t know. Who is lying? Because what I know from Dane and what I’m being told by Weston and the Castaways is not adding up.
There is one thing for certain, though. Tonight, after weeks of captivity, I’m finally getting off of this ship.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Resting is impossible, despite Weston insisting I get some. Excitement and anticipation of finally getting off this ship courses through my body the entire afternoon, and it is all I can think about. I hope the energy is enough to get me through the night, through whatever constitutes a shift.
Just before we finish dinner, Sig tells me to check the room for a new set of clothes. Sure enough, in the armoire I find a lighter version of the clothes I have on, as if the island is prepping me to be back in the heat and away from the cool breeze off the water.
The sky is a light purple and the suns are almost set as I step out onto the main deck to find Sig, Stassia, and Auralie waiting for me. Each of them is strapped down with their own choice of weapons, just as the Voyagers always are, but none of them look as eager or tense as I feel. To them, this is just another shift, but to me, this is the start of my return home, as well as a pause in my captivity.
A wave of vulnerability washes over me as I take in everything they’ve chosen to arm themselves with, and remember that I have nothing. I never left camp without at leasthaving my dagger, and I promised Brynne I would always be armed. I start to speak, to beg Sig for at least something small, but I haven’t gotten a word out before she’s looking past me, shaking her head aggressively.
“No. Absolutely not,” she says firmly, and I glance over my shoulder to see what she is talking about.
Weston steps out onto the deck, his vest tied tightly over his dark shirt, a variety of blades tucked into the front. A hilt sits at the top of the normally empty scabbard, and it sways as he saunters over to us, his expression completely neutral.
Sig brushes past me and meets him halfway, her arm extended as she points toward the entrance below deck.
“You better turn back around. You’re not tagging along on my shift,” Sig says, pinning him with her glare.
“You can’t tell me what to do, Sig,” he says as he comes to a stop in front of her.
“Oh yes, I can Cap. You aren’t coming.”
He shoots her a look, but she doesn’t back down, only widens her stance and slams her fists into her hips.
“I have this,” she motions with her hand to the three of us standing behind her, “completely under control.”
“I’m coming, Sig. Don’t make me give you an order.”
“Don’t throw orders around atme, Cap. We both know this is my shift. It’s my call. You aren’t on tonight, so you aren’t coming.”
I’ve never seen anyone on the crew talk back to Weston like this, especially Sig. She usually has no problem following his orders, so what changed now? Whatever it is, I’m silently applauding her.
“Some space will be good for you,” she continues after he doesn’t respond. “Maybe she’ll actually start to like us without you around.”
Stassia giggles and I look down at my feet, trying to hide a smile.
“Sig,” Weston growls in warning.
“Cap,” Sig snaps back.
They stand in silence, staring each other down, having a silent conversation that I can’t decipher, until Weston huffs and breaks away from her.
Wow, he really gave in. What power does Sig hold over him?
There’s no time for me to wonder before I realize he broke away, only to head straight toward me.
The girls shuffle a few steps away as he stops directly in front of me, his brows drawn in and his jaw tight. He reaches to his side and pulls something from his belt.
“Can I trust you to carry this?” His voice is a quiet rumble, as if he doesn’t want them to hear. He extends my sheathed dagger toward me, and I reach out and take it, my chest swelling with happiness once it’s back in my hands.
“Yes,” I breathe, and slide it in the back of my waistband, right where it belongs. Neither of us moves. The weight of his stare is heavy, and I’m glued to this spot, waiting for whatever he’s planning to say next. It feels like at any moment he’s going to tell Sig he changed his mind and come with us, even if it causes a fight.
His throat bobs and his jaw clenches. “Stay alert, princess.”
He steps away quickly, snapping the tension between us. His sudden lack of proximity is jarring, but I feel like I can breathe again the closer he gets to the stairs.
