"Why do you even care if I'm reckless or not?” I asked. "You made it clear we're not friends."
His gaze dropped to where he still held my wrist, as if he'd forgotten he was touching me. Slowly, he released me, his fingertips dragging across my skin as he pulled away. "I don't like losing crew. Even temporary ones."
And just like that, I was cargo again. I stepped back, putting distance between us. "Well, don't worry, Captain. I won't die on your watch and ruin your reputation."
Something odd crossed his face, but it was gone before I could look deeper. "See that you don't," he clipped, and then he was gone, moving past me down the corridor. He moved so fast that I had to catch myself on the wall to keep from toppling over.
I stood there for a long moment, my wrist still tingling where he'd touched me. I told myself it meant nothing. That I was imagining things. That the last thing I needed was to befriend a man who saw me as nothing more than a temporary nuisance.
The storm leftus with three days of repairs. Omri worked around the clock to fix the damaged engine, while Tor and Knives reinforced the starboard wing support with spare metal plating. The rest of us helped where we could, falling into the rhythms of ship maintenance.
I found myself working alongside Cypher more often than not. He'd appear wherever I was—holding a ladder while I secured loose rigging, handing me tools while I helped Omri with engine repairs, checking my work with a critical eye that somehow never felt condescending.
We didn't talk much during these moments. But the silence felt different now, less hostile and more companionable. Like we'd reached an understanding through the storm.
On the third day, I was in the cargo hold taking inventory of supplies when I heard footsteps on the stairs. Cypher appeared, ducking under the low ceiling. "Knives said you were down here."
"Just checking our provisions. We lost some things during the storm." I gestured to a broken crate, its contents scatteredacross the floor. "Medical supplies, mostly. Bandages and antiseptic."
"Vic will want to know." He moved to help me gather the scattered items, and I was struck again by how he never asked his crew to do anything he wouldn't do himself. "How are you feeling?"
The question surprised me. "Fine. Why?"
"Using your rift senses that intensely for the first time can be draining. Some people experience headaches, disorientation, and nightmares." He picked up a roll of bandages and set it in the salvage pile. "I wanted to make sure you weren't suffering any adverse effects."
"I'm okay. Tired, but okay."
He nodded, accepting my answer. We worked in silence for a few minutes, gathering what could be salvaged and discarding what was ruined.
"You were right," he said finally. "The astrolabe confirmed it after we cleared the storm. If we'd tried to go around like I initially planned, we would have hit another storm system. Going through was the better choice."
"But you didn't trust my instincts at first."
"No. I didn't." He met my eyes, and there was something open in his expression that I hadn't seen before. "That was a mistake. You proved yourself during that storm. I won't make the same mistake again."
It wasn't quite an apology. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me for recognizing the obvious." He stood, brushing dust from his pants. "Come on. There's something I want to show you."
I followed him through the ship to a door I'd never seen him open before. His private cabin, I realized as he unlocked it and gestured for me to enter. The space was smaller than I'd expected, barely larger than the cabin I shared with Kora. Butit was neat and organized, with maps covering one wall and a small desk covered in navigation charts and journals. A narrow bunk occupied one corner, and weapons hung from hooks near the door.
He moved to the desk and pulled out a leather-bound book, flipping through pages covered in cramped handwriting. "I've been to Nytheris before. I told you that."
I nodded. "You said it was as bad as the stories."
"It's worse." He found the page he was looking for and turned the book so I could see. It showed a rough sketch of jagged floating islands, connected by energy bridges that the survivors attempted to make during the years they tried and failed to survive there. "This is what I remember of the main island, Calvaris. The Reliquarium is here, at the center. The royal archive is in the eastern tower."
I studied the map, trying to memorize the layout. "When were you there?"
"Three years ago. The job went badly. I lost three crew members. Good people who trusted me to keep them safe."
I wondered for a moment, why nobody had mentioned those three crew members before now.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know."
"Don't be. It was my fault. I underestimated the dangers, pushed too hard, made bad calls." He closed the book. "I swore I'd never go back. And yet here I am, because Gideon offered enough money to make me break that vow."
"What do you need the money for?" If it was that important, surely I could handle it.
