Page 17 of Cursebreaker

Was it ever really there?

I take Henry’s hand and allow him to sweep me into a dance. I almost expect to smell the sorrowsnap on his breath or note his bloodshot eyes from late nights spent hugging a bottle of liquor, but his gaze is clear, and I inhale only the warm, familiar scent of smoke and spices.

“Ah, dancing,” he says, squeezing my hand. “My favorite.”

“At least your stew was decent tonight,” I say. “I actually managed to get down a few bites.”

He pinches my waist, and I smack his shoulder.

He laughs, the sound soothing the tension at the nape of my neck. “I could use your help,” he says. “If you can spare some time away from your captainly duties.”

It’s only then that I realize he’s led me across the deck, toward the doors to the captain’s quarters. Of course he would have noticed I wanted to slip away—he was probably looking for the same opportunity.

I tilt my head, a grin tugging at my lips. “Captainly isn’t a word.”

“It should be.” He opens the door, leaning against the frame, and in the scant light of my cabin, I see the dark circles under his eyes—the pallor of his skin. Still, he smiles. “Sweet dreams, pirate.”

He shuts the door, and for a moment, I’m tempted to go after him. But the instant I set foot in my quarters, exhaustion weighs on me, nearly dragging me toward my bed. I shuffle past the heavy mahogany desk at the center of the room, when a mouse scurries beneath my feet, and I stumble backward, catching myself on the edge of the furniture.

A flash of brown fur and the tiny creature disappears through a crack in the wood-slatted wall.

I blink, starting toward my bed once more, when the flickering light of a lantern gives me pause. I hadn’t lit any lanterns when Margaret came to retrieve me earlier this evening, and no one has entered my quarters since.

I lean over the desk, lips pursed to blow out the flame, when a cold chill snakes down my spine.

There, lying on my desk, is a scrap of parchment—a scrap of parchment that wasn’t here when I left.

I reach for the note, my pulse hammering in my throat.

Thump. Thump.

I jump, drawing my dagger as the door swings open.

Gabriel sticks his head inside. “Sorry to disturb you,” he says, his voice dull. “I just wanted to ask—” He pauses, eyes narrowed on the note clutched in my fist and my dagger in the other. “Is everything all right?”

“Perfect,” I say, and I’m surprised when my voice doesn’t shake. “Ask me what?”

He studies my face, his brows pinched. “Just whether you wanted me to take first watch or—”

“I’ve got it,” I say, sheathing my dagger, my exhaustion swiftly forgotten in the wake of adrenaline coursing through my veins.

He frowns. “You’re sure? Because you really should be resting—”

“I’m sure.”

He nods once, his expression incredulous as he slowly backs out of the doorframe and closes the door behind him.

I wait, watching his silhouette depart through the linen curtains, before I smooth out the note crumpled in my grasp.

Two words, written in bloodred ink.

He’s here.

A bloodcurdling scream pierces the night.

I jolt upright, clutching the medallion that hangs from my neck, my forehead slick with sweat. But the screams I hear are not my own.

I scramble out of bed, touching the hilts and handles of my weapons. A knife in each boot, a dagger at either hip, four pistols at my back. But my cutlass isn’t by my bedside where I left it after I returned from my watch.