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Keres’s fingers trail over the jagged cuts on my thighs, making me hiss through my teeth as fresh waves of pain ripple through me.

He tuts softly, shaking his head like I’m a stubborn child he’s grown tired of scolding. His head tilts to the side, and a glint of something dark—something dangerous—flickers in his eyes as he takes in my battered state. The way he looks at me makes bile rise in my throat.

“You keep saying that,” Keres murmurs, his tone almost conversational. He leans in closer, his breath hot against my ear. “Now, why don’t we skip the theatrics? Save yourself the trouble and tell me what I want to know. Where is he?”

I choke, the acrid sting of bile tainting my tongue, and blink rapidly, forcing the images back as I search for an anchor to ground me in the present.

My dagger. Where is it?

The weapon has been with me for years, the only piece of my mother I have left, its feathered blade carved as finely as her absence. My fingers itch to wrap around its hilt, to balance its familiar weight in my grasp. I scour the desk, the floorboards beneath, and rifle hastily through drawers, empty save for splinters and dust.

My lips curl in frustration.

If the dagger isn’t here, someone must have it.

I cross the cramped space and shove my way through the door. My heart thrums as I navigate blindly through the ship’s dark depths until I reach the top of a cramped staircase.

The mocking cries of gulls hit me first as I stagger onto the deck. Brine and tar stain the air as it presses against my skin, and my theïkós stirs deep within me. I shove the sensation aside, running the pad of my thumb along the underside of my suppressing ring.

Control is the only thing I have left. I can’t afford to lose it.

But the hum lingers, feather-soft and insistent, brushing against the edges of my mind like a trapped bird testing the strength of its cage. I clench my fists, forcing myself to focus.

The deck of the ship stretches wide, its wooden planks bleached a silvery gray. Coils of rope lie scattered across the surface, alongside crates and barrels secured with thick netting. The crew moves purposefully among the clutter, their faces bronzed and hardened by their trade, either ignoring my presence or oblivious to it. Their voices rise over the rhythmic creak of the ship as the sun slouches toward the horizon, stippling the waves with molten gold. For a moment, the sheer expanse of my surroundings holds me in place.

But then I see him.

Xan, the weapon the Eagle had been so desperate to claim, stands at the edge of the deck, silver hair catching the last of the sunlight as the wind pulls loose strands from behind his ears. His gaze is locked on that burning line between sea and sky, and there’s something savage in the way he watches it. Like he’s seeing the sun set for the first time and doesn’t know if it’s a blessing or a threat.

His stillness, his gods-forsaken calm—it makes the flames kindling in my chest flare.

He looks free.

And I’m the one who paid the price.

I didn’t know what to expect from him. He was so closed off, guarded in every brief conversation we had. Untrusting—as anyone would be after being held captive. I imagined he would be grateful, then disappear before dawn had fully breached the horizon.

But this?

Being abducted in turn had not once crossed my mind. Worse still, I can’t even begin to comprehend why.

My plan to break him out of the Aviary and slip back inside its walls before my absence was noted may have been flimsy. But there was still a chance, no matter how slim, that I could have pulled it off. And even if I hadn’t, Nyssa and I were prepared to go to ground while they hunted for us and wait for the opportunity to flee north, where the Aviary has less reach. By bringing me with him, he took that chance from me. And Nyssa…she won’t know what’s happened until it’s too late.

I want to scream. The urge burns through me, climbing up my throat and demanding release. I grit my teeth in a desperate attempt to hold it back and force myself to breathe through the rage. One breath. Then another.

My gaze darts across the ship. I’ve drawn a few curious stares now, but I pay them no heed as I spot a blade hanging from the scabbard of an inattentive crewman.

I prowl across the deck, resolve silencing any hesitation as I near and wrench the short sword free from the man’s side. He shouts, but I ignore him and turn my attention back toward where Xan remains fixated on the stretch of water. Closing the distance between us, I swing. But the sword’s edge slices through empty air as he sidesteps.

When he turns to face me, the light glances off his eyes—quicksilver, cold and ruthless. Surprise flickers across his features, there and gone as quickly as it arrives.

“I was wondering when you’d rejoin the world,” he says, his voice rough as he unsheathes a dagger.

No—not a dagger. Mine.

His fingers flex around the smooth ivory hilt, the feathered blade glinting, And something inside me cracks at the sight of it—held too familiarly, too comfortably, in his grasp.

“Give it back,” I snarl, shifting my stance.