The crew was on the move again, sails full and straining as they left the cursed island far behind. But the air aboard the ship was tense. The crew was shaken, bruised, battered. And their captain — though refusing to show it — was grievously wounded.
Sawyer moved along the deck that afternoon, barking quiet orders. His side was wrapped tight in rough bandages, blood already seeping through. His steps were slower than usual, his grip weaker. But no man aboard dared suggest he rest.
Syrena watched him from the shadows. She said nothing — not in front of the crew. Instead, when coils of rope needed hauling, she was there. When charts needed straightening, when lines needed tying — she was there. Always a breath ahead of what needed doing, always near when the captain faltered.
And though Sawyer never spoke of it, his eyes followed her when he thought she wouldn't notice.
She always noticed.
Night fell. The ship rocked gently on the waves, the crew below in their hammocks, a hush over the decks.
Sawyer sat alone in his quarters, struggling to unbind the soiled wrappings from his side. Every motion sent a jolt of fire through him, teeth clenched hard against the pain.
The bandages slipped from his fingers.
A soft knock — the door creaked open.
Syrena stepped inside, a warm cloth in hand. Her gaze met his, steady, calm.
"I didn't call for you," Sawyer rasped.
"I know," she answered simply.
He said nothing more as she crossed the cabin. The lamp's low light caught the curve of her face, the glint of her hair.
Wordlessly, she knelt beside him, hands gentle as she peeled away the bloodied bandages. The wound was deep, ugly — a memory of the fight he'd risked for her.
He hissed through his teeth as she pressed the warm cloth to the wound. "I've faced worse," he muttered, though his knuckles were white.
"I'm sure you have." Her voice was soft, but there was a sharp edge beneath it. "But this... was foolish."
Sawyer's gaze caught hers — a long, unreadable look. "Couldn't let them take you."
Syrena's hands slowed. For a moment, neither of them moved. The air between them thrummed — heavy with the weight of unspoken things.
She set the cloth aside and reached for fresh bandages. Her fingers brushed lightly against his bare skin — and for the first time, Sawyer's breath caught.
"You should rest," she said, voice low, not quite steady.
"I will," he murmured, eyes not leaving her.
But neither of them moved to pull away.
Their nearness lingered — a quiet closeness neither dared name.
Sawyer's gaze followed her as she rose, her fingers brushing lightly at his shoulder in passing. It was such a small thing — and yet it sent a strange current through him, sharp and unsettling.
He watched her go, his jaw tense.
Fool, he thought. He had never let anyone this close before. Never wanted to.
He'd known women in ports and taverns, aye — fleeting things, passing hours. But this... this was different. And damned if he understood it.
Left alone in the cabin's dim light, Sawyer stared at the closed door, confusion knotting beneath his ribs.
And for the first time in a long while, it wasn't the wound in his side that kept him from sleep.
Syrena slipped from the captain's quarters, closing the door softly behind her. The narrow corridor felt too tight, too heavy after what had just passed between them. Her heart was beating too fast, her hands trembling though she told herself there was no reason for it.
She climbed the stairs to the main deck, the cool night air rushing to meet her. Above, the sky was clouded, the moon a pale smudge behind dark veils. The sea churned below — waves high, frothing, slapping hard against the hull. The Tempest groaned with each roll, the ropes creaking in protest.
Syrena crossed to the rail, her eyes on the unruly water. Something in her chest tightened.
She leaned out slightly, voice low but sure. "Enough."
The wind seemed to catch its breath.
Her gaze sharpened. "Calm yourself."
The waves that moments before had surged and foamed began to settle, the swells gentling, the ship's roll easing beneath her feet. The groaning timbers fell silent. Even the wind softened, falling to a whisper.
Syrena exhaled slowly, her grip loosening on the rail.
The sea was getting impatient...and so was she.