Morning came rough and gray. Clouds hung low over the sea, the wind colder than it should've been. The Ship cut through the water at a steady pace, but something about the ship felt... tight.
Sawyer stalked the deck, jaw clenched, eyes sharp. The bandage under his shirt pulled with every step, but he barely noticed the pain. His mind was elsewhere — back in his cabin the night before.
What in hells are you thinking, man?
She's crew — worse than that, she doesn't belong in this life. You've no right. No future. No place for this foolishness.
He scowled harder, angry with himself. The crew gave him space, sensing his mood. Low whispers passed between them. Harrow glanced at Briggs.
"Best stay out of his way today," the old sailor muttered.
Syrena tried. She moved through her work, calm as ever, hands steady. She kept to simple tasks — tying lines, checking supplies. But she still glanced his way now and then, unsure. The closeness from last night hung heavy between them, unspoken.
She brought a bucket and mop to the quarterdeck, scrubbing near where he stood by the rail.
"You're pushing too hard," she said quietly. "You should rest that wound."
Her voice was calm, her meaning kind. But it grated against him.
He turned on her, voice sharp. "Stick to mopping, girl. That's about all you're good for."
The words bit hard — sharper than he meant, but they were out before he could stop them.
Syrena froze, eyes wide. A flush rose in her cheeks — part anger, part something deeper. Without a word, she threw the mop down, turned on her heel, and stormed below deck.
Sawyer's fists tightened at his sides.
"Idiot," Briggs muttered under his breath nearby.
Sawyer didn't answer. He only stood there, teeth grinding, mood darker than the sky above.
And then — almost as if the sea itself had taken offense — the waves began to rise.
First a gentle
swell, then rougher, churning beneath the hull. The wind picked up, sharp and cold. The sails strained.
"Storm brewing," Harrow called. "And fast."
But some of the men weren't watching the clouds. Their eyes flicked toward the stairs where Syrena had gone. Whispers started.
Sawyer didn't speak. He only stared out at the sea, face hard, the anger in his chest twisting tighter.
The sea grew worse by the hour. Wind howled through the rigging, waves crashing hard against the hull. The crew scrambled to reef the sails, shouting to each other over the roar.
Sawyer stood at the wheel, eyes sharp, knuckles white. Something about this storm wasn't natural — it had come too fast, too fierce. And damn him, but he couldn't shake the thought of Syrena below deck.
He glanced toward the stairwell — and there she was.
Syrena walked out into the storm, calm as you please, hair whipping in the wind, face set. She moved straight toward him, steady on her feet despite the ship lurching beneath them.
"You've made yourself clear," she said, voice level though the wind snapped around them. "I know I've proved my place here. But if you'd rather I mop — then fine."
She grabbed the mop from the deck, the very one she'd thrown down that morning, and began to swab the rain-soaked boards right there in the middle of the storm.
The crew stared.
Sawyer cursed under his breath. "Damn stubborn girl... damn me..."
He left the wheel to Briggs and stalked over, rain running down his face.
"Syrena — get below," he snapped.
She didn't even look up. "I'm mopping."
"Have you lost your mind? You'll be swept clean off the deck."
She kept at it, jaw tight. The wind tore at her, hair plastered to her face — but she refused to yield.
Sawyer growled low. Enough of this. Without another word, he grabbed her up — tossed the mop aside, hauled her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing.
"Put me down!" she shouted, kicking, fists pounding at his back.
"Not a chance," he snarled, marching back toward the cabin. "You want to mop? You can mop the bloody floor inside."
The crew watched, wide-eyed. No one said a word. But the looks passed between them said plenty — they'd never seen the captain act this way about anyone. Not once.
As he carried her below, the storm outside began to ease. The wind softened, the waves losing their bite. The ship steadied in the water.
Briggs gave a low whistle. "Well I'll be... never thought I'd see the day."
Harrow just shook his head. "Maybe that girl's more dangerous than the sea."