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“Enemy behind us!” comes a shout from a little voice high up in the crow’s nest. Roslyn has clearly taken the liberty of keeping a lookout for us.

Kearan turns toward the stern with me in his arms. There’s a churning in the water now, as though the undead are gathering together, and they’re moving closer.

“Get the ship moving again!” I try to shout, but the words don’t come out as strongly as I intend. “He’s coming.”

Kearan swears.

More than half the crew has gone below to help fight against the dead, yet—“Why is it taking so long?” I say, more to myself than anyone else.

Dimella must hear Roslyn’s call, because she races up top to get a look at the oncoming enemy for herself. She sees Kearan holding me.

“Captain down,” he says to her. “You’re in charge now, and we need a healer immediately.”

“I can still captain this ship,” I argue.

“You can’t even stand,” he bites back.

“Because you won’t put me down!” I want to stick him with a knife, but I haven’t the energy to reach for one right now.

“I’ll get Iskirra,” Dimella says, returning to the hatch.

“Find out what the holdup is!” I shout after her.

Kearan looks about the ship desperately, as though the next course of action will come to him if he can just find it. All around us are the terrified faces of the Drifta civilians. Members of my crew are dispersed between them, watching the water, waiting for the fight approaching. Captain Warran remains at the helm, ready for the moment we get the anchor up again.

“You could put me down and help everyone below,” I suggest.

“That’s not going to happen. There’s too many people down there as it is.”

He finds the nearest crate and perches atop it, keeping me close. Now that he’s not holding so much of my weight, he uses one hand to cup the side of my face.

“Don’t be scared. You’re going to be okay,” he says.

“Dying isn’t so scary. It’s living that’s hard.”

“But you’re going to do it. You’re too tough to die.”

I look up into his face, and only then do I see the fear in his eyes. I’m not the one who is most scared right now.

I place a hand against the one he has pressed to my face. “Don’t be afraid.”

“But I am. I haven’t had enough time with you. You can’t go yet.”

“Will you promise me something?” I don’t think the end is too far off for me. My wound doesn’t hurt as much anymore.

“Anything.”

“When—if I die, don’t turn back to the bottle. You can’t—”

He moves his thumb to cover my lips. “I wouldn’t dream of it. I don’t want to forget a single moment that I shared with you. Not your smiles or your viciousness or that deadly aim you possess with those knives. But that doesn’t matter because you’re not going anywhere.”

“Just remember,” I say. “You’re too good to throw your life away by not really living it. I’m sorry it took me so long to see it. I’m sorry I pushed you away again and again. I’m sorry we didn’t have any time to really be together.”

“We were together in the ways that mattered,” he counters.

“Fighting?”

“Fighting. Talking. Working together. That’s all I ever wanted. Just to be near you.”