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CHAPTER SIX

IRENE

I rene stepped back, her heels brushing the edge of the bridge.

“Don’t move!” one of the men shouted.

She raised her hands, palms open, feigning submission. Another step. “I said don’t move!”

Were they afraid of her or of what she might do?

Her eyes narrowed, forming an expression that was almost vulnerable. But her throat… it burned. The creature within her, coiled deep in her gut, clawed to be let out. Then a voice escaped her lips. Something higher, intoxicating. A voice like sweet poison, impossible to spit out once tasted.

“Please…” she cried, shaking.

Tears slid down her face, carving shining trails across her pale cheeks. Her gaze locked onto theirs, unblinking.

“I… I don’t want to die,” she whispered, her voice soft, almost innocent. Hypnotic.

The men faltered, their fingers tightening on their swords, but their eyes wouldn’t leave Irene.

She stepped back again, swaying her hips subtly, her hands still raised. A slow, fluid movement, almost like a dance. Like a siren luring prey into the depths. Their breathing grew heavier. They couldn’t look away, her body, her voice, her gaze. She consumed them entirely.

One of them finally drew his sword.

“It’s over. Don’t try anything…” he said, breathless, though not from the chase. Irene had stolen the air from their lungs.

She smiled. A broken, pleading smile, provocative and sharp. It promised innocence but hid a blade.

She leapt onto the edge of the bridge, her heels balanced on the low railing. The wind whipped through her hair, lashing it across her face, but she stood perfectly still.

One more step, and she would fall.

She knew this feeling. The sensation of falling was familiar. Hell did not start with fire. It was cold. A slow, creeping chill that sank into your bones before the flames consumed you.

“I beg you… I’m innocent,” she sang softly between sobs.

Her head tilted, tear-rimmed eyes glistening and red. In that moment, she became a perfect vision, a fragile beauty, the very embodiment of softness. Everything a man could desire, could dream of. Their weapons lowered, as though their strings had been cut, leaving them toys in her hands.

“Come down… sweetheart…” one of them muttered, his voice cracking.

Irene nodded gently. And then, something shifted.

Her eyes darkened, her gaze narrowing. The innocence evaporated in an instant, replaced by something sharp, predatory. The fragile smile on her lips twisted into a cruel grin.

They hesitated, their brows knitting together. But it was already too late.

She let herself fall.

The wind howled past her ears as her body plunged into the void. She heard their cries—broken, desperate—somewhere above her. But their voices were already dissolving, swallowed by the night.

They had failed. They hadn’t killed her. They hadn’t captured her. They wouldn’t be bringing her back to their captain. And for Irene, that was all that mattered.

She hit the freezing water, her body slicing through the surface like a blade into cold flesh.

Pain exploded in her ribs, but she sank, vanishing into the murky, stagnant depths of The Gutter.

The freezing water clutched her bones, seeped into her flesh, as though trying to turn her to stone. Darkness swallowed everything: her body, her world, her thoughts.

Irene kept sinking, deeper and deeper, because at the surface, there was only death.

The first time she’d been plunged into icy water like this, her lungs had burned, her body had thrashed. But this time, everything was... calm. Smooth. Silent.

Her body felt heavy, yet she didn’t move.

She should’ve been fighting to surface. She could swim better than she could breathe. But her arms stayed limp, her legs inert.

Her body kept descending, as though the water itself was dragging her into its depths. Something brushed against her leg, a strange, slimy caress. Then another glided along her side. Irene opened her eyes, but the darkness was too thick to see. Creatures. They were there. The things that lived in The Gutter, as rotten as the water that fed them. This place was where the slums dumped their poisons, their waste, their curses.

Is it worth it?

The question slithered through her mind like a whisper. She knew what awaited if she surfaced. She could only move forward: swim to the shore, to the slums, to where her enemies waited. She’d have to dive into their violence.

And at the end of that path, there would be Dax. Irene felt her body grow heavier still. Her muscles stiffened, turning useless, like stones dragging her down. Her thoughts blurred, swallowed by the freezing water. Soon, she wouldn’t be able to move. Or think. She would only sink.

But her ego refused to surrender.

She’d survived the prison. She’d survived chains, crushing rock, endless days. She’d survived loneliness, pain. And now, she had to survive him.

She’d bled for eleven years to earn the respect of pirates. Eleven years proving she was worthy of being captain. And he had stolen that right. He had stolen her life.

I will not die here.

Irene closed her eyes. In the freezing darkness, she waited for something—a sign, a force, anything —to bring her back.

Then she felt it.

A jolt. A bite.

Sharp teeth sank into her flesh. A searing pain tore through her arm, her thigh. The creatures of The Gutter. Irene opened her mouth to scream, but water rushed in, scalding her throat and lungs.

A flash. A shock.

The pain electrified her body, igniting her nerves, sparking her heart back to life.

Her eyes snapped open, wild and feral. Her legs kicked. She fought against the water, against the agony. Her arms stretched out, her legs thrashed desperately. She needed air.

Finally, she broke the surface.

Air surged into her lungs, like fire—searing, painful, but alive. She coughed, choking out the water that still burned inside her. Her vision blurred, her strength waned, but she kept moving. Her arms flailed, her legs kicked. She swam, refusing to stop.

Her body was close to breaking. Each stroke was a battle against the void, each kick a scream of defiance against giving in.

The shore loomed closer, but not fast enough. The water, thick and sluggish like tar, slowed her down. She swam until her muscles screamed.

Finally, her fingers grazed the cold mud of the riverbank.

She collapsed, gasping, her body trembling with exhaustion.

When she lifted her head, her eyes fell on the other side.

The Wreck.

The sickly glow of the slums shimmered in the distance, faint and surreal. Crooked houses leaned like mutilated corpses. Even from here, the streets swarmed with restless shadows.

Irene let out a raw, almost hysterical scream and dragged herself further onto the shore.

She’d survived.

But at that moment, she couldn’t tell if it was a blessing... or a curse.