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C ommander Thorne paced across the sun-warmed deck, hands clasped behind his back in what Vivienne learned was his default posture. "As the captain made clear, you’re to learn everything required to keep the Zephyrus in top condition," he said, his tone curt. His dark gaze landed on Gus. "Mr. Conway."

The massive, tattooed boatswain straightened, chestnut-brown mustache twitching with curiosity. "Sir?"

"Let’s start Miss Banner and Mr. Blume’s education with deck maintenance." Thorne's lips curled into something dangerously close to a smirk.

A slow, knowing grin spread beneath Gus’ mustache, his twirled ends exaggerating the mischief in his expression. "Aye, Commander."

Without warning, Thorne tossed Vivienne and Lewis each a thick-handled mop.

Gus’ deep voice rumbled like a stampede. "Swabbin' the deck might seem menial, but it keeps the wood from rottin' and the ship from stinking worse than it already does."

Lewis sighed, shoulders slumping as he glanced at the vast expanse of wooden planks stretching from bow to stern. "Which parts do you want us to do?"

"All of it, Blume." Thorne’s forced smile flattened into something more condescending. "It’s swab the deck, not swab some of the deck." He scanned the other sailors, most already armed with mops and buckets. Then, his expression shifted to something worse, a touch of satisfaction.

"Come to think of it," Thorne mused, "you two might benefit from extra experience." He turned to Gus. "Tell the men they’re free to take the afternoon off. Our newest recruits will be handling their duties."

A chorus of relieved grumbles rippled through the crew as they dispersed, some clapping Lewis on the back in mock encouragement.

Vivienne grimaced, gripping her mop as the thick rope strands dangled like a noose in her hands.

The afternoon stretched into eternity. Each heavy drag of the mop left her arms aching, the saltwater from the pulley buckets slapping against the deck with a rhythmic slosh. When it was Lewis’ turn to lower a bucket, he let out an undignified yelp, clutching the rigging for balance as vertigo took hold.

"You’d think they’d have mentioned how high up we are before making us do this," he grumbled, shaking off his nerves.

By the time a sharp triangle bell rang, signaling the evening meal, Vivienne’s hands were raw, her tunic damp with sweat and brine, and every joint protested.

Gus’ deep chuckle rumbled behind them. "Come on, you two. Time to eat." Vivienne and Lewis fell into step behind him, following the thick aroma of smoke, salt, and simmering meat into the galley.

A squat man in a canvas-stained apron stood behind a narrow galley table, ladling stew into tin plates.

The galley shelves groaned under sacks of grain and barrels of salted fish, while hooks lined the walls, hosting well-worn ladles and cooking knives. The ship's cook, an older man with wiry gray hair and forearms crisscrossed with burns, stood behind a narrow table, ladling stew into tin plates.

"Thank you," Vivienne murmured as he plopped a generous portion onto her plate.

The cook nodded curtly, his scarred fingers gripping the ladle like a weapon.

Vivienne looked around. "Where are the spoons?"

Gus cleared his throat. "Oh, Cookie don’t talk, on account of pirates cuttin’ out his tongue years ago." Gus angled his head toward a haphazard stack of mismatched spoons.

Lewis froze, a spoon clutched in his hand. "A cook without a tongue?" He let out a nervous chuckle. "What could go wrong?"

Cookie stilled, then slowly turned to face Lewis, his gray eyes narrowing into slits.

The cook’s ladle rapped against the serving table—three sharp, deliberate taps, punctuated by a guttural sound from deep in his throat.

Gus winced. "Oh, he did not like that."

Another series of taps, this time faster, more insistent.

"Uh-huh," Gus muttered, mustache twitching. "He says if ya don’t watch yer tongue, he’ll be servin' it up next stew."

Vivienne pressed her lips together to keep from laughing, but Lewis gulped audibly, grabbing his plate and retreating toward the deck.

Florence Solandis strolled past, her spiral curls bouncing with every step. "Looking for a table?" she asked in her thick accent, her eyebrows raised. "You won’t find one. Only the captain and his guests enjoy such luxury."

They settled near a row of barrels, plates balanced on their knees. Vivienne sighed but kept eating, grateful Cirrus wasn’t among them. She was puzzled when she noticed only she and Lewis were using utensils. That’s odd.

The moment their plates were clean, Gus produced an accordion from nowhere, his massive arms flexing as he played. Lively sea shanties filled the air, and soon sailors were singing, gambling, and rolling dice in games Vivienne didn’t recognize.

"Blume, Banner," Thorne’s voice sliced through the revelry.

Lewis groaned, rubbing his sore shoulders. "Can’t he ever wait like five minutes?"

"Maybe he needs us to polish the buttons on his perfect uniform," Vivienne muttered.

The commander led them down the narrow staircase, past the galley’s clanging pots and bubbling stew, and gestured toward a towering pile of dirty tin plates.

Lewis blanched. "Oh no."

"Since you offended Cookie," Thorne said matter-of-factly, "you’ve volunteered for dish duty. Tonight and every meal tomorrow."

Vivienne’s head jerked up. "Commander, he’s always making dumb quips like?—"

"Fascinating,” Thorne cut her off, arching a judgemental brow. “I was under the impression you trained as an Antiquary. I didn’t realize you also served as Mr. Blume’s legal counsel."

Vivienne clamped her mouth shut, anger coiling beneath her skin.

Thorne’s hint of a smirk widened ever so slightly. "Since you’re so invested in Mr. Blume’s well-being, you’ll graciously be joining him."

Lewis threw his head back in dramatic agony. "Come on."

Vivienne’s nails dug into her palms. There’s no way my parents had to scrub decks or wash dishes. Her stomach twisted. This proves it. They don’t see me as my parents’ equal. They see me as beneath them.

Fear slithered beneath the anger. Despite the cold judgment she’d endured her whole life, they were her family. And she still desperately hoped they were alive.

* * *

Lewis rested his elbows on a stack of grimy plates. “You could just sit there, you know. I’m the one who ran my mouth.”

Vivienne wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, smearing salt and sweat. “If we both wash, we finish faster.”

The lukewarm, questionably soapy water sloshed over the edges of the tin basin as she reached for another plate. After watching how ‘clean’ the utensils weren’t getting through the process of being dunked in salt water with a splash of alcohol, and set aside still damp, she silently vowed never to use a spoon again. I should have packed my own.

Even with both of them scrubbing, the task dragged on for hours, tin plates and dented mugs piling up like an endless tide. Her hands, already raw from swabbing, now burned beneath the gritty lather. Every muscle throbbed, her fingers aching from the repetitive scrape of cloth over metal.

She could already picture it. Sinking into a hot bath and soaking until her joints didn’t feel like they belonged to someone three times her age.

“Looks like you two survived your first round of dish duty.”

Commander Thorne’s voice drifted down the staircase, interrupting the dull clatter of their work. Vivienne and Lewis snapped their heads up, their expressions too blank, too innocent. Neither of them dared speak. One wrong word and they’d probably end up scrubbing the entire galley.

The commander gave a slight tilt of his head. “Come with me. There’s something you should see, given it’s your first voyage.”

Vivienne exchanged a wary glance with Lewis, but neither objected. Their feet felt like lead, but anything was better than another round of scrubbing.

They followed him up to the main deck, where a warm breeze stirred the sails, the scent of salt and brine carried on the wind. Thorne stopped near the railing, his gaze fixed on the horizon, where the sky had erupted into color. Strokes of molten gold, deep crimsons, and dusky violets stretched across the rippling expanse of the sea. The waves caught the dying light, shifting into bands of silver and amber, glowing as if the ocean itself had been set aflame.

Vivienne inhaled sharply, spellbound. Lewis, slack-jawed, gave a quiet, reverent whistle.

She’d watched plenty of sunsets before, but this was unlike anything she’d ever seen.

“It’s something, isn’t it?” Thorne’s voice was stripped of its usual edge.

Vivienne turned her head, catching an unfamiliar expression on his face. A look of quiet admiration, a faint smile curving the left side of his mouth. Is that a…dimple?

As if sensing her stare, he glanced down at her, the flecks of gold and burgundy in his espresso eyes ablaze in the last rays of light.

She tore her eyes away. Gods help me. He’d almost be handsome if he weren’t such a self-important ass.

“Commander Thorne, during the tour earlier, I didn’t see where the washroom was,” she stated, running a hand over the ship’s railing.

He blinked as if she’d spoken in another language. “Miss Banner, do you mean the head?”

Lewis leaned closer, grinning like a man about to cause trouble. “Those are the holes where you relieve yourself directly into the sea.”

Vivienne scrunched her nose. “Gods, no. I meant where to bathe.”

Thorne’s lips parted slightly, his expression shifting from mild surprise to something bordering amusement. “Miss Banner, we don’t have such luxuries aboard a ship. If you’re lucky, your cabin has a small barrel of fresh water and a sponge.” His mouth fought a smile. “You’ll find no spa experiences aboard the Zephyrus.”

Her face burned, and she pressed her damp palms against her trousers. “Right. Of course. Thank you for the clarification.”

Thorne, still clearly entertained, straightened. “Mr. Blume, Dr. Mercer requires your assistance in finishing the medical inventory. Miss Banner, you are dismissed for the time being.”

Lewis and Vivienne trudged across the deck, too drained to even complain.

As Lewis peeled off toward the infirmary, she dragged her feet toward her cabin, every movement a monumental effort. By the time she reached her door, her fingers barely had the strength to turn the iron key.

The moment the lock clicked open, she stumbled inside, shut the door behind her, and collapsed face-first onto the bunk. She was asleep before her head even hit the pillow.

* * *

A pounding knock rattled the cabin door, yanking Vivienne from the depths of a dreamless sleep. Disoriented, she blinked against the dim glow filtering through the porthole. For a brief, blissful moment, she expected to see the familiar beams of her bedroom ceiling. Then the rocking motion beneath her and the endless stretch of ocean beyond the glass ripped her back to reality.

She wasn’t home. She was on a ship. And someone was obnoxiously hammering on her door.

“Miss Banner.” Commander Thorne’s voice pushed through the wood.

Vivienne groaned and dragged a hand down her face. Gods, what does he want now?

“Yes?” Her voice came out hoarse, heavy with exhaustion.

“You are to report for your night shift.”

She sat up so fast her head spun. Night shift? Was swabbing the deck and washing half the kingdom’s dishes not punishment enough? Now she wasn’t even allowed to sleep?

Her muscles screamed objections as she swung her legs over the bunk, the wooden floor unforgiving beneath her bare feet.

“Miss Banner,” Thorne’s measured voice pressed on, “please acknowledge the order.”

Vivienne’s fingers curled into her blanket, her jaw tightening. She snapped the word like a dry twig. “Acknowledged.”

She scrubbed the sleep from her eyes, yanked open the door, and launched into her complaint mid-breath. “Was all the swabbing and dishwashing insufficient, Commander?—”

But it wasn’t Thorne waiting in the dimly lit corridor.

Cirrus leaned against the wall outside her door, his lazy smile already in place.

Vivienne froze, suddenly hyper aware of how disheveled she must look. Her tangled hair, wrinkled clothes, and the lingering haze of sleep clung to her. She ran her tongue along her front teeth, smoothing her shirt as she straightened her spine.

“I thought the commander was out here,” she said, half-wishing she could slam the door and reset the whole interaction.

“Oh, he was.” Cirrus’ smile deepened as he crossed his arms, biceps flexing slightly beneath his loose linen shirt. “But I remembered how cross you can be when someone wakes you up and figured I’d spare him the tongue-lashing.”

His ice-blue eyes glinted with familiarity, peeling her apart layer by layer, as if nothing had changed between them. As if they hadn’t spent years apart.

She hated it.

“How generous of you,” she muttered, running a hand over her snarled hair.

Cirrus extended a broad hand, his grin mocking. “Ready for your first night shift?”

Vivienne glued her arms to her sides, meeting his unwavering gaze with steely defiance. “Let’s get this over with.”

He raised his eyebrows, noting the rejection of his outstretched hand, but said nothing.

Vivienne trailed after Cirrus, her boots barely making a sound against the wooden planks of the hall. When they emerged onto the main deck, the cool night air wrapped around her, a welcome guest.

She lifted her chin, blinking hard to clear the sleep from her vision and stopped dead in her tracks.

Her breath sputtered.

Above them, the sky unfurled in a vast, glittering tapestry. Stars spilled across the heavens in numbers she had never imagined, each one a diamond shimmering against the velvety black. The constellations she had only read about in books reached across the sky, unveiled in their full, breathtaking glory.

The sunset had been stunning, but this? This was something else entirely.

Awe tightened her throat as her lips parted, searching for words she couldn’t find.

Cirrus watched her, a crooked grin on his lips. "Do my eyes deceive me? Is Vivienne Banner speechless?"

"It's..." She struggled, her voice barely a whisper. "Beautiful."

His teasing expression faded into something softer. "It never gets old," he murmured. “No matter how many times you see it, there’s always something about the night sky at sea that’s... magical.”

Vivienne tore her gaze away from the heavens to study him. His voice had that same wistful tone she hadn’t heard in years, the quiet wonder that had once made her fall for him.

"It is magical," she admitted, but her eyes narrowed slightly, a warning to herself.

Whatever Cirrus’ motives, whether he wanted to rekindle something or simply charm his way into her trust, she wasn’t about to let her guard down.

She planted her hands on her curved hips. "What's next?"

"Now," he said, "we combine our two favorite things—" He paused for effect, tilting his head with a playful gleam. "Reading and stars."

Cirrus led her up to the quarterdeck, where a small table stood beneath a lantern’s warm glow, littered with navigation tools. He pulled back his white-blonde hair, tying it with ease before picking up a polished brass sextant.

"First," he said, "we measure the angle between the horizon and a star. The Guiding Light stays fixed, making it our most reliable point of reference." He angled the instrument in his hands, the metal catching the light. “From there, we calculate our latitude.”

Vivienne reached for the sextant, but as Cirrus handed it over, their fingers brushed.

A sharp, fleeting spark shot up her arm. She ignored it, shaking off the strange, lingering sensation as she raised the instrument to her eye.

Cirrus stepped closer, his voice low and even as he guided her through the measurements, the calculations, the plotting. Steady hands, careful movements, precise angles. The numbers took form on the chart, marking their place in the vastness of the ocean.

When they finished the tasks, he leaned back with a satisfied nod.

"Well done," he said, and for the first time that night, his smile was real.

Vivienne’s heart twisted.

Not because of the way he looked at her, but because for a split second, she remembered the way that smile had once been hers.

She gave him a closed-lip smile, brushing the moment aside. "Thank the gods you’ve become a better teacher," she teased, arching an eyebrow.

Cirrus laughed, shaking his head as Vivienne turned back to the endless tapestry of stars overhead.

Cirrus’ voice was gentle but held a heaviness as he spoke. "I was sorry to hear about your parents." He hesitated, searching her face. "I know things were… complicated between you, but no one deserves to get that kind of news. How are you handling everything?"

Vivienne swallowed hard as a dull ache settled in her stomach. Her throat tightened as she fought the sting behind her eyes. "Thank you for saying that." Her voice felt small. "I… I don’t know that I’m handling anything." She let out a shaky breath. "All I can do is move forward. Focus on the next step. The next hour. Anything beyond that is too much."

Cirrus' fingers tensed at his sides, then loosened again as he exhaled. "I can’t imagine what that feels like, but if there’s anything I can do…" He trailed off, his voice soft with sincerity. "I’m here."

Vivienne dipped her chin in a slow nod, forcing a half-smile. "Thanks."

For a few moments, the weight of silence pressed between them. Cirrus clicked his tongue, shifting the mood. "So… how well do you know your constellations?"

She let the change of subject happen. "I've read about them, seen drawings, but identifying them up there?" She gestured to the glittering blanket above. "It’s harder than I thought. There are so many stars, they all start to merge together."

For a while, Cirrus guided her gaze, tracing the constellations in the air with a finger.

Nyxis’ Serpent, coiling through the sky, its tail wrapped around a single burning star. Rhuevenar’s Bow, arrow poised, ready to loose. The delicate, shining threads of Xanira’s Loom, and the silent constellation of Thymera’s Harp, its strings waiting for fate’s hands to play them.

Althera, the All-Mother, held the Guiding Light, the brightest in the night sky.

Vivienne’s gaze searched the heavens again. "I can't find The Twin Blades." The legend claimed Ignarith himself forged them, twin weapons set into the sky to burn forever.

Cirrus chuckled, stepping behind her. "You're looking in the wrong direction." His hands landed lightly on her shoulders, turning her with a gentle tug.

He leaned in, lowering his face next to hers, aligning to her vantage point. "And you need to look higher."

Lightning shot down her spine.

His fingers tipped her chin, shifting her gaze upward. "There," he murmured.

Vivienne was seeing stars—but not the ones in the sky. His warm breath ghosted her cheek, his touch a reminder of the familiar and forbidden all at once.

She took a sharp step back, breaking the moment before it could evolve into anything further. "Yes. Thank you." Her voice came out quieter than she intended.

Cirrus studied her expression, slight hurt flickering behind his ice-blue eyes. "Too close?"

Vivienne nodded, her thoughts a tangled mess.

Way too close.

Not close enough.

When was the last time we had been this close?

Stop it, Vivienne.

The chemistry between them had always been effortless, undeniable. Even after years apart, the spark remained, waiting for one of them to be foolish enough to strike a match.

Cirrus slid his hands into his trouser pockets, his smirk returning, but softer. "Sorry, Banns. I’ll keep my hands to myself."

The way he said it sent a wash of longing and disappointment through her core.

His eyes held the promise of for now .