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T he next morning, Vivienne trailed behind Lewis in the tight, slow-moving breakfast line, the scent of oats and salted meat permeating the galley air.

"Wow, this looks absolutely exquisite, Cookie," Lewis said, his voice dripping with enthusiasm as he held out his tin plate.

Cookie, arms crossed like a fortress, gave him a flat, unblinking stare, his scarred hands clenching the ladle a little too tightly.

Vivienne leaned in as they climbed the steps to the main deck, lowering her voice. "Laying it on a little thick, aren’t you?" She cast him a side-long glance. "We already have dish duty."

Lewis' eyes widened behind his spectacles as he shot her a look. "Uh, do you want to take the chance Cookie poisons us? Because I sure don’t."

Vivienne snorted, shaking her head. "Fair point."

Finding a clear patch of deck, they sat cross-legged on the wooden planks, carefully sipping their oatmeal straight from their tin plates, neither daring to use a spoon after yesterday’s discovery about dishwashing methods.

"How was your night?" Lewis asked between bites, his words muffled by a mouthful of oats.

Vivienne stalled, rolling the question over in her mind. She could tell him about the night shift with Cirrus, but something about it felt too raw, too personal to share just yet.

"Fine," she said, keeping her tone neutral. "Didn’t sleep great. The mattress is thin."

Lewis scoffed dramatically and cupped a hand around his ear. "I’m sorry, what was that? Couldn’t hear you over the sound of sleeping in a hammock next to a hundred sweaty sailors."

Vivienne winced, guilt creeping in. "Sorry..." She’d forgotten how miserable his accommodations, or lack thereof, were.

After clearing their own plates, they rolled up their sleeves to tackle the quickly-forming stack of dishes. They fell into easy conversation as they scrubbed tin plates in lukewarm, briny water, the rhythmic clang of dishware filling the galley. Despite the chore, they laughed and chatted about nothing and everything, squeezing in one last moment of normalcy before their separate assignments.

The sharp click of boots on the stairs was their only warning before Commander Thorne stepped into view, his eyes narrowing in brief surprise.

"I thought I’d have to track you down for dish duty," he said, arms folding across his broad chest. "I appreciate you saving me the trouble."

Lewis and Vivienne exchanged a glance, then nodded in unison, biting back the urge to respond with something that would double their workload.

Thorne moved his line of sight from the dishes to their faces, his expression unreadable. "Miss Banner, Mr. Blume, the officers are gathering for the morning briefing. The captain expects you in his quarters."

Vivienne wiped her damp hands on her trousers, setting down the last tin plate. Great. Can’t wait.

* * *

Captain Garrett paced before the large windows of his quarters, morning light spilling across the wooden floor in golden streaks. The officers stood shoulder to shoulder, their backs straight as the mast, hands clasped behind them in rehearsed discipline.

Vivienne followed a step behind Commander Thorne, Cirrus' crooked grin greeting her like an old nuisance as she took her place at the end of the line. Lewis pointed a sour smile at Cirrus in return.

"Good morning," Captain Garrett’s voice carried the weight of command, warm but clipped. "Status reports, if you please."

Commander Thorne, always the first to speak, stood rigid with the straightest posture Vivienne had ever seen. "All operations are running smoothly, sir. The watch schedule has been followed to the minute, and all pending orders are being carried out to my satisfaction." A quick nod to Doctor Mercer passed the baton.

"All medical supplies accounted for," Doctor Mercer announced, her voice as rich and smooth as aged brandy. "Only one visit to the infirmary so far. One of the men swallowed a pair of dice on a dare."

Captain Garrett arched a brow. "Dice?"

Doctor Mercer’s braided charms clicked as she nodded. "We’ll let nature run its course. He’s in for an uncomfortable few days."

The captain chuckled, shaking his head. "The price of stupidity, I suppose."

Doctor Mercer’s white teeth flashed in agreement

"Mr. Theodosia," the captain prompted.

Cirrus stepped forward with easy confidence. "We're holding our course west by southwest. The wind’s steady at ten knots. If this holds, we’ll reach Verdance before midday tomorrow."

"Any reason to believe the wind won’t hold?"

Cirrus glanced at the map on the desk. "There's a low-pressure system forming southeast. If it misses us on the water, we should prepare for it to greet us at the island."

Captain Garrett’s gaze flicked to Thorne. "Adjustments made?"

"Aye, sir," Thorne confirmed. "After last night’s report, the helmsman corrected course. Mr. Conway can speak to the sails and rigging."

Gus stepped forward, his sheer bulk casting a shadow over the desk. "Rigging’s tight, sir. Shrouds checked, lines secure. Mainsail’s got minor wear, but nothing pressing. Deck’s clear, and the new hands are gettin’ their sea legs."

Garrett clapped his hands together. "Excellent."

Laverna Omphrey, the purser, flipped open her ledger. "Near full supply, given it’s only our second day. Water’s sufficient, but I recommend refilling at Verdance. Fresh produce will last a week. Rations all within range."

"Thank you, Ms. Omphrey. Ms. Solandis?"

Florence shifted the tobacco in her cheek, arms crossed over her small but powerful frame. "Ammunition stores are full. Powder, shot, everything accounted for. All twenty guns in working order, breechings and carriages secure."

A low chuckle slipped from Cirrus. "Not much of a report, considering we haven’t seen battle."

Florence’s head whipped toward him, hazel eyes burning as she fired off a sharp, rapid string of words in a language Vivienne half-recognized but couldn’t place.

Gus looked at the floor like a man who knew better than to get involved. Doctor Mercer was suddenly very interested in the state of her cuticles.

Commander Thorne responded to Florence in the same fluid tongue, his tone controlled but firm. Vivienne raised a brow. Culture from the ever-stoic commander? That’s… unexpected.

Turning back to Cirrus, Thorne’s voice flattened. "Mr. Theodosia, another remark like that, and you’ll recount her inventory shot by shot and weigh all eighty barrels of gunpowder by the ounce. Clear?"

Cirrus’ cocky smile faded as he dipped his chin. "Yes, Commander."

Vivienne bit back a victorious smirk. Lewis' shoulders trembled with held back laughter. For once, someone put Cirrus in his place.

Captain Garrett’s sea-green eyes settled on her, his expression expectant. "Miss Banner."

Her stomach clenched. Shit.

"Apologies, Captain," she started, shifting uneasily. "I wasn’t prepared for an update, but if I know what’s expected, I’ll be ready tomorrow."

Instead of the reprimand she braced for, the captain’s eyes contracted, considering her.

"Your updates will be most relevant once we reach the island," he stated, leaning against the window frame. "If you have any research that may aid the crew, I want it included. The same for you, Blume."

Before either she or Lewis could respond, he pushed off the frame. "Thorne, Theodosia, Banner, Blume—stay. The rest of you are dismissed."

As the other officers filed out, Garrett lowered his voice. "What news of the Thanatos?"

Lewis leaned closer to Vivienne, confusion lining his words. “What’s a Thanatos?”

“Captain Enyo’s ship,” she whispered, though it came out as more of a hiss.

Cirrus’ confidence dimmed as he spoke. "They’re outpacing us by a wide margin. Lighter ship, smaller crew, faster speed."

Commander Thorne widened his stance. "Last sighting was around four this morning before they disappeared over the horizon."

Garrett’s jaw tightened.

Vivienne’s brows shot up, knitting together in alarm. "What happens if they reach Verdance first?"

The captain exhaled sharply, running a hand through his silver-streaked beard. "Men like Enyo don’t play fair. We have to assume they’ll do whatever it takes to win."

Vivienne felt the weight of his words settle in her chest. Either option—facing Enyo and his crew or trailing too far behind—was a risk.

* * *

Vivienne and Lewis slumped against a row of barrels on the starboard side of the main deck, soaking in a few stolen moments of rest. The gentle rock of the ship lulled her muscles into a half-sleep, her head tilted back against the sun-warmed wood. I could fall asleep right here. Right now.

Lewis flexed his fingers, brows drawn in pain. "Is it possible to get blisters on top of blisters?"

Vivienne cracked one eye open, wincing at the memory of her own hands gripping the mop for hours. "Aren’t you the one working with the doctor?"

A shadow interrupted the warmth of the light. She lifted her gaze, squinting against the sun, only to find Commander Thorne standing above them, arms tucked behind his back, his uniform still impeccably crisp.

"Miss Banner. Mr. Blume." He offered a perfunctory nod. "As per the Captain’s orders, you will be rotating through officer stations today to better understand their essential roles."

Lewis groaned. "No shift with you, Commander?" His pout was all mockery, but his voice carried a tinge of exhaustion.

Thorne’s expression remained unbothered, but Vivienne swore she saw the smallest twitch of the corners of his mouth before he responded. "Not today, Mr. Blume. Perhaps another time."

Lewis sighed then sprang to his feet, stretching his arms behind his head as he glanced over the ship’s side.

Thorne turned to Vivienne and extended a hand. The chivalrous gesture caught her off guard. She hesitated, torn between her instinct to refuse and the aching pull in her muscles. With a small, grateful smile, she accepted.

His grip was firm yet careful, his calloused fingers warm against hers. As she steadied herself, he flipped her hand over, his dark eyes settling over the raw, blistered skin marring her palms.

A flash of concern flew across his face before he masked it. "When you report to Doctor Mercer, ensure she tends to your hands."

Lewis, watching the exchange, straightened with a slow blink of realization. "I’ll make sure the doctor takes a look," he said with an icy tone.

Vivienne raised an eyebrow. What was that about?

Thorne stepped back, returning his hands to their natural posture behind his back. "I’ll be on the quarterdeck should you require anything."

Lewis rolled his eyes. "We won’t."

Grabbing Vivienne’s elbow, Lewis pulled her toward the stairs leading below deck.

She ripped her arm free, scowling. "Gods, Lewis, what is your problem?"

He huffed, his shoulders tight with tension. "What’s my problem ?" He shot her a serrated look as they cleared the first staircase. "The commander has been a complete bastard to us from the moment we met him. Now, suddenly, he’s concerned about your hands? Which are only like that because of the chores he assigned. That doesn’t make him nice, Vivienne ."

She stopped mid-step, glaring at him and recoiling at his use of her full first name, something he only did when he was really upset. “ Vivienne , huh? Why don’t you tell me what’s really bothering you?”

Lewis rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I told you we would do this together..." He hesitated, forcing his clenched hands to relax. "But I’ve barely seen you since we got on this floating torture chamber."

Her irritation softened. "Oh," she murmured, feeling a pang of guilt. "I wasn’t expecting the assignment thing either. I’m sure once we reach the island?—"

"Not to mention," he cut in, his tone sharpening, "Cirrus and the commander are all over you."

Vivienne stared, taken aback. "What?"

Lewis let out a short, dry laugh. "What the everdark is your ex-fiancé doing on this ship, anyway?"

She shrugged. "I guess the kingdom only has so many egotistical maniacs to go around."

"Lucky us." He shook his head, frustration rolling off him in waves.

Her mind caught on his earlier words. Cirrus and the commander are all over you. All over me?

She had expected Cirrus to turn on the charm—it was his default setting, after all. But Thorne? She frowned, replaying her interactions with the commander.

Lewis sighed, watching her closely. "Look, I know you can handle yourself, but that doesn’t mean I have to like watching it happen."

Vivienne tilted her head, searching his face. Watching what happen? There was something buried in his irritation.

She tucked a loose strand of red hair behind her ear. "Cirrus is a jerk, and the commander is… a different kind of a jerk. But you don’t have to protect me."

Lewis studied her for a moment, his golden-brown eyes conflicted, before letting out a slow breath. Whatever was on his mind, he wasn’t going to spell it out.

Without another word, he stepped around the barrels and headed into the ship’s hold.

Vivienne lingered for a beat, watching his retreating back, a strange unease curling in her chest.