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A s most of the sailors drifted back to their stations, the clamor of the evening’s revelry settled into the hum of the ship at night. The rhythmic creak of the Zephyrus filled the quiet, mingling with the soft lapping of waves against the hull.

Vivienne leaned against the wall of her narrow cabin, determining how she’d wash herself with the small amount of fresh water and the honey lavender soap she’d packed.

A knock hammered. Jarring Vivienne from her strategizing.

An annoyed voice with a thick accent called through the wood.

"Banner!"

She pulled open the door to see Florence Solandis standing there, arms crossed, her sphere of curls bouncing as she shook her head.

"Your glasses friend is taking up much of my space with his books," Florence huffed. "Says he needs to show you something before he'll move."

Vivienne bit back a laugh. "Sorry, Ms. Solandis."

She grabbed her tote bag and headed below deck, her footsteps light against the worn wood. The gun deck was dimly lit by lanterns swaying gently with the motion of the ship. Lewis sat hunched over a long wooden table, usually reserved for maintaining weapons, but tonight it looked more like a library. Books and papers were strewn across the surface, the pages filled with intricate sketches and scrawled notes in his terrible handwriting.

At the sound of her footsteps, he glanced up, pushing his glasses higher on his nose.

"Viv, you made it. I thought Solandis might use the books for cannon fodder if you took any longer."

She slid onto the bench beside him, glancing at the organized chaos spread before them. "You've been busy."

"Had to find something to do while I was avoiding you." His shoulder bumped hers, the friendly warmth returning to his voice.

Vivienne’s lips pulled up at the edges, but her focus shifted to the book he pulled closer. The glow of the lantern illuminated the page—an intricate drawing of a thick, climbing vine with coiling tendrils. The notes labeled it as Bauhinia guianensis , a common vine in rainforest climates.

Lewis grabbed a second book, aligning it next to the first. The inked sketch on the page was nearly identical, but the handwriting was different.

"I don’t understand..." Vivienne frowned. "These look like the same plant."

"That’s what I thought, too," Lewis agreed, tapping a finger over the scrawled notes. "But read the description in the field log."

“What we first thought was Bauhinia guianensis turned out to be a different species with exponential growth capacity, large, dangerous thorns, and an unusual trait—it changes course. We’ve named the newly discovered species Tendrilis serpens.”

Vivienne leaned in, eyes narrowing as she worked through the cramped, looping cursive. "Changes course? As it grows?"

Lewis shook his head, his voice laced with intrigue. "No. From the rest of the notes, the vine actually adapts to interaction—like it’s... deciding which way it wants to go."

Her skepticism flared. Plants responding to external stimuli wasn’t groundbreaking. But Lewis had that glint in his eye, the one he got when he was onto something big.

"Okay, okay." He put his hands up. "You're not impressed by the vine. Well, take a look at this.”

He flipped to an earmarked page in another almanac and slid a second field log beside it. The almanac depicted Dionaea muscipula , a species she recognized as a Venus flytrap.

“From the field logs,” Lewis began, excitement bubbling through his words, “Verdance has something like this but much bigger.”

Vivienne squinted at him. "How much bigger?"

"Larger than any we’ve ever seen. The notes say it's capable of eating animals."

"Dramatic name," Vivienne scoffed, tracing the label in the field log. "‘ Mortivora arbori ’… who would name it something so over the top?"

She translated the Luxial words meaning ‘soul-catcher plant’.

Lewis delayed his response, shifting uncomfortably.

Her brow furrowed at his silence. Then she saw it. The gilded name stamped onto the field log’s cover.

William Banner.

Her father’s name.

A lump formed in her throat, grief and uncertainty swirling in her chest.

Lewis winced. "I was trying not to bring it up."

Vivienne swallowed hard, forcing a shrug. "It makes sense," she said, though her voice wavered. "My parents were the ones doing the research."

A long silence stretched between them. Then, gently, Lewis pulled her back into the conversation.

"The next step is to compare these findings with your mother’s journal."

Vivienne stiffened. "Shhh!" She hushed him, eyes darting around. "I don’t want anyone thinking I shouldn’t have it—or worse, taking it from me."

Lewis lowered his voice. "Where is it now?"

"I brought it down here." She pulled the journal from her tote, resting it on the table. "I wanted to show you something."

Vivienne flipped to a specific page full of her scribbled handwriting.

"Remember the Harvest Moon Festival?" she asked. "The nearly toothless sailor?—"

Lewis' eyes widened. "The one who bought us drinks at The Pelican?"

"The one and only."

Vivienne tapped a finger on the parchment. "Bare Fang Bill and his lads sang this sea shanty. And the lyrics? They match parts of my mother’s notes."

Lewis leaned in, reading aloud:

"Oh, gather ‘round, ye sailors bold, and hear the tale I tell,

Of cursed lands and treasure grand, where ancient shadows dwell.

The verdant isle, with whispered wiles, their secrets dark they keep,

But those who dare to venture there will find no peaceful sleep."

Lewis exhaled. "The verdant isle—that’s got to be Verdance. I don’t like the part about ‘no peaceful sleep’..."

He scanned further, reading the chorus:

"Yo-ho, yo-ho, we sail against the tide,

To break the curse, we roam the earth, where hidden dangers hide.

With moon and star and flower fair, we’ll brave the endless sea,

With another verse, we’ll lift the curse and set our people free."

"What does any of this mean?” Lewis murmured.

Vivienne shook her head. "I don’t know. Maybe a clue for finding the tribute? Or nothing at all. Without knowing more about the islands, it’s hard to say."

Lewis tapped his fingers rhythmically against the wood, then suddenly—he hummed the melody.

Vivienne’s head snapped up. "Wait! You know this song?"

Lewis raised his eyebrows slowly. "I think Johanna used to sing it when we stayed with her. Usually, while she was dusting or kneading dough."

Her pulse quickened. "I knew it sounded familiar."

Lewis drummed the table again. "Did she learn it from Charles? He was a fisherman before he retired."

Vivienne snapped her fingers. "That has to be it. Bare Fang Bill said sailors sang it at sea. Maybe it made its way to the fishing boats."

Lewis nodded. "We should keep cross-referencing the lyrics with what we find on Verdance. It could help us figure out what the tribute is." He yawned, stretching his arms above his head. "Speaking of our upcoming adventure, we should sleep while we can."

Vivienne hesitated. Night shift.

Lewis glanced at her. "What’s that look for?"

She hadn’t told him about Cirrus. About spending hours alone with her ex-fiancé under the stars.

She forced a smile. "Nothing. I’ll see you in the morning."

Lewis eyed her suspiciously but let it go.

As she secured her mother’s journal back into her tote, one thought lingered in her mind— If the sea shanty holds the keys to finding the tributes, how many more secrets has it been hiding in plain sight?

* * *

Vivienne blinked hard, the words on the pages blurring into an indecipherable haze. With a sigh, she shut the journal and rubbed her temples. She had no idea how late it was, only that exhaustion clung to her like a wet cloak. A short nap, just enough to keep her upright through the night shift, would have to do.

Her fingers fumbled with the key as she reached her cabin, her hands clumsy with fatigue. The lock wobbled beneath her grip, the key scraping against metal. Frustration simmered at the edges of her exhaustion.

"Good evening, Miss Banner."

Vivienne glanced up to find Commander Thorne stepping out of his cabin two doors down. His dark eyes flicked to her hands, then the lock. He waited for half a breath before closing the distance between them.

"Would you like some help?" His voice was neutral, but his gaze lingered on her trembling hands.

She pressed her lips together. Pride warred with exhaustion before she sighed in surrender. “Yes.”

The commander extended a palm. She dropped the key into his hand, and in a single, fluid motion, he turned it in the lock. By the time she’d finished rubbing her eyes, the door swung open, held there by his outstretched arm.

A mix of relief and irritation tangled in her chest. "I can do it, you know," she muttered, shifting her weight. "I'm just... so tired."

"I understand." His voice held no judgment, only quiet acknowledgment as he glanced down at his boots.

Something about that response caught her off guard. She studied him in the low light, the sharp planes of his face softened by shadow. "You're different than I thought you'd be."

A smirk ghosted across his lips. "A different kind of jerk, you mean?" His gaze lifted, meeting hers.

Heat crept up her neck. She winced, shutting her eyes. "You heard that?"

"The whole orlop deck did."

Vivienne’s stomach twisted. Her temper always burned too hot, too fast, leaving embers of regret in its wake. "I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I didn’t mean anything by it. You’re just doing your job."

Thorne inclined his head, accepting the apology with an air of quiet appreciation. A loose strand of dark hair slipped free, falling against his cheek.

"In my defense," she added, "this has been the strangest and hardest week of my life. I’m not at my best right now."

With an almost imperceptible shift in his expression, he murmured, "I wouldn’t expect you to be."

Vivienne stared in incredulity. Empathy? From Commander Thorne?

A silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable, but weighted with something unspoken. It wasn’t until her gaze dropped to his still-outstretched arm that she realized he had been holding the door open the entire time.

"Oh. Thanks," she said quickly, stepping inside.

As the door clicked shut behind her, Vivienne’s cheeks flushed. It was the second time Thorne had held the door open for her for an ungodsly amount of time.

* * *

Warmth kissed her skin as the dream unfolded. The golden afternoon bathed Vantner’s shore in soft light, the scent of sea salt and baked goods mingling in the breeze. She spread out a checkered picnic blanket, smoothing the fabric as Johanna pulled an impossible number of pastries from a wicker basket. To her left, Briar and Lewis raced along the beach, their kites soaring. The ribbons snapping and twisting in the wind. To her right, her parents strolled at the water’s edge, waves lapping at their bare feet as they laughed, lost in quiet conversation.

Vivienne sighed, sinking into the blanket and tugging the brim of her oversized hat over her eyes. The sounds of the waves blended with Johanna’s voice as she began to hum, then sing a melody that tickled the edges of Vivienne’s memory. The same song Bare Fang Bill and his lads had sung at the Harvest Moon Festival, the one about the isles and the tributes.

Had she first heard it here, in a moment like this? Had Johanna unknowingly woven it into her childhood, letting the tune settle deep in her bones?

The words wove through the air like a gentle current, and she strained to listen.

"Vivienne."

The voice was distant at first.

She ignored it. If Cirrus needed something, he could come to her.

"Vivienne," his voice came again, firmer this time.

Annoyance rippled through her as she pushed herself upright, only to find the beach and the picnic had vanished. The soft sand was gone, replaced by the solid wood of her bunk. The air smelled of salt and lantern smoke, not Johanna’s pastries. Her eyes fluttered open just as another knock sounded against her cabin door.

She groaned, dragging herself upright. I couldn’t have been asleep for more than thirty minutes.

"Night shift," Cirrus called through the door, his voice muffled.

Vivienne yanked the door open with a scowl. "Okay, okay. I'm up."

Cirrus leaned against the doorframe, mirth flickering in his ice-blue eyes. "Are you?"

She scrubbed a hand over her face, blinking blearily at him.

Cirrus’ expression warmed. His eyes traced from the tangles in her red hair, to the sleep still clinging to her features, and to the loose, wrinkled fabric of her shirt. A hum filled Vivienne’s core. For a moment, time twisted, and he was standing in another doorway, in another life, waking her up with a kiss instead of a knock. A few years ago, she’d looked forward to waking up next to him for the rest of their lives.

Now, he could only watch as she blinked the sleep from her eyes and stepped past him into the lantern-lit hallway.

* * *

Vivienne followed Cirrus up to the quarterdeck, the crisp night air prickling against her skin. The ocean stretched into the darkness, its surface silvered beneath the stars. They burned just as bright as the night before, endless and overwhelming, but exhaustion dulled her appreciation.

Cirrus moved to the navigation table, his hands brushing over the brass instruments with practiced ease. "We'll start with The Guiding Light star in the north again," he said, motioning toward the sextant. "I'll show you how to adjust for the drift in last night's readings."

Vivienne wrapped her fingers around the instrument, its cool weight grounding her as Cirrus guided her through the process.

She peered through the lens, aligning the star against the horizon. "It's curious," she murmured, almost to herself. "How the stars stay so still while everything else moves."

Cirrus’ gaze lingered on her profile. "The stars are like old friends," he said quietly. "You can always trust them to guide you home."

Vivienne lowered the sextant, casting him a sidelong glance. His eyes searched hers as if waiting, hoping for something.

“That’s a bit cliché,” she exhaled, shaking off the pull between them. "Maybe you should make some real friends," she teased.

Cirrus huffed a laugh, flashing her a crooked smile. "You make a fair point."

She stepped closer to the charts, eager to shift focus. "So... what do we do with these numbers?"

As they returned to their calculations, the tension remained—an unspoken thread winding between them. Vivienne felt his gaze on her more than once, the echoes of their past lingering in the space between every word.

When they finished logging the charts and relayed the course adjustments to the helmsman, Cirrus stretched with a satisfied sigh. "That’s it for tonight," he said, giving her a small smile before heading toward the stairs.

Vivienne followed, her feet dragging as the promise of sleep beckoned.

Halfway down, her boot slipped.

"Ah—!"

The deck tilted beneath her as her ankle twisted, gravity yanking her forward.

Strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her back against solid warmth.

The world slowed.

Cirrus held her tight, his breath warm against her temple.

Vivienne’s heart pounded, her fingers fisting the fabric of his shirt. The scent of leather and spices surrounded her, familiar in a way that made her chest ache.

"Banns," he murmured, his voice rough with concern. "Are you alright?"

She swallowed hard, tilting her face up. His ice-blue eyes searched hers, his grip tightening as if anchoring her to him. The moonlight traced the sharp edges of his face.

For one breathless second, she thought he might kiss her.

And worse—she might want him to.

Vivienne jolted back, the spell shattering as she stepped onto solid ground. Her fingers slipped from his chest. "I-I’m fine," she stammered. "Thank you. For catching me."

"Of course," he said, his hands falling to his sides.

"Let’s get in bed," she blurted, immediately regretting it as Cirrus quirked an eyebrow, amusement tugging at his lips.

Heat spread across her cheeks. "I meant—we should sleep. In our separate beds. In our individual cabins."

Cirrus smirked, his voice low and teasing. "Whatever you want, Banns."

They walked in silence to the officer’s quarters, Vivienne keeping a careful step between them.

Only when Cirrus stopped at the door next to hers did she realize he’d been so close.

Her pulse jumped as he held the door to his cabin open, watching her. Was he waiting for her to step inside? Or was this an invitation?

Not willing to find out, Vivienne unlocked her door, slipped inside, and turned the lock with a sharp click.

She pressed her forehead against the wood, exhaling hard. It’s only been two days. What are you doing, Vivienne?

Cirrus was her ex -fiancé. Ex for plenty of reasons.

But as she lay in her bunk, the wall between them feeling too thin, she couldn’t remember a single one of those reasons.

* * *

Golden light spilled through the glazed porthole window, stretching across the narrow cabin in lazy bands. Vivienne groaned, rolling onto her side, the ship’s gentle sway rocking her back toward sleep. Above, footsteps thudded across the deck, the muffled voices of sailors already deep into their morning routines.

With a resigned sigh, she forced herself upright, grimacing as sore muscles protested the movement. Before anything else, she reached for the small jar of salve Dr. Mercer had given her. As she unwound the bandages from her hands, the raw, reddened skin made her wince. She dipped her fingers into the cool balm, rubbing it gently across the tender flesh before securing fresh strips of linen around her palms.

Done with that small battle, she pulled her tote from the writing desk and fished out her silver compact. The moment she flipped it open, the twin mirrors delivered a ruthless verdict. Dark under-eye circles, a sunburn across the bridge of her nose, and hair resembling a bird’s nest abandoned mid-construction.

She let out a slow breath, naming ten species of birds that might find it a suitable home.

Rummaging through her trunk, she yanked out a hairbrush and set to work. The first pass snagged so viciously she nearly yowled like a wounded cat. By the time she fought her way through the knots, her scalp ached, but at least she looked somewhat human.

With that, she headed toward the gun deck, the scent of fresh bread and salted meat pulling her into the forming breakfast line.

Through the shifting crowd, Lewis spotted her and maneuvered his way over, sliding in beside her.

"Hey, Viv. Did you finally sleep?"

"You're chipper this morning…" she muttered, rubbing the heel of her palm over one eye.

"Sounds like a no to me," he quipped.

She elbowed him lightly. "I did , but if I slept for a week, it still wouldn’t be enough."

"I think it's good to have goals."

Vivienne narrowed her tired eyes at him.

"You know," he continued, straight-faced, "start with a week-long sleep, then ease into a coma, and eventually work up to full hibernation."

A surprised laugh burst from her lips. "Don’t tempt me with a good time."

As the breakfast line inched forward, movement in her periphery caught her attention. Cirrus and Commander Thorne strode past in the opposite direction, deep in conversation. Thorne barely glanced their way, offering a curt nod. Cirrus, however, slowed just enough to flash Vivienne a lingering smile—one brimming with something warm, something too soft for casual acknowledgment.

Lewis scoffed beside her. "Uh, what was that ?"

"What was what?" she asked, feigning ignorance.

"Come on , Viv." He rolled his eyes. "Don’t play dumb. That was not a regular greeting."

She shrugged, but Lewis wasn’t letting it go.

"You seriously have nothing to say about?—"

"LAND HO!"

The cry rang through the air, tearing through the quiet murmur of conversation.

Every head snapped toward the shout from the crow’s nest. A sailor swung the bell at full force, the clang piercing and insistent.

"LAND HO!"