Page 8

I’d started searching for the crest on Gavin’s compass not long after joining Bowen’s crew. And I couldn’t stop myself now. It was a hunt without a map, and over the last year, it had become my secret obsession.

He’d been abandoned as a baby, tucked in a basket beneath a lantern at the Ever Wharf. No one saw who’d placed him there; whoever it was had likely vanished with the tide. The compass was swaddled in his blanket, the only clue to his past.

Gavin has spent years chasing down every scrap of information, coming close a few times, only to watch each lead fall apart.

He told me once how he used to sleep in the back of supply wagons, traveling from one town to the next, searching and living out of a satchel. How he stole to survive until he could afford to steal just for the thrill of it.

And he always took the most dangerous jobs, not because he needed the coin, but because no one would miss him if they went bad. That's how he talked about it. Like his life meant less than the relics he hunted.

I couldn’t imagine that kind of ache. My roots were buried deep in a seaside mansion while Gavin was untethered, left wondering where he belonged or if someone had ever loved him enough to prove he mattered.

It was silly, but I often imagined being the one to find the answer for him, my skills with puzzles helping to solve this very personal one. As if it were as simple as revealing the right shadowed groove, or placing a rune into stone.

Maybe that said something about me, always trying to be someone’s savior. Or maybe I just wanted to replace the cocky smile he hid behind with something real. Something permanent. Because knowing where you belonged anchored you. And finding the people who gave your life meaning did, too.

Either way, I hoped he’d find the truth someday. Even if I wasn’t the one to discover it. Though secretly, I still wished it would be me.

With a sigh of defeat, I looked for Cass, wondering if she’d finished making her purchase. But I spotted Gavin weaving through the market stalls, his gaze searching. He was taller than most and could easily see over the top of the crowd.

My stomach did a little flip as I remembered the way he'd looked at me in the hot spring. How close I’d come to throwing caution into the steam and letting it melt away.

What if I had?

What if I regretted letting the moment slip by, and spent the next few years wallowing in a decrepit manor, staring out to sea?

Ugh, how endlessly tragic.

I blew out a breath and bounced lightly on my toes. Be brave, Nichols. Maybe this time, history wouldn't repeat itself, and I could change my hunting motto to: keep my relics close and Gavin even closer.

A soft laugh escaped my lips, followed by a nervous tremble. This might be my last chance to find out. I could always blame my boldness on too much ale.

Though I wasn’t sure what to say. This was another Marin-leaps-onto-the-rope-bridge-without-thinking moment, and before I changed my mind, I lifted my hand to call out to him.

But I stopped cold as a woman I recognized stepped into his path. It was the witch who’d painted our map. Elspeth or some other name that started with an E. Coins for coordinates, or so he claimed.

She settled her hand on his arm with a familiarity that made the flip in my stomach feel like a crash landing.

Glittering gemstone rings adorned each of her fingers.

A flowing teal tunic of gauze and lace clung to her slender frame, cinched at the waist with a beaded belt.

Waves of long black hair cascaded down her back, shimmering like the ocean’s surface in the moonlight.

Her features were classically beautiful, with flawless skin, red full lips, and exotic amethyst eyes. A deep, rich shade, not unlike the crystals in the comb from the treasure chamber.

I swallowed thickly, running my hands down my faded, dust-stained tunic.

The scent of tavern smoke clung to my skin.

My boots were scuffed and worn, still carrying the trek back to civilization between their treads.

My eyes? Just blue. Lips? Chapped from the wind.

And my hair— gods, my hair —was bound tight, the strands near my temple frizzing in the sultry air.

Who was I kidding? If I had a regret, it was not sinking to the bottom of the hot spring. That memory was likely muddled by steam and fear, and paled in comparison to the delicate creature currently claiming Gavin’s attention.

And who wouldn’t want that? Fairytales were built around princesses, not women who wore the jungle like it was a cloak and crawled through dirty tunnels filled with spiderwebs.

I was the one you saved from a snake. She was the one who got flowers.

The witch rose onto her toes to whisper something in Gavin’s ear. Her touch strayed to his chest, lifting the chain from around his neck. Jealousy, thick and toxic like the marauder’s blue smoke, coated my insides.

Had he told her about the compass?

My gaze dropped to my boots. His past wasn’t a secret. Here I was, telling perfect strangers and searching their wares, but I couldn’t help the way her knowing made me feel.

Reason number five-hundred-forty-seven, why I shouldn’t act on what he made me feel. Even when I tried so hard to deny it. Because it wasn't meaningless. Gavin was different. Cass might be able to disassociate and put a single night’s pleasure above all logic where he was concerned, but I couldn’t.

And she claims his belt is pristine. Of course it is. You can’t mark a notch while you’re trekking through the jungle!

I ducked, desperate for cover before he spotted me, only to dislodge a display of rings with my elbow. Metal bands clinked against the cobblestones, a few rolling under the table.

“I’m sorry,” I said to the old woman, sinking to my knees to collect them.

I placed them back on the table as I found them. One more had scattered a few feet from the stall, just out of reach. Crawling forward, I stretched to capture it, when another hand swiped it away.

“We can’t take you anywhere.” Gavin’s teasing tone had me tilting my head back to find him standing over me.

“You’re left alone for a little while, and I find you crawling around the market on your hands and knees.

You’re going to get trampled, and then I’ll have to explain to Bowen how you can survive a swing blade and not someone’s shoes. ”

Perfect. I’d wager my last coin the witch never got caught rolling around in market dirt.

I dusted my hands on my thighs and curled my lip. “I saved you from that swing blade, and I already have regrets.”

“I bet you do.”

He offered me a hand, then frowned, bending past me to pluck something else off the ground.

It was a folded slip of paper. The same one I’d concealed in my palm after showing the crest to the old woman. A flush burned across my neck as Gavin unfolded it and stared at the drawing.

He was motionless, utterly silent, and I cringed.

Forget the blade. This was death by embarrassment. A trampling sounded fantastic right about now.

Unfortunately, Gavin had other plans. He helped me to my feet, his hand pressing the small of my back as he maneuvered us out of the crowd and into a lantern-lit alcove.

The soft glow illuminated the sharp angles of his face, but it cast shadows too, darkening his expression and turning it into something that made my blood run sluggish.

“Why do you have this?”

“My secret’s out,” I said with a nervous laugh. “I had Reid draw your crest. Figured I'd show it around and hope I got lucky.”

Gavin didn’t respond, but he moved closer. The alcove wasn’t big enough for the two of us, or maybe it only felt that way. His presence was impossible to ignore, even in an entire cave.

“Why?” he asked again, his rasp deeper. Not asking why I had it, but why I’d want to.

My gaze was level with the middle of his chest, and I glimpsed the compass between the open collar of his shirt. Its polished wooden base with a center point made of gold was as simple and unassuming as its sturdy chain.

I reached for it. My fingers did the thinking before my mind got the better of me, and when they brushed against his skin, his chest rose on a sharp inhale.

Had he moved even closer? Maybe the alcove had gotten smaller. Cold stone pressed against my back. But there was warmth too, from the air that was too hot, and the heat radiating from him.

My throat felt dry as I answered his question. The finality of this hunt, the ale, my jealousy, all of it melded into a truth set free by the look in his eyes.

A look he hadn’t given the witch.

“Because you deserve to know where you belong.” I angled my chin up like the brave adventurer I was. “I’m not sorry. Two searching is better than one.”

Gavin’s throat worked. His gaze slipped to my mouth in a way that made me lick my lips.

His voice was like a distant rumble of thunder over the ocean. The promise of a storm you still had time to run from.

“No one has ever helped me before.”

“You’re a good man, Gavin… and occasionally selfless. ”

The corner of his mouth curved slightly. “You haven’t even mentioned my extraordinary good looks.”

He was teasing me again, except this time, the bait didn't feel like a trap, but an invitation.

Ah, the ale's going to my head.

“Your good looks go without saying.” I pressed my hand flat against the compass, trapping it between my palm and his chest. His heart drummed beneath the wood.

“I trust you the most,” I whispered. “I think about you the most. Way more than I should. And I wonder… if maybe you and I could be something more.”

He made a low sound in his throat and covered my hand with his own.

“Marin?” A strange note burned in his voice; the storm breaking.

“Yes?”

“Stop—” He swallowed. “Don’t look anymore.”

“Oh.” My brow creased.

I drew back and tucked my fist against my side. His declaration stung as if I’d woken up to rain pelting my skin like needles. The glow from the lantern suddenly felt harsh and too bright.

I turned my head away and stepped around him, but Gavin's hand dropped to my waist, holding me still.

“Dammit. That came out wrong. That’s not—” He cursed under his breath, the sound bitter. His fingers tightened around my hip when I pushed against him. “I can't believe I messed this up.”

“No, you didn't!” I twisted out of his hold and backed out of the alcove.

His jaw clenched, and he reached for me again, tried to pull me back. “Listen to me, I—”

“It’s okay. I understand. Snakes, flowers, it makes perfect sense.”

“What?” He scrubbed a hand over his face, confusion softening his pained expression.

“I overstepped.” I raised both hands as if they released him from any obligation. “Still not sorry, but keep the paper. I won’t need it anymore.”

“Marin, wait!” Gavin demanded as I retreated into the crowd.

I spotted Cass and waved to get her attention.

“Ready to call it a night? I’m exhausted.”

She eyed me critically and handed me a jar of luminous salt. “Did something happen? Your ears are red.”

“Nope, just blessed with sensitive ears.” I glanced over my shoulder. No Gavin.

And I should have been relieved. I was relieved. There wasn’t much left to say. And if he apologized?

Just serve me to the snakes.

I winced. Minutes ago, a beautiful witch was flirting with him, most likely organizing another tryst. Then, I come along, talking nonsense about what he deserves, and listing his best qualities like a lovesick fool.

I knew better.

Love, in our line of work, was always a risk. And like fate promised, it stabbed me in the back.

If I wasn’t convinced before, tonight sealed the deal. Gavin wasn’t looking for anything serious, and staying longer wasn't going to change anything.

It was time to go home.