The ship groans as it sails, like it's having second thoughts. I stay curled in the shadows of the cargo hold, pressed between crates that smell like spice and rot. The sea rocks us gently, and the air is thick with salt, old rope, and damp secrets.
I almost fall asleep.
Almost.
But then I hear it.
Clink.
Scrape.
Breath.
Not mine.
I sit up, silent and still, fingers hovering near my dagger. Someone's here. Someone else.
I wait, heart steady, fire sleeping beneath my skin. Whoever they are, they don't know I'm watching yet. They shuffle again; closer now. And then-
"If you're planning to murder me, could you at least wait until I finish stealing dinner?"
Not a rat. Definitely not a crewman either. Too young. Too loud. And too stupid to realise I'm already behind them.
I move fast, silent, knife at their throat before they can blink.
He yelps; a very dignified, heroic noise; and drops the tiny dagger he was holding. It clatters onto the floor, where I kick it away.
"Easy!" he gasps. "I'm not crew! I'm hiding! Just like you!"
"Who says I'm hiding?" I murmur.
He squints at me, then glances at the ash stains on my boots. The blackened tips of my fingers. The dagger in my hand. The fact that I haven't blinked yet.
"…Right," he says. "Not hiding. Definitely a murder-y vibe. Cool."
I lower the blade a little. Just a little.
He backs up slowly and plops down on an empty crate like he owns the place. "Name's Ren," he says. "Professional mistake-maker, part-time pickpocket, full-time escape artist. And you?"
I don't answer.
He grins like I told him a joke. "Strong, silent, vaguely terrifying. Love that. Okay, mystery girl; here's the deal: I don't snitch you out, you don't murder me. Deal?"
I tilt my head. "Why would I need to make a deal with someone who's already at my mercy?"
Ren raises a brow. "Because I know where they keep the fresh bread."
…
I hate how tempted I am.