Silence pressed against the walls, broken only by the faint drip of water from the faucet. Trafalgar sat in the bath, the compass resting in his damp hand, waiting—hoping—for the voice to return. But the air remained still.
His jaw tightened. "How the hell did you even speak to me?" he muttered aloud, the words echoing faintly against the tiles. No answer came.
He leaned back, staring at the ceiling. 'Of course. She's not going to make this easy. She doesn't want me to find her. Which means… I'll have to wait until fate decides to throw her in my path again.'
His thoughts circled back to her message, cutting and simple: get stronger.
'I'm already trying. Everything I've done since waking up in this world has been about surviving, about getting stronger. But if she went out of her way to say it again… then she must mean I'm not moving fast enough.'
