Merran's body convulsed once, twice his breath ragged like torn sails fighting the wind. His eyes widened as if seeing something only he could. The medics shouted for more pressure, for light, for anything to keep him tethered, but his lips began to move.
Captain Roan crouched beside him, gripping the edge of the cot. "Stay with me, Merran! Tell me who you're working for!"
The merchant's pupils flicked wildly, as though chasing ghosts that weren't there. His voice came out in cracked whispers, barely a thread of sound.
"Hollow… Nine…"
Roan's brows furrowed. "What? Speak up!"
Merran's throat seized; he coughed, spitting red, but kept forcing the words through clenched teeth. "They… they promised… safe… trade routes… protection from the tides… b-but… they lied…"
Roan leaned closer, his breath steady even as tension rippled through his frame. "Who are they? This 'Hollow Nine'? A cult? Smugglers?"
