The figure in bone armor stopped ten paces away, the skull-helm tilted slightly, as though appraising prey. The market was so silent that Kaelen could hear the faint crackle of the bottled storms behind them.
Orien's jaw tightened. "You're far from the Black Coast, Thayen."
"That's because you keep running from me," Thayen replied, their voice a hollow echo. "But markets are good for collecting debts — no one leaves without paying."
Kaelen looked between them. "What debt?"
Orien didn't answer. His eyes stayed locked on Thayen, his hand inching toward the hilt of his cutlass.
Thayen's laugh was slow and dry. "Tell him, Orien. Tell him whose ship you sank. Tell him about the screaming in the water."
Kaelen froze. He'd seen Orien calm in the face of storms, blades, and curses — but now, for the first time, he saw guilt flicker in his captain's eyes.
"I took a job," Orien said finally, voice low. "I didn't know the crew was—"
"You knew," Thayen cut in. "And you'll make it right, one way or another." They raised a gloved hand. From the shadows of the nearest stall, a dozen figures emerged, all masked and armed with curved blades.
Kaelen's pulse quickened. The market crowd began to pull back into the alleys, sensing what was about to happen.
"Either you come with me," Thayen said, "or I take your crew apart, starting with the boy."
Kaelen's hand went to his dagger. "Try it," he muttered.
Orien's gaze flicked between Kaelen and Thayen — calculating, weighing their odds. Then, without warning, he stepped forward and raised both hands.
"I'll go," he said.
Kaelen stared at him. "What—? No!"
Thayen's masked followers closed in. "Smart choice," Thayen said, "but you won't get to choose again."