(I'm back, and merry Christmas :) )
By the third night aboard the Wayward Star, Edward had learned that confidence did not shorten a line, bravado did not steady a mast, and enthusiasm alone was useless when the wind decided it disliked you. His hands were raw, his shoulders ached, and sleep came in shallow fragments between watches. The ship creaked and breathed around him like a living thing, and for the first time in his life, Edward felt truly small. He also felt quietly, stubbornly right where he belonged. The seagull seemed to agree.
It perched above him on the rigging as Edward wrestled with a stubborn knot, head tilted, beady eyes following every movement with open judgment.
"I know," Edward muttered without looking up. "I should've looped it the other way." The bird answered with a sharp squeak. "Yes. Thank you. Very helpful." Mira passed nearby, pretending very hard not to smile. "You're arguing with the bird again," she said. "It started it."
From the helm, Reed let out a low chuckle but said nothing. He ran the ship with the quiet authority of a man who had long ago stopped needing to prove himself. When Edward made mistakes, and he made plenty, Reed corrected him without ridicule, without impatience. The lesson was always clear, never gentle, and never repeated. Edward learned quickly. Not because he was naturally gifted, but because he paid attention.
That, at least, he could do well. The wind shifted shortly before midnight, subtle but insistent. The sails complained before the crew noticed, canvas snapping in protest. Reed adjusted the helm without ceremony. "Current's turning. She won't like fighting it."
Edward felt it through the deck; the tension in the boards eased as Mira called for adjustments and the crew moved, clumsy but willing. Crispin secured the galley with the careful urgency of a man protecting both his livelihood and his fingers. Dr. Finch braced herself calmly, unfazed, eyes sharp as the ship leaned and corrected.
The Wayward Star held her course. Edward exhaled, unaware he'd been holding his breath.
The seagull flapped down from the rigging and landed beside him, talons clicking softly on the deck. It peered up at him, feathers ruffling in the wind."Yes," Edward said quietly. "I noticed too."
The bird puffed up, satisfied. Later, when the deck settled into its steady night rhythm and the stars burned clean and bright above them, Edward stood alone at the bow. The ocean stretched endlessly ahead, black and silver and unknowable.
He thought of Port Royal. Of stone walls and polished expectations. Of Elizabeth, safe for now and a father who would never understand why safety had never been enough. "You're taking this seriously," Mira said, joining him. "I'd hope so," Edward replied. She studied him for a long moment. "Most men who steal a ship want gold. Or revenge." "And me?"
"You want… direction." Edward considered that. The sea answered with a soft crash against the hull. "Maybe," he said.
The seagull hopped onto the rail between them, feathers settling as it faced the wind, as it belonged there more than either of them. Mira sighed. "It's going to follow us everywhere, isn't it?" Edward reached into his coat and produced a small scrap of dried fish. The bird snapped it up instantly.
"Yes," he said. "I think it's promoted itself." "To what?" Edward smiled faintly. "Moral support." The seagull squeaked, clearly offended by the understatement.
As the night wore on, Reed adjusted their heading again, subtly, precisely. Edward watched closely this time. "You felt that before the compass shifted," Edward said.
Reed nodded. "Ship tells you things if you listen." Edward rested his hands on the rail, feeling the vibration of the hull beneath his palms, the rhythm of motion that was slowly becoming familiar.
He listened. The wind. The water. The crew. The soft scrape of claws as a seabird settled beside him once more. Somewhere ahead waited danger, rumors, and a black ship that haunted sailors' dreams. Edward did not know how he would face it yet.
But the sea hadn't taken him tonight. And with the Wayward Star beneath his feet, a growing crew at his back, and an unreasonably loyal seagull at his side, Edward Swann intended to make sure it never did.