The first day hiding from Garrett's men felt like the longest of Dust's life.
He'd spent the night curled up in an abandoned grain silo near the docks, listening to rats scurry through the darkness and trying to ignore the gnawing in his stomach. Sleep came in brief, fitful snatches—every sound made him jolt awake, certain that heavy boots were coming for him.
When dawn finally broke, painting the sky a pale gray, Dust crept out of his hiding spot and surveyed the world with careful eyes. The harbor was already busy with early morning activity. Fishermen preparing their nets, dock workers hauling cargo, merchants setting up their stalls. All normal, everyday sounds that should have been comforting.
But Dust noticed things others might miss. The way certain men in rough clothes seemed to be watching the crowd rather than working. How they positioned themselves at key intersections, places where someone might pass through. Garrett's net was already spreading.
His stomach cramped with hunger, but Dust ignored it. He had two copper pieces left from Captain Aldrich's payment, but spending them meant showing his face in the market square. Too risky.
Instead, he made his way to the old fisherman's dock where he'd worked two days ago. Seamus was already there, his weathered hands working to repair a tear in his net. The old man looked up as Dust approached, his rheumy eyes taking in the boy's obvious exhaustion.
"You look like something the tide washed up," Seamus observed in his gravelly voice.
"Rough night," Dust admitted.
Seamus studied him for a moment longer, then grunted and returned to his work. "Net won't mend itself. You remember how I showed you?"
Relief flooded through Dust. Work meant distraction, and distraction meant he could stop looking over his shoulder for a few hours. "Yes, sir."
They worked in comfortable silence, the repetitive motion of weaving new cord through damaged mesh oddly soothing. The sun climbed higher, warming Dust's shoulders through his patched cloak. For brief moments, he could almost pretend this was just another normal day.
"Heard there's been some excitement in Lower Ashmark," Seamus said eventually, not looking up from his work.
Dust's hands stilled. "Excitement?"
"Mmm. Word is Marcus Garrett's looking for someone. Got his boys asking questions all over the district." Seamus's weathered fingers never paused in their careful work. "Dangerous thing, crossing a man like that."
"So I've heard," Dust said carefully.
"Course, sometimes a man doesn't have much choice in the matter. Sometimes he just tries to do right by someone, and the world decides to punish him for it."
The old fisherman's words hit closer to home than Dust was comfortable with. He focused on the net, counting stitches to keep his hands steady.
"The thing about nets," Seamus continued in his philosophical way, "is they're only as strong as their weakest thread. One break, and the whole thing starts to unravel. But..." He held up a section they'd just repaired. "Sometimes you can make the mended part stronger than the original."
They worked until the sun reached its peak, and true to form, Seamus produced a small lunch from his satchel—bread, cheese, and dried fish that he shared without comment or expectation of payment. It was simple food, but after a day without eating, it tasted like a feast.
"There's a merchant ship coming in tomorrow," Seamus mentioned as they ate. "The Sea Witch. Captain Aldrich is good people—pays fair wages and doesn't ask too many questions. Might be worth talking to him if you're looking for honest work."
Dust nearly choked on his bread. "The Sea Witch?"
"You know her?"
"I... met Captain Aldrich a few days ago. He mentioned they were leaving soon."
"Aye, tomorrow evening with the tide. Heading up north, I believe. Man could do worse than signing on with a crew like that." Seamus gave Dust a meaningful look. "Especially if he needed to be somewhere else for a while."
The rest of the afternoon passed quietly. Seamus paid Dust two copper pieces for his work—more than the job was worth, but the old man waved away any protests. As the sun began to sink toward the horizon, Dust gathered his few possessions and prepared to find another hiding spot for the night.
"Boy," Seamus called as he was leaving. "Whatever trouble you're in, remember—the tide always turns. Just got to survive long enough to see it happen."
Dust spent the evening hours wandering the less traveled streets of Lower Ashmark, keeping to the shadows and avoiding main thoroughfares. His mind churned with possibilities. Captain Aldrich's ship would leave tomorrow night. One evening, and he could be free of this place forever.
But as he passed near Clara's street, his steps slowed. The old woman had shown him kindness when she didn't have to. She'd fed him, offered him shelter. And now she was in danger because of his actions.
Could he really just leave her to face Garrett alone?
The rational part of his mind said yes. Clara wasn't his responsibility. He'd tried to help her once, and it had only made things worse. The smart thing—the survival thing—was to get on that ship and never look back.
But as Dust settled into an abandoned doorway for the night, wrapping his cloak tight against the chill, he couldn't shake the memory of Clara's frightened voice in the square. The way she'd clutched her basket like it contained everything she owned in the world.
Maybe it had.
Sleep, when it finally came, was filled with dreams of ships sailing away into endless gray fog, leaving him standing alone on an empty dock.