A slit of view through the companionway slats. Clouds slid past, gray and close, and the world beneath vanished like it had been erased. The ship hit a pocket of something ugly and lurched hard enough to knock my teeth together. Metal complained in a long, low groan. Under my boots, the deck bucked—wrong rhythm, no longer that steady pull I’d started trusting. Burnt resin rode the wind. Not the clean pine bite of sealant—this was scorched sap, kitchen-stove sharp, like somebody tried to mask smoke with perfume and only made it worse. My hand shot for the rail before the bracelet could yank my wrist into a twist. The briar token stayed silent. That quiet sat in my gut like a stone. A bell chimed ahead. Thin. Pretty. It still hit like a warning. Crew clogged the hatchway in cloaks and polished buttons, pale hands tight around talismans. Their eyes tracked me the way people watch a stray dog that might bolt. I shouldered through anyway. “Inside. Move.” My voice scraped out raw; the court had a way of leaving reminders in your throat. A guard stepped in, blocking the ladder down. Behind him, Rafe Nash filled the space like a door you couldn’t push through. “You stay here.” No contraction. No give. “I’m not staying anywhere.” I leaned in until the wind slicing through the seams wet my lips and numbed them. “What failed? What’s the first thing that gets us caught?” Rafe’s gaze flicked to the hatch as if he could read the vibrations through the boards. “Drive line stutters. Wards flare. Nearby customs will taste it.” Good. Real words. Something to grab. “And if we drop speed?” I asked. “How long till they’re on us?” The deck answered first—another judder, like a skipped heartbeat. The resin stink thickened and crawled up the back of my throat. Someone murmured a prayer nearby. Not for me. Rafe’s jaw jumped once. “Soon.” “Define soon.” My nails dug into the rail until the metal bit back. “Minutes? Hours? I don’t do fae time.” He stared like my words were pebbles bouncing off armor. “Lanterns are already up.” The bells chimed again, closer. Around us, bodies went still—heads tilted, listening. “Then let me in there.” I jerked my chin at the ladder. “Out here I don’t need permission. I need access.” A laugh slid through the knot of crew—smooth, controlled. Celia Castellano drifted into view, coat immaculate, hair untouched by wind, as if grime belonged to lesser people. She looked at me the way you look at a stain you’re deciding whether to bother cleaning. “How charming.” Her voice stayed soft enough to hide teeth. “Our mortal wants to play engineer now. Is this your latest heroic impulse, Sofia Reyes?” Heat woke in my bracelet, faint and pleased at hearing my full name. My stomach turned. “I don’t care what you call it.” My eyes stayed on her hands. No blood. Never. “We’re bleeding speed. If customs catches us, I’m not the only one who loses.” Celia’s smile held. Testing. “You assume we intend to lose.” “I assume somebody intends something.” I didn’t blink. “Because this doesn’t smell like wear-and-tear. It smells like sabotage.” The crew rippled—no outrage, no denial. Just fear, quick and crawling, finding corners to hide in. Rafe’s voice dropped. “Do not say that word loudly.” “Why?” I tasted iron and realized I’d bitten my cheek. “Because it makes people look at each other? Good. They should.” Celia tilted her head as if I were something fragile she might break just to hear the sound. “You are not authorized below. That space is—” “A crawlspace.” I cut her off. “A line. A system. Whatever you want to call it, it’s failing. If we get interdicted, do you think customs cares about your titles?” For a flicker, fire flashed behind her eyes. Then the silk slid back into place. “You are bait,” Celia murmured. “Customs lanterns like the scent of a mortal out of place. Perhaps the ship lurches because you are on it.” The words shoved the air out of my lungs. Crew attention sharpened—hungry, eager for a culprit. A few faces turned away too fast, like they didn’t want to be caught agreeing. My hands clenched on the rail. Sirens tried to climb up my throat—glass, screaming, that frozen second on the bus when my brain refused to move my arms. I swallowed hard until my jaw ached. “If I’m bait,” I said, “then you should want me alive and moving.” I kept my voice flat, EMT-steady. “Blame me later. Answer the triage question. What do we fix first so customs doesn’t catch our signature?” Celia’s gaze slid to Rafe, expecting obedience. Rafe didn’t budge. A voice cut in from the edge of the group, honeyed and edged sharp. “Let her.” Delphine Thibodaux leaned where the shadows pooled, expression lazy, eyes awake. “Cher’s got hands, and she got nerve. Nerve gets you through a blockade.” Del’s eyes met mine for a breath—no warmth, no hatred. Measurement. Like my freedom papers were in her pocket and she hadn’t decided whether to burn them. Celia’s fingers tightened at her wrist. Tiny. A tell. “You will be supervised,” Celia decided. “Fine.” I nodded at Rafe. “You. Supervise. But I go down.” Rafe pinned me with his stare. “You will not touch the wards.” “I’ll touch whatever’s burning the ship.” My voice came out clipped, command-tone. “Unless you want to explain to customs why you limped into their net.” The deck shuddered again, harder. A few crew staggered. Somebody swore; their breath puffed white. Rafe shifted. The guard stepped aside. The ladder gaped into darkness and cold. I went first anyway. Below, sound collapsed into a low vibration, the ship’s bones humming under my ribs. Cold seeped through my boots. Splinters caught my palms as I crawled; the air tasted like dust and resin. My breath fogged in front of my face, and every inch forward made the burnt-sap stink stronger. A thrum pulsed through the boards. Steady. Stutter. Steady. Stutter. Like a heart trying to remember its own rhythm. Rafe filled the hatch behind me, blocking most of the light. “Do not get stuck.” “Helpful.” My voice bounced off the wood. A narrow channel ran along the hull, wrapped in runic insulation that looked like braided bark. Where it should’ve been smooth, it had been nicked—small cuts, too clean to be accidental. Sticky residue glistened along the edges. I scraped a finger over it. Sap, tacky and stubborn, clinging like it wanted to keep a piece of me. “That’s new,” I muttered. Rafe’s shadow shifted. “What is it?” “Tampering.” I leaned in, ignoring the way the boards vibrated under my cheekbone. “They scored the runes, then tried to hide it.” Resin smeared over the cuts like a cheap bandage. Under it, heat pulsed uneven—angry, sick. Then ozone hit, sharp and metallic, like lightning trapped in a box. My bracelet warmed again. A faint pulse. Like approval. Like recognition. My skin crawled. I wiped sap on my pants. Wrong impulse. Evidence mattered. “Don’t touch it,” Rafe warned. “I already did.” I held up my fingers; resin strung between them in glossy threads. “You got sealant? The real kind, not… whatever this is?” Silence from him, heavy as a hand on the back of my neck. I lifted my voice toward the hatch. “Del. You got something? You always got something.” Del’s answer drifted down, light as it pretended to be. “Now, Sofi, you know I don’t just hand over my pretties for free.” “Cool.” I dug into the pocket of my borrowed coat and found my bandage bundle, the tin, the vial Bea had pressed into my palm like contraband. “I’ll trade. You want a favor, or you want me to stop asking questions? Pick one.” A pause. Then Del’s laugh—soft, quick, like a match struck in the dark. “That’s a dangerous menu, cher.” “Everything’s danger.” The ship trembled; my shoulder braced harder into the hull. “We don’t have time for flirting.” “Who said anything about flirting?” Her boots scraped above. “You want the good seal? It costs.” Rafe’s voice cut in. “Do not bargain for the ship.” “I’m not bargaining for the ship.” I stared at the scored runes until they blurred. “I’m bargaining for my route home. This ship is the cage. I’m trying to bend the bars.” The words came out too honest. The crawlspace held them tight, as if it could keep them from spreading. Rafe didn’t answer. He also didn’t drag me out. Del’s hand appeared at the hatch, offering a dark glass jar sealed with wax stamped in a thorn. Even from here, the smell hit—cleaner, colder resin, pine-cut-in-winter sharp. “You get one jar,” Del told me. “You use it fast. You don’t waste it.” “And you don’t touch this line until I mark it,” I shot back. “Nobody does. Not even you.” Del’s tone sweetened, almost indulgent. “Look at you. Making rules like you own the sky.” “I’m making rules like I don’t want to die.” I reached for the jar. Del didn’t let go. Her grip stayed firm—warm against my chilled fingers. “And what do I get?” she asked. I met her gaze. In this light her eyes read almost black, shadowed but alive. Hungry, even when her mouth smiled. “You get me owing you,” I said. “A real one. Not court math. Not a twisted clause. You call, I answer.” Del’s smile flickered—something sharp behind it—then smoothed away. “Say it clean, cher.” My throat tightened. Oaths mattered in this place. Words became locks. “I owe you,” I said, careful with each syllable. “One favor. Specific. Not open-ended. And not for harming a child.” Del’s eyes narrowed, pleased. “You learn fast.” She released the jar. It dropped into my palm—heavy, cold. Rafe shifted behind me. “Make it hold.” “I will.” I twisted the wax seal. The lid cracked and scent bloomed, clean and biting. Inside, resin shimmered like black honey, thick and reluctant. No med kit. No clamps. Just whatever the ship had and my hands. A loose metal bracket lay wedged under a beam. I yanked it free. It tore my knuckles open. Blood welled bright against the dark. “Stop,” Rafe barked. “It’s fine.” I wiped the blood on my sleeve and swallowed down the sting. “I’ve bled worse for less.” Another shudder rolled through the hull. The thrum below my ribs stuttered, then caught. I pressed the bracket over the scored section, lining it up like a splint. Stabilize first. Pretty later. Resin oozed under my fingers as I smeared it into the grooves, forcing it into the cuts until it filled them. It clung, tacky—then cooled fast, hardening into a skin. Ozone bit my nose. My eyes watered. I blinked hard and kept going. “Hold the light,” I snapped upward. Del’s voice floated back, lazy as a cat. “You ask so pretty when you’re mad.” Rafe shifted, and a pale glow flared—contained, not quite fire. It spilled over my hands. Under the resin, the runes pulsed. Angry. Then quieter. Like something gagged. The thrum steadied for three beats. Then five. Then ten. Above, the deck eased. The vibration smoothed under my ribs. Air rushed out of me like I’d been underwater too long. I sat back on my heels in the cramped space, fingers sticking together with resin. Breath came fast, fogging the dark. “It’s holding,” I said. Rafe’s answer came immediately. “For now.” “Yeah.” I flexed my hand; the resin tugged at my skin. “For now is what we’ve got.” I scraped a line into the wood beside the patch with the edge of the bracket—ugly and obvious. A mark nobody could pretend not to notice. Del peered down through the hatch. “You sure you wanna announce it, cher? Sabotage makes folks jumpy.” “Good.” I wiped resin on my pants again, leaving a dark smear. “Jumpy means awake.” Rafe’s gaze stayed on the patched runes. “Who did it.” Not a question. A problem. “I don’t know,” I told him. “Yet.” When we climbed back up, wind slapped my wet knuckles and turned the blood tacky. The bells chimed again—closer. Lantern-glow smeared across the low clouds off starboard: pale green, drifting too calmly for something that meant capture. Celia waited by the rail, hands folded, face composed. Like doubt had never visited her once in her life. “How convenient,” she murmured as I emerged, “that the mortal touches the ship and it calms.” I wiped my hands on my coat, slow. “How convenient it was scored in the first place.” Crew shifted. Uneasy glances cut toward the hatch, then away, like the crawlspace might spit up a culprit if they stared hard enough. Someone’s eyes caught on the resin stain on my pants and slid off again. Celia’s gaze flicked over my scraped knuckles—quick, assessing—then she smiled as if she’d spotted a joke she liked. “You accuse without proof.” “I have proof.” I held up my fingers, still sticky. “Cuts. Patch-over. Wrong resin. I marked it below. Anyone can look.” Her smile thinned. “And you believe the crew will accept your judgment.” “I don’t care what they accept.” My voice sharpened. “I care what keeps us moving. And I care about the other humans you’ve taken.” The space tightened. Even the wind felt like it paused to listen. “Collateral,” Celia murmured, like she was naming a tool. “Not a cause.” My jaw locked. The bus memory slammed again—seconds, a teen’s face, my hands frozen on a strap. I bit my cheek hard enough to taste blood and stayed in my body by force. “They’re not collateral,” I said. “They’re people.” Del leaned on the rail as if bored. Rafe stood half a step behind me, silent. He didn’t warm the air. He did make it feel like the ground under my feet wouldn’t slide away. Celia’s voice stayed smooth. “You would risk interdiction for strangers you have never met.” “I’d risk interdiction for anyone trapped.” My bracelet warmed, faint, and I hated it for agreeing with me. “But I’m not doing this alone. You want this ship past customs? Stop playing games and help.” Celia’s brows lifted. “Help you.” “Course adjustment. Minimizing signature.” I pointed at the lantern-glow. “How close are they allowed to get before they board? What do they taste first—speed, wards, mortal scent? Pick one and tell me.” She turned her head slightly, listening to something I couldn’t hear. The lanterns drifted, patient and sure, like the world had already decided where we belonged. “They will hail within the quarter hour,” Celia said. “Provided our wards remain steady.” “Then we keep them steady.” I looked to Rafe. “Who has access to that line?” Rafe’s mouth tightened. “Crew assigned. Ministers. Couriers.” Couriers. Del’s expression didn’t change. Her eyes did, just a fraction—daring me to say it. I didn’t. Not yet. Not without more than instinct and a smear of resin. “Fine,” I said. “We rotate watch on maintenance. Nobody goes alone. If someone complains, they can complain while we’re free.” Celia’s laugh slipped out, quiet. “You give orders as if you wear a crown.” “I wear a bracelet.” I snapped my sleeve down. “Don’t confuse it.” Underfoot, the ship’s thrum stayed steadier now, like a heartbeat trying to be brave. The lanterns stayed anyway. Bells kept chiming. Danger didn’t back off just because I’d slapped a splint on a wound. Rafe leaned in, voice low enough to thread past the wind. “You made enemies.” “I walked into enemies.” I didn’t look at him. “I’m trying to find allies.” His silence landed like a clenched fist. A flare sparked in the distance—thin and white. Not from our ship. Ahead, near the lanterns. A signal. Cold prickled across my scalp. The kind that came before a bad call, before you turned a corner and found too much blood. “That wasn’t them just… being pretty,” I muttered. Del’s voice slid near my ear. She’d moved closer without me hearing her boots. “Customs likes warnings,” she murmured. “Makes the chase cleaner.” “Or someone likes them getting here faster.” Del’s breath warmed my neck for one second. Then she stepped back, giving space like a gift with a string tied tight around it. “Now you askin’ the right questions, cher. Just be careful where you point that finger.” Because it might land on someone I needed. Because it might land on her. The ship surged forward; speed climbed. The patched line held—barely. Lantern-glow smeared thicker across the clouds anyway, closing the distance as if freedom ran and the cage ran faster. Resin still haunted my hands. The bracelet sat heavy under my sleeve, waiting. I turned toward the narrow passage to the washroom cabins. Skin crawled with grime and sap. I needed a reset—thirty stolen seconds that weren’t survival. Before the next crisis took my breath again. The washroom door looked too polite to hide anything useful. Inside, warmth met my face like a steady palm. Not hot. Just constant. A small hum from a heat source bolted under the basin. Steam curled over a copper sink. Soap cut clean through the burnt-sap stink clinging to my clothes. I latched the door and listened—footsteps, voices, a pause at the threshold. Nothing. Just the ship’s thrum and the muffled bell-tones outside. Warm water spilled over my hands, stinging the scrapes on my knuckles. I scrubbed until resin softened and rolled away in dark threads. Soap foamed under my nails. The smell shifted—sap fading, clean rising—and my shoulders dropped a fraction before I could stop them. The bracelet stayed quiet while I peeled off the grime-stiff coat and shirt. Fabric tugged where dried sap had glued itself to skin. I winced and kept going. Gentle wasn’t on the schedule. Water over my forearms. Over the bruises along my wrist where the token had bitten earlier. Warmth sank in, small and stubborn. Clean clothes waited folded on a narrow shelf—plain cotton, soft, not court-fancy. Someone had decided comfort was useful. I pulled on the fresh shirt; it slid over scraped skin like a promise I didn’t want to believe. A knock tapped the door. Once. Pause. My body went still. Breath held. I didn’t reach for the latch. Another knock, softer. Not a demand. “Sofi?” Kevin Nguyen’s voice, low and careful, like he didn’t want the walls learning him. I let air out slow; steam clouded the mirror. “Yeah. Give me a second.” “I’m not—” He cut himself off. “Take your time. Just… the lanterns are closer. People are talking.” Of course they were. I opened the latch two inches. Kevin stood hunched in the corridor draft, hair wind-tossed, eyes darting past me into the warm room like he wanted in and didn’t think he’d earned it. “Come in,” I told him, then stepped back before I could change my mind. He slipped inside and shut the door. Warmth pushed color into his cheeks. A small notebook was clenched in his hand like an anchor. “You okay?” he asked, trying for casual and missing. “I’m clean.” I rinsed my hands again, slow. “That’s as okay as I get today.” His mouth twitched—almost a smile—then fell away. “They’re saying you tampered. That you made it worse, then fixed it to look good.” “Yeah.” Water ran over my knuckles. “Celia said it to my face. People listened.” Kevin’s gaze flicked to my bracelet when my sleeve rode up. He didn’t comment. That restraint mattered more than a speech. “I checked the vibration pattern after you went down,” he said. “It stabilized. That’s real. Whatever you did, it worked.” “Stopgap,” I said. “A splint. We’re still bleeding risk.” He nodded, swallowing. “And the lanterns—” “Someone wants them here.” The certainty came out flat, and I hated it. Kevin’s fingers tightened on the notebook. “Okay. So, hypothetically… if someone wanted customs to find you, that means—” “It means I’m not just collateral.” I met his eyes. “I’m a signal.” He didn’t argue. Didn’t try to sand the edges off it. He took it in like bad news you still had to work with. Quiet stretched. The heat source hummed. Steam curled around us. For a second the ship felt far away, like we’d found a hidden pocket inside a moving prison. I tugged the hem of the clean shirt, grounding on texture. Soft. Real. Not enchanted. “I need to tell you something.” My voice dropped. Kevin blinked. “Yeah?” “I’m not just trying to get out.” I watched his face—every tiny shift. “I’m coming back for the other humans. The ones in the registries. The ones nobody names.” His throat bobbed. He looked down at the notebook as if numbers could shield him. When he looked back up, his eyes were bright with something tight. “That’s… a lot,” he said quietly. “And it’s… it’s the right kind of wrong.” A laugh tried to climb out of me and turned into a breath instead. “Yeah. That’s my brand.” Kevin rubbed his thumb along the notebook’s edge. “I won’t lie. That’s a huge risk.” “I know.” “And you’re asking me to be part of it.” Not phrased as a question. Still one. I held his gaze. “I’m not asking you to die for it. I’m asking if you can keep a secret and still move.” His jaw set, then loosened. “I can. I can do that.” A beat, thick with what we weren’t saying. “And, Kevin.” I forced the next words out before the courage ran out. “If this goes bad, don’t try to be a hero. You get out. You tell Marcus Washington. You tell Elena Kowalski. You tell anyone who’ll listen.” His eyebrows jumped at the names—human names, home names. “You know them?” His voice caught. “I know Leni.” The word landed heavy. “She’s my partner. Back home.” Kevin nodded slowly, like he’d just been handed a map. “Okay. Okay. I… I can do that.” A sharp bell-tone cut through the walls—louder. Not distant anymore. Claiming. Kevin’s head snapped toward the door. “That’s—” “Yeah.” Warm air didn’t matter; my hands went cold anyway. “That’s now.” I opened the door first. Corridor air slapped in—cold, resin-tainted. Kevin followed, shoulders squaring like someone stepping into a ring he didn’t choose. We moved toward the deck. Underfoot, the ship’s thrum pulsed steady. Too steady. Like it was pretending. Lantern-glow painted the clouds ahead in smeared green streaks. Shapes drifted inside the light—structures, ships, something watching. The bells chimed in a pattern that sounded like counting down. Crew clustered at the rail, faces tight, hands on talismans. Celia stood at the front, calm as a saint. Del leaned against a post, unreadable. Rafe watched the lanterns like his stare could cut them out of the sky. I pushed through until I stood beside Rafe. He didn’t move away. “They’re too close,” I told him. “They should not be,” Rafe replied. Kevin leaned in on my other side, voice low. “If customs tracks signatures, then sabotage makes sense. A flare, a stutter, a scent. It’s like—” He stopped, swallowed. “Like someone tagging a file so it can’t hide.” Celia glanced back, smile polite. “Mortal metaphors. Adorable.” I ignored her. My eyes stayed on the lanterns—how they drifted with certainty, no searching, no hesitation. “Who knew this route?” I asked, loud enough for Rafe, for Del, for anyone pretending not to listen. “Who knew the timing? Who had access to that drive line?” Silence answered first. Then Del, soft and slow. “Lots of folks got hands on a ship, cher. Ain’t that the trouble?” I kept my eyes on her. “Not lots of folks cut runes and patch them with the wrong resin.” Del’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Now you accusing.” “I’m asking.” The words snapped. “Who else had access?” Rafe’s gaze flicked to Del, then away. “Ministerial access. Courier access. Captain access.” Celia turned her head as if she had all the time in the world. “You presume betrayal because it comforts you. It gives your fear a face.” Cold prickled over my scalp again. The exit felt miles away. “I presume betrayal because I touched the cuts,” I shot back. “And because customs lanterns don’t drift this close by accident.” The ship trembled—tiny, almost imperceptible. Not the old stutter. Something new. Timed. Kevin’s hand hovered near my elbow, not touching. Not claiming. Just there, a question he didn’t ask out loud. Rafe’s head snapped toward the hatch leading belowdecks. “Second point.” My pulse kicked hard. The patched line held. Something else was failing now. Like the first wound had only been a distraction. Lantern-glow thickened ahead. A new flare streaked up—white, clean, unmistakable. A signal answering a signal. Someone on board had lit the match. I turned toward Del, toward Celia, toward the crew. The clean shirt suddenly felt too thin against the cold. “Who benefits,” I asked, voice tight, “if customs takes us before we cross?” No one answered. Not with words. Del’s eyes slid away first—just for a second. The bells began to chime faster.