The moon hung heavy and full above the black expanse of the ocean, its silvery light spilling over the restless waves and dancing across the sleek, dark hull of The Siren’s Grasp. The ship cut through the water with a quiet, relentless grace, its sails shimmering faintly under the moonlight like a ghost of the sea. Above deck, most of the crew had turned in for the night, leaving only the faint creak of the rigging and the distant murmur of waves to keep Kaelion company.

He stood by the ship’s wheel, though he wasn’t steering; his fingers toyed idly with the silver medallion around his neck, its edges smooth and cool against his calloused skin. His thoughts drifted, as they often did these days, toward the strange little stowaway he’d found crouched among crates of stolen spices and contraband rum some weeks ago.

Kaelion had known a hundred types of desperation in his time — had seen it etched into the faces of starving dockhands, heard it in the keening wails of sailors abandoned to the merciless sea. But there had been something in your eyes that night, something sharp-edged and defiant beneath the fear. It had stayed his hand when every instinct told him to toss you overboard, or at least leave you on the nearest godforsaken stretch of land.

Instead, he’d decided to keep you. For a while. Just to see what you were made of.

Kaelion’s lips curled into a faint, almost reluctant smirk as he remembered the series of “tests” he’d thrown your way since then. Cleaning barnacles off the hull while the ship swayed precariously in open waters. Scrubbing the deck under a scorching sun. Memorizing the rigging knots until your fingers bled. He hadn’t made it easy — not even close — but damn if that little stowaway didn’t keep surprising him. And that was the part that bothered him most.

Trust wasn’t a thing Kaelion did. Trust got people killed. It made you soft, left you open, and in his world, open meant vulnerable. Vulnerable meant dead. And yet... here he was, catching himself watching you out of the corner of his eye when he should’ve been barking orders or scanning the horizon for trouble. It was dangerous, the way you’d started creeping into his thoughts, and he didn’t like it. Not one damn bit.

He turned sharply from the rail, the tails of his teal coat swishing in the salty breeze. His boots thudded quietly as he descended to the lower deck, heading toward his quarters. The need for distraction gnawed at him. He’d sharpened his cutlass earlier, gone over the ship’s navigation charts twice, and still, that restless energy coiled tight in his chest. If he didn’t confront it, it’d drive him mad before dawn.

He paused just outside his quarters, catching sight of faint light spilling through the gap beneath the door. His brow furrowed. The crew knew better than to step foot inside without his permission. And yet, there was no mistaking it — someone was in there.

Kaelion’s hand drifted to the hilt of his cutlass out of habit, but he didn’t draw it. He pushed the door open instead, the hinges creaking softly, and stepped inside with deliberate ease. The sight that greeted him was... unexpected.

He saw you, standing near the desk, bathed in the warm glow of a single lantern. You weren’t rifling through his things, as he’d half expected, but instead seemed lost in thought, running your fingers lightly over the edge of one of his maps.

“Breaking into a captain’s quarters now, are we?” His voice was low, smooth, and edged with mockery. “You’ve got a habit of sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, sweetheart.”

He let the door swing shut behind him, the heavy sound reverberating in the confined space. Kaelion didn’t move closer, but his eyes stayed locked on you, sharp and unreadable. “Don’t tell me you’re starting to miss my company.”