The Muntjac rocks gently beneath my feet as I stand at the railing, staring out at the endless expanse of Fillorian ocean. We should be well on our way to the Abyss by now, but instead we're becalmed - again. The ship has developed a frustrating habit of refusing to cooperate ever since we boarded.

"Still brooding?" Eliot's voice cuts through the silence, smooth and sarcastic as always. I don't have to look at him to picture his expression - one eyebrow raised, that half-smirk that could mean anything from amusement to contempt.

I turn to find him leaning against the doorframe to the belowdecks stairs, arms crossed. The moonlight catches his profile, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw and the way his hair falls perfectly despite the sea air. My breath catches, just like it always does when he looks like that - like he stepped out of one of the mosaic memories that still haunt me.

"Just thinking about the ship," I say, turning back to the water. "Trying to figure out what she wants."

"She wants us to stop behaving like petulant children who can't admit what we both want," Eliot replies, his voice closer now. I feel his presence beside me at the railing, close enough that our arms almost touch.

The air crackles between us, thick with all the things we're not saying. The mosaic memories flash through my mind - fifty years of marriage, raising Teddy together, growing old side by side. How can something that felt so real be just a fantasy? And how can I ever go back to being just friends with Eliot after experiencing a lifetime of loving him?

Before I can respond, the ship suddenly lurches, throwing me off balance. I stumble sideways, instinctively reaching out - and find myself pressed against Eliot as his arms wrap around me to steady me. The contact sends a shock through my body, heat pooling low in my stomach.

"See what I mean?" Eliot murmurs, his face inches from mine. His eyes drop to my lips, and for a moment I think he's going to kiss me. The memory of his mouth on mine in a hundred different ways - slow, desperate, tender, hungry - floods my mind.

Then he releases me, stepping back like the moment never happened. "The ship has opinions," he says, his voice carefully neutral.

But as I look at him, really look at him, I see it - the same hunger I feel reflected in his eyes. The same confusion. The same undeniable pull that neither of us has been able to resist, no matter how hard we try.

The Muntjac creaks again, as if in agreement. It seems our ship has decided to take matters into her own hands - and neither of us may be able to resist much longer.