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Chapter Text

The salt air licked at her face, sharp and bracing. Anetra stood on the quarterdeck of the Isla’s Wrath, hands clasped behind her back, boots steady despite the constant sway of the sea. The horizon was endless, a molten smear of deep blues and angry grays, the color of old bruises and storm-forged steel. It was the kind of sky that told stories in silence, of things lost in waves, of promises drowned, of men and women who dared to test its might and were swallowed whole.

She didn’t flinch from it. She thrived in it.

The wind tugged at the short locks of her dark hair, snapping her navy cloak behind her like the tail of a beast. Beneath it, her uniform was crisp, her sash bearing the insignia of her home, five golden stars stitched into the chest, a symbol of loyalty to the Crown. She was a marine. No, the marine. First blade of the island’s fleet. The king’s favorite hound.

And she’d been unleashed.

Anetra's eyes narrowed as she stared out toward the horizon, toward the place she imagined Sasha Colby must be, drifting just out of reach, laughing behind her sails, the stolen treasure sparkling like bait in her grasp. The name rolled around Anetra’s mind like a stormcloud, heavy with thunder.

Sasha Colby.

Even the syllables irritated her.

The King’s Court had buzzed when word first reached them: the treasure vault on Port Cerulean had been raided. Not a quiet theft, not a slink in the night and run job. No, it had been brazen. Daring. The audacity of it lit fires in every hall of the palace. Witnesses reported a sleek black ship slicing through the harbor like a serpent. They spoke of a woman with eyes like fire, of a captain who moved like smoke and struck like a blade.

Captain Sasha Colby. Pirate Queen of the seas. A name spoken in fearful admiration.

A criminal, Anetra corrected herself coldly.

She leaned forward on the railing, letting her fingers brush the salt-wet wood. Sasha Colby had made a mockery of the king. She’d paraded her ship in plain sight, broken into the island’s most protected storehouse, and vanished into the tide like it was all a game.

Anetra had no patience for games.

She’d known pirates growing up. Sirocco was an island of trade, sitting fat and gleaming on the edge of major shipping lanes. Pirates had always lingered like shadows at its borders, but never this bold, never this calculated. Sasha hadn’t just stolen jewels or gold. She had taken the Seastar Medallion, a relic of ancient significance, something whispered about in the island's oldest texts, said to be the key to unlocking the throne's true power.

Which meant this wasn’t about greed.

This was about challenge. About domination.

And Anetra… well, she had always responded to challenge.

She tilted her head toward the sky, watching gulls wheel high above, their cries distant. Her men worked behind her, polishing cannons, checking sails, their footsteps steady on the planks. This ship had been chosen for its speed, its agility. It was made for pursuit. The entire fleet had been put on alert, but it was Anetra the king had sent to command the chase. His words echoed still, delivered with the weight of the crown and the cool breath of wine on his tongue.

‘Bring me back what’s mine… and bring me Colby’s head.’

It wasn’t the first time she’d been sent to kill.

But something was different this time.

She’d read every report on Sasha. Every sighting. Every rumor. They painted a picture of someone uncatchable, someone who danced between the lines of myth and woman. A former citizen of their isle, turned pirate. A survivor of the worst storms, who’d made a pact with the sea.

Anetra didn’t believe in stories. But she did believe in skill. And Sasha Colby, for all her flamboyant infamy, had managed to evade every trap set for her. She was brilliant. Dangerous. Charming. Reckless. Unpredictable.

The kind of person who, by all accounts, should not exist.

But she did. And she had something Anetra wanted.

Retribution. Glory. Justice.

She let out a slow breath. The thing was… beneath all the fury and professionalism, there was a flicker of curiosity that she hadn’t yet choked out. It unnerved her. Every time she saw Sasha’s face in the sketches, sharp jaw, high cheekbones, that smirk like she was always in on the joke, Anetra felt something shift.

Not weakness. Not fear. Something stranger.

Interest? No. That was too generous.

But maybe… maybe she wanted to understand her. What made a woman turn pirate when she could have stayed loyal to the crown, and lived a normal? What made her so confident, so untouchable, so defiant?

Anetra didn’t like things she couldn’t define. She was precision. Discipline. Edged like a blade and twice as cold.

And now she was chasing a ghost in red leather who’d made fools of generals and vanished into myth.

She straightened, spine stiff as the mast beside her. Her second-in-command approached, a lean woman with sea-gray eyes and a ledger in hand. “We’re three days out from the Whisper Shoals. Scouts say her ship was seen passing south through the Coral Spine. We may catch her at the Edge Reefs.”

Anetra gave a sharp nod. “Prepare the crew. And double the watch. She’ll know we’re coming.”

“Yes, Commander.”

The woman moved off, barking orders.

Alone again, Anetra turned back to the sea. She could feel it in her blood now—the ache of pursuit, the anticipation that pulsed behind her eyes like drumbeats. Sasha Colby was somewhere ahead, riding the tide like a queen on a throne of waves.

And Anetra would find her. No matter how long it took. No matter the cost. This was war. And she never lost.

The wind had shifted.

Anetra knew it before the lookout even called it. The sky was too calm. The ocean, too glassy. Her instincts, sharp as obsidian and twice as cruel, twitched with warning. She had woken that morning with it in her chest, a strange hollowness beneath her ribs, as if her bones were preparing to crack under the weight of something inevitable.

And yet she’d pressed forward.

“Edge Reefs ahead!” came the cry from the crow’s nest.

Anetra stood on the deck of her ship, cloak gone now, traded for the sleeveless leather harness and dark trousers of battle, her swords strapped tight to her back. Her boots were scuffed with salt and soot, her gaze unreadable.

The water here was shallow, treacherous, jagged rocks hiding just below the surface, like teeth waiting to bite the careless. The only ships who dared these channels were smugglers, witches, and madmen.

Or pirates.

“There!” someone shouted. “Off the port bow!”

And there it was.

A ship like sin itself, black sails slashed through with crimson, flying a tattered flag of gold and bone. Sleek, monstrous, and bristling with cannon mouths. Its hull shimmered with some kind of oil-slick sheen, unnatural and oddly beautiful. The figurehead was a woman’s face carved in dark wood, mouth open in a scream, hair wild in carved wind.

Anetra’s hand tightened on the railing.

She’d found her.

Sasha Colby.

And she was waiting.

“She’s anchored,” Anetra said, voice low and calm despite the fury in her veins. “She knows we’re here. She wants us to come to her.”

“It’s a trap,” muttered her helmsman.

“Of course it’s a trap,” Anetra said. “The question is whether it’s a good one.”
The moment she said it, the ship turned ever so slightly, and then the cannons fired.

A thundercrack ripped through the air, sudden and gut-deep. Wood exploded around them. Their ship bucked like a wounded beast. Men screamed, thrown from their stations. The sails caught flame in an instant, fabric curling into black petals.

“They were already aimed!” her second screamed over the chaos. “They didn’t need time to prep, they were waiting!”

“She knew we’d come,” Anetra hissed, ducking a burst of shrapnel.

The second hit was worse.

It hit the midsection, breaching the hull. Water exploded upward. The ship groaned like it was dying. Anetra scrambled toward the wheel, barking orders, but the fire was already spreading. The ship tilted. One of the masts cracked, splintering as it fell, crushing part of the upper deck.

“Abandon ship!” someone screamed.

No. No. No. This was her mission. Her hunt. Her battle.

But even Anetra, prideful and relentless, knew when something was truly lost.

A cannonball smashed into the stern, and the deck beneath her tilted hard. She lost her footing and went down, rolling across the splintered planks until she slammed into the rail. Her shoulder screamed in protest. The sea was churning below her now, hungry, black, dotted with burning debris and the flailing limbs of her crew.

And through it all, laughter, distant, female, wickedly amused.

Sasha Colby.

Anetra grit her teeth and leapt.

The cold water punched her in the chest, wrapping her like chains. She kicked upward, gasping when she broke the surface, coughing salt and smoke. She looked back once, saw the ship vanish beneath the waves, her mast like a drowning hand reaching skyward before it too disappeared.

The sea was screaming with fire and ruin.

She swam, long strokes, fighting the weight of her swords, the ache in her ribs, the pull of her boots. She saw bodies, burned wood, foam, blood. She thought of her crew, brave, loyal, now scattered or dead.

And she thought of Sasha.

Then something grabbed her.

At first, Anetra thought it was a wave. Or wreckage. Then she felt the grip, human, strong, and twisted, ready to strike.

But before she could, a hand clamped around her wrist and yanked her downward.

They went under in a blur of bubbles and limbs. She kicked and thrashed, teeth bared, until the grip loosened just enough for her to twist in the water.

It was a woman. Tan skin, long, straight autumn hair, fierce gold eyes. A smirk bloomed across her face even under the water.

Jax, her brain supplied. She’d seen the posters. One of Sasha’s lieutenants.
She should’ve fought. Should’ve tried to drown them both.

Instead, her lungs gave out, and darkness rushed up to meet her.

When Anetra came to, her world was swaying.

She was on a ship. Not hers. The wood was darker. The smell was stronger, rum, spices, sea brine, oil, something floral. Her hands were bound. Her swords were gone. She lay on her side, cheek pressed to cool planks.

Voices echoed above her. Laughter. Boots. Music. The ship thrummed beneath her with life.

“You didn’t have to knock her out completely,” a voice drawled. “She’s a guest.”

“She tried to punch me underwater,” Jax replied. “She’s lucky I didn’t let her drown.”

Anetra blinked. The light hurt. She forced herself to sit up.

And then she heard it. Slow, deliberate footsteps. Silence fell.

And then, there she was.

Sasha Colby.

Tall. Regal. Wearing high boots, red silk, and a fitted leather corset that somehow looked both elegant and battle-worn. Her hair was swept back, damp with spray, and her eyes… Gods. Her eyes were fire.

“Well, well,” Sasha purred, voice like honey over a knife’s edge. “Look what the sea coughed up.”

Anetra stared at her. Jaw clenched. Body taut. Her wrists ached from the bindings, her lungs still burned from the smoke and sea.

“Didn’t think you’d be this pretty,” Sasha said, crouching down to Anetra’s level. “They said the king was sending his best. I imagined a brute. Not… This.”

Anetra didn’t respond.

Sasha tilted her head. “No witty comeback? No threats? I’m disappointed.”

Anetra’s voice was hoarse but cold as iron. “You sunk my ship.”

Sasha grinned. “You were pointing cannons at me. It’s rude.”

“You killed my crew.”

Sasha’s grin faltered, just slightly. “Some of them. Not all. The ones who jumped fast, well, maybe they’ll wash up somewhere sunny.”

“You’re a monster.”

“And you’re soaked and tied up on my deck, sweetheart.” She leaned in, her breath brushing Anetra’s face. “You came for the treasure. For me. You were hunting me. Now look at you.”

Anetra didn’t flinch. “Kill me. Get it over with.”

Sasha’s smile curled into something darker. She leaned closer, eyes glittering. “Oh, no, no, no,” she whispered. “Killing you would be far too easy.”

She stood and turned away, snapping her fingers. “Get her below. Dry her off. Feed her. And make sure she can’t escape.”

Jax saluted. “You got it, Captain.”

Sasha paused at the door to her quarters, casting a glance back at Anetra.
“Besides,” she said, “we’ve got so much to talk about.”

And with that, she vanished into the dark.

Anetra sat there, bound, drenched, seething, but somewhere deep in her chest, beneath the hate and fury and burning humiliation, was something else entirely.

A spark. Small. Dangerous. And growing.

The door to the lower deck creaked open like a beast yawning in the dark.
Two of Sasha’s crew dragged Anetra through the bowels of the ship, her boots thudding against the planks, each step echoing in the narrow corridor. The scent of damp wood, old blood, and sea rot clung to the air like a ghost that refused to leave. Lamps swung from hooks in the beams above, casting golden halos that danced over the walls and over the faces of the pirates, faces painted in smirks, in scars, in something that looked a lot like pride.

Anetra's jaw was tight. Her shoulders burned from where they'd tied her wrists behind her back with rough, thick rope, tight enough to bite, loose enough to remind her she was still alive. Every muscle in her body screamed for release, but she didn’t give them the satisfaction of struggling. She walked, rigid and silent, through the ship like she was inspecting it, not imprisoned within it.

Behind her, one of the twins, Spice, maybe, or Sugar, it was impossible to tell in this dim light, hummed a tune, off-key and maddeningly cheerful.

"You think she’s mad yet?" the other twin whispered, giggling.

“Shh,” said Jax, trailing her like a shadow. “Captain said no bruises. Just the cell.”

“Why does she get a cell?” Spice asked, crossing her arms.

“Because she’s important,” Jax said with a smirk. “And Sasha likes to look at her enemies before she kills them. Sometimes a lot.”

The other twin laughed again, sing-song. “She is so gonna flirt with her before this is over.”

“Definitely,” said the first. “You saw how she looked at her.”

Anetra rolled her eyes toward the ceiling, but something coiled in her gut, tight and unpleasant. Not fear. Not quite.

Anticipation.

They turned down another corridor, past crates marked with strange symbols, barrels that sloshed with things that didn’t smell like rum. Anetra made mental notes. The size of the ship. The sound of water in the hull. The slight tilt that meant they were still in shallow waters.

They weren’t heading out to open sea yet.

She still had time.

The twins shoved open a heavy iron door and shoved her inside.
The cell was carved into the hull itself, built from thick beams, reinforced with steel bands. A single barred porthole looked out into darkness. It wasn’t a dungeon, not quite. More like a holding chamber. There was a bench bolted to the far wall, a chamber pot in the corner, and nothing else.

They cut the rope binding her hands but shoved her forward before she could twist around to strike. She stumbled, caught herself, and turned just in time to see the door slam shut behind her with a ringing clang of finality.

A bolt slid into place. Then silence.

Just the creaking of the ship. The sway of the sea. And her, alone.

Anetra took a slow breath, forcing her body to stay calm. She flexed her hands, blood returning to her fingers in prickling waves. She walked the perimeter of the cell, pacing like a caged predator, her sharp eyes scanning every inch. The walls were old but solid. The porthole too small to fit her shoulders through. She considered prying a board loose, splintering the bench, using something sharp, if she could find anything sharp, but it would take time. Too much time.

And she was still soaked, salt drying on her skin, making her armor stick and chafe.

She peeled off the leather harness piece by piece, methodical and silent. Her shirt beneath was torn at the shoulder, blood dried into the fabric. She sat on the bench, back straight, and tried not to think of her ship going under. Of the crew she’d trained and laughed with and led, now scattered, burned, drowned.
She clenched her fists, nails biting into her palms.

Sasha Colby would pay for it.

The door opened hours later, maybe more. She’d lost count of time, sitting in the flickering dark, listening to the groan of the ship, the distant voices and music of pirates living their loud, lawless lives above.

Robin Fierce appeared first, carrying a plate of food, bread, some kind of stew in a dented tin bowl, and a flask of water. She looked skeptical, like she didn’t approve of this task.

“You hungry?” she asked, voice even.

Anetra didn’t answer.

Robin sighed and set the tray down on the floor, just out of reach. “Suit yourself.” She paused at the door, looking at Anetra for a long moment. “You’re not what I expected.”

“I get that a lot,” Anetra said flatly.

Robin almost smiled. “Don’t try anything. We’re not amateurs.”

Then she was gone.

Anetra didn’t move toward the food for a long time. Just stared at it. The stew smelled surprisingly good, spiced, hearty. Eventually, hunger won over pride, and she leaned down, dragging it over with her boot. She ate mechanically, tasting nothing, eyes fixed on the porthole, always watching.

Hours passed again. Or maybe just one.

Then the footsteps came. Slower this time. Heavier. Confident. The door opened.

And Sasha Colby entered.

This time, she wasn’t dressed for war. She wore a long red coat over a blouse that plunged far lower than necessary, tight pants tucked into shining boots. Her hair was damp again, but she smelled like cinnamon and sea wind.
She leaned in the doorway, arms crossed.

“Well,” she said. “I expected you'd try to escape by now. You’re already disappointing me.”

Anetra looked at her with the same expression she used to inspect corpses. “You’ll get over it.”

Sasha laughed, a low, rich sound that echoed in the cell. “Oh, you’re fun. I like fun.”

“You killed my crew.”

“I killed the ship,” Sasha corrected. “The crew got in the way. That’s different.”

“You think that makes you noble?”

“No,” she said. “It makes me alive.”

She stepped inside the cell. Anetra tensed but didn’t move. Sasha crouched in front of her again, as she had on deck, but this time her gaze was softer. Curious.

“You’re Anetra,” she said. “The king’s perfect little soldier.”

Anetra stared back. “You’re Sasha Colby. Pirate, liar, thief.”

“Captain Sasha Colby,” she corrected, a little smirk dancing on her lips. “Let’s not be rude.”

Anetra didn’t answer.

Sasha studied her. “What were you going to do when you caught me? Tie me up? Drag me back to your palace? Deliver me at the king’s feet like a trophy?”

“Yes.”

Sasha leaned closer. “And now look at you.”

Anetra didn’t flinch.

“You have no idea what you’ve walked into,” Sasha whispered. “The treasure I took, it’s not just gold and trinkets. It’s a message.”

Anetra narrowed her eyes. “To the king?”

“To everyone.”

She stood suddenly, turning for the door.

“I’ll let you stew a little longer,” she said. “You’ve got that wounded beast thing going on. It’s... Hot.”

The door shut behind her, and the bolt clicked again.

Alone in the dark, Anetra let her head fall back against the wall.

Her blood still boiled. Her pride burned.

But in the back of her mind, a thought slithered in, quiet, unwelcome, dangerous.

This is no ordinary pirate. And maybe, just maybe... This won’t be an ordinary war.

Chapter Text

Time had become a sluggish, formless thing in the dark belly of the ship. Days had passed, Anetra was sure of that much, but how many, she couldn’t say. Her cell never saw sunlight, only the gray wash of light that filtered through the single barred porthole, and the shift of lantern glow from the corridor beyond the thick door. The rhythms of the ship became her clock: the beat of footsteps overhead, the clang of the galley bell, the soft rise and fall of pirate voices trading barbs, jokes, and songs. The swaying of the ship, at first nauseating, had faded into something more familiar, more maddening.

She’d stopped counting hours. Now she counted sounds.

Three sets of boots usually brought her food, sometimes together, sometimes alone.

There was Robin Fierce, always quiet, always composed, who left food without ever commenting on whether she’d eaten the last tray. There was Aura Mayari, who hummed and asked questions Anetra never answered. And there was Luxx Noir London, who never knocked, never smiled, and once threw the food across the floor when Anetra said nothing for three visits in a row.

“I get it,” Luxx had snapped. “You’re brooding. We get it. You’re pissed. You’re plotting. Ooooh, scary. Enjoy your bread.”

Then the door slammed shut and silence returned, thick as the humidity that clung to the cell.

Anetra didn’t eat while they watched. She waited, always. Pride, yes. But also instinct. A wolf didn’t show its belly. Even when it was starving.

The food wasn’t bad. Surprisingly not, considering she was being held prisoner by pirates. Some of it was obviously salvaged from the treasure hauls, dried fruits, salted meats, little tins of preserves she recognized from the royal pantry. There were nights she bit into soft bread and tasted home, and she hated how it made her chest ache.

Still, it wasn’t hunger that clawed at her, it was boredom.

Anetra was not made to sit. She wasn’t built for passivity. She was a creature of motion, of intention. Her body itched to move, to do. She’d resorted to stretching in the limited space she had, turning slow circles, pacing like a tiger. The bench had dents now where her fists had landed more than once, the imprint of her frustration. She wasn’t broken, she wouldn’t break, but her patience was an old rope stretched taut.

So she listened.

Every sound became her obsession.

Sails shifting. Wood creaking. Knuckles knocking. Laughter rising and falling like waves. The occasional burst of song from Marcia or Amethyst, sharp and nasal. Loosey Laduca’s voice, clipped and precise, barking orders. Salina Estitties, who always had something scandalous to say, especially when she was drunk. The twins, Sugar and Spice, chattering like birds, sometimes loud enough to make Anetra press her ear to the floor just to make out the words.
The more she listened, the more she learned.

The ship was a kingdom of its own, chaotic, loud, and strangely loyal. These people didn’t fear Sasha. They loved her. Not blindly, not foolishly. With teeth. With respect. It was the kind of loyalty that didn’t come from fear of punishment but from belief. And that scared Anetra more than any blade ever had.

And then, on what she guessed was the fifth or sixth night, the storm came.
It rolled in fast, the way sea storms always did: sudden, violent, with thunder that sounded like gods hurling mountains at the sea. The ship rocked violently, metal groaned, and waves slammed into the hull hard enough to rattle the bolts on her cell door. Anetra stayed seated on the bench, hands braced, breath steady. She had no control here. If the sea wanted her dead, so be it.

But it didn’t. Instead, it gave her information.

In the chaos of storm control, the ship’s order disintegrated. Voices raised. Doors opened and slammed. Footsteps thundered above her, frantic and overlapping. And then, clear as sunrise, she heard it.

“She’s not staying in the lower decks during this!” someone yelled.

“I’m not sending her above either!” came another voice, Robin, maybe. “We’ll keep her in the captain’s quarters. It’s the safest place!”

“Oh my god,” Sugar said. “Do you think she’s gonna freak out again?”

“I know she’s gonna freak out,” said Spice. “She hates storms! She already almost fell off the gangplank once last week.”

“She’s only fifteen!” Amethyst added. “Can you not be mean for like five minutes, Sugar?”

Anetra’s breath hitched. She pressed closer to the bars of the porthole, heart thudding.

“She bit me last time!” Sugar complained. “Fifteen or not, she’s- ow! Stop hitting me!”

“We have to tell Sasha.”

“She already knows. She’s with her.”

Silence followed, then one final voice, low and furious.

“I don’t care if Kerri screams the whole storm down,” Sasha snapped, her voice distant but unmistakable. “She stays in my quarters. Understood?”

“Aye, Captain.”

The voices faded.

But Anetra was frozen.

She sat back on the bench slowly, stunned.

Fifteen.

Only fifteen.

The girl they were talking about, the one who hated storms, the one Sasha was protecting… Was her daughter.

Kerri Colby.

Sasha Colby had a daughter.

And not a grown woman hidden in some port city, not some legacy child raised in gold. A girl, young and still wild with the kind of defiance that came with youth, the kind that hadn’t yet been sanded down by the world.

A girl Sasha had kept hidden. A girl Sasha protected fiercely.

Anetra’s thoughts began spinning faster than a storm itself.

It didn’t fit. Not with the image of the ruthless pirate queen she’d been sent to capture. Not with the woman who’d sunk her ship and smiled while doing it. It wasn’t the kind of weakness a person like Sasha Colby could afford. A daughter. A child. On this ship. Exposed. Vulnerable.

But maybe… Not so vulnerable.

Because Sasha had built a floating fortress, surrounded herself with fierce, loyal fighters, and carved out a kingdom not for herself, but for her.

For Kerri.

Anetra stood and began pacing again, faster now.

If the king knew Sasha had a daughter, he’d exploit it. That treasure hadn’t just been gold. Sasha had said as much. A message, she’d called it. Was it a warning? A declaration? A promise?

There was more here. So much more than she’d thought. Sasha wasn’t just playing at rebellion. She was protecting something. Someone.

A cause. A child.

Anetra sat back on the bench, her breath shallow, heart pounding in her throat.

This wasn’t just a mission anymore.

It was the beginning of something far more dangerous, and far, far more personal.

The next day arrived not with light, but with the unsettling stillness that came after a storm.

The ship had survived the night’s fury. Anetra could tell without seeing the sea or the sky, she could feel it in the quiet hum of the wood, in the more deliberate, exhausted footfalls above her, in the muffled coughs of crewmates licking their wounds and resettling themselves after chaos. The ship no longer heaved like a beast trying to shake her off its back. It breathed again, calm and methodical, like a creature satisfied it had made it through the worst of it.

Anetra hadn’t slept. She hadn’t closed her eyes once.

The knowledge from the night before still twisted and coiled inside her like storm clouds waiting to split: Sasha Colby had a daughter. Sasha Colby had a daughter on this ship.

That changed everything.

No matter how she looked at it, she couldn’t make the facts line up neatly. No matter how many times she tried to fold them into some familiar shape of enemy and mission and threat, they refused. Like water slipping through her fingers, they refused.

And then came the footsteps. Not rushed, not heavy, not distracted. Measured. Controlled. Confident. Footsteps that didn’t try to hide themselves. Footsteps that expected to be noticed.

Anetra straightened on the bench. She knew them instantly.

The door creaked open slowly, no slamming, no barking orders. Just the long, quiet scrape of iron against wood.

Sasha Colby stepped inside, carrying a tray.

She looked… Annoyingly perfect. Her hair was down this time, damp waves spilling over her shoulders. She wore a white shirt open at the throat, sleeves rolled to the elbows, leather pants clinging to long, muscled legs. No coat. No armor. No sword in sight.

Her eyes met Anetra’s through the dim light.

Anetra didn’t stand.

“Hope you like eggs,” Sasha said, casually, like they were sitting down to breakfast in a villa, not a brig.

She placed the tray down on the floor beside the bench, closer than anyone had yet dared, and leaned against the wall with her arms crossed.

Anetra didn’t reach for it. Didn’t even glance at the food.

“You’re bringing me food now?” she asked, voice low. Controlled.

“Surprised?” Sasha tilted her head. “Don’t get used to it. You’re not that special. The storm threw everything off. Everyone’s busy. Figured I’d check in myself.”

Anetra narrowed her eyes. “You don’t strike me as the ‘check in’ type.”

“I’m full of surprises.”

Sasha let the silence stretch. The sway of the ship seemed to slow when she was in the room, as if even the ocean was listening.

Anetra leaned back slightly, arms crossing over her chest to match the posture. “Where’s your crew? Still licking their wounds?”

“A few. Nothing fatal. You’d know that if you’d looked harder while they were dragging you below.” Sasha’s voice was calm, but there was something behind it, an edge, a note that didn’t quite belong. Tiredness, maybe. Or something else.

“Storm nearly took us all,” she added.

“Shame it didn’t,” Anetra muttered.

That made Sasha smile, but it wasn’t the cruel smirk she usually wore. It was smaller. Realer.

“Maybe. Would’ve saved me a lot of trouble.”

“You call this trouble?” Anetra gestured to herself. “I’m just sitting here.”

“Oh, honey.” Sasha laughed, just once, soft. “You’ve been trouble since the minute I laid eyes on you.”

Something in Anetra’s spine locked into place.

Sasha crouched now, settling her weight like a cat beside the tray. She plucked a piece of the bread and bit into it herself, chewing as she spoke.

“You’ve been listening. I know that much. You probably know more about this ship than some of my newer recruits.”

“I know you keep your gunpowder in the forward hold,” Anetra said. “That your second sail’s got a tear you haven’t fixed. That your cook sings about goats when he’s drunk.”

Sasha’s eyes sparkled. “Told you. Trouble.”

More silence.

Then Anetra asked the question like she was lobbing a knife across a table: “How long has she been aboard?”

The question wasn’t dressed in anything. No pretense. No explanation.
Sasha froze, just for a breath.

Then, slowly, she sat down fully, legs crossing beneath her. She didn’t ask who. Didn’t pretend not to understand.

“Her whole life,” Sasha said finally.

And there it was. Confirmed. Heavy and impossible and true.

“Kerri,” Anetra said.

Sasha’s lips twitched, the faintest curve. “So you were listening.”

“I’m not deaf.”

“No,” Sasha said. “You’re not.”

She picked at the bread again, tearing it into pieces and tossing one to the floor absently.

“She was born on the land,” Sasha continued, tone distant now, as if telling a story to herself. “Back when I wasn’t the infamous Sasha Colby, just a thorn in the Navy’s side with a name no one bothered to remember.”

Anetra said nothing, but her posture softened. Just slightly.

“She never knew the mainland. Not really. We dock sometimes. Port towns. Safe harbors. But this ship, this life, it’s all she’s known.”

“And that’s what you chose for her?”

Sasha’s head snapped up.

Anetra didn’t flinch.

“You think it’s a bad life,” Sasha said. Not a question.

“I think it’s not a safe one.”

“There is no safe life,” Sasha said, standing now. “Not for people like us.”

Anetra frowned. “People like—”

“People the king discards,” Sasha cut in. “People who don’t fit in the picture he paints of his perfect little world.”

Sasha’s eyes burned now, no longer playful. No longer distant.

“I stole his treasure not because I wanted gold,” she said. “I took it because it was his message to the world. The artifacts of his new empire. His proof that the crown belongs to him.”

She paced now, circling the cell like she wanted to wear a groove into the wood.

“He took my family from me. My sisters, my crew, my land. And he would’ve taken Kerri too, if he knew.”

Anetra felt the weight of it all settle onto her chest. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I want you to know why,” Sasha said. “Why I fight. Why I burn ships. Why I don’t surrender.”

She turned toward Anetra again, and this time her voice was softer. Not gentler, but less armor-plated.

“And because you’re not just a soldier,” she said. “You’re a weapon. The king didn’t send you to capture me. He sent you to kill me. Quietly. And make it look clean.”

Anetra blinked. That landed too close to home.

Sasha smiled faintly. “Hit a nerve?”

“I didn’t come to talk,” Anetra said, standing now too. “I came to stop you.”

“Then why haven’t you tried?” Sasha’s eyes glinted. “I’m right here. No chains. No guards. You could break my neck if you really wanted.”

Anetra didn’t move.

They stared at each other in the silence, something taut, electric, hanging in the air between them.

Finally, Sasha bent, pushed the tray, and backed toward the door.

“Eat,” she said. “You’ll need your strength.”

“For what?” Anetra asked.

Sasha’s smile widened, wicked again. Familiar. “For when I decide what to do with you.”

And then she was gone, the door closing behind her like a promise. Or a warning.

Anetra stood in the cell, pulse drumming in her ears, the storm inside her chest louder than anything the sea could throw at her.

And outside, somewhere above, Sasha Colby’s daughter lived and breathed and waited.

And everything, everything, had changed.

The hours after Sasha’s visit were heavier than anything the storm had dropped on the ship.

Anetra didn’t eat the food. Not out of strategy this time, not out of defiance or pride, though those were still bristling beneath her skin like knives, but because her stomach couldn’t handle it. The moment Sasha walked out and the cell door slammed shut again, the air had thickened, and her body had gone taut with anger, confusion, and something deeper, darker, and far less convenient.

She hated how much Sasha had told her. She hated that she’d listened. She hated that part of her believed it.

Because now, every breath she took in this cell, every time she heard boots overhead or the creak of ropes or the sound of that distant girl’s laugh, it meant something. This was no longer a black-and-white hunt. It was gray. Clouded. The mission she’d been handed was bleeding at the edges, and no amount of sharpness in her thoughts could stop it.

And so Anetra did what she did best: she shut it down. All of it.

The fire in her blood had to go somewhere, so she turned it into pure, undiluted spite.

When Aura Mayari brought her breakfast the next morning, smiling like it was just another day on the sea, Anetra didn’t even glance at the tray.

“Don’t take it personal,” Aura said with an arched brow. “You’re a prisoner. Not a guest. We don’t really do room service.”

Anetra just stared straight ahead, arms folded, jaw tight. No movement. No thanks. No acknowledgment.

Aura sighed, placed the tray down, and muttered under her breath as she left, “Kerri was right. You’re a sour one.”

Kerri. The girl.

That was a new twist, Kerri knew about her. Which meant Sasha was talking. Which meant this was getting worse.

By the time Robin visited that afternoon, Anetra’s mood had calcified into something as cold and immovable as iron.

Robin didn’t speak. She never did. She set the tray down in perfect silence, glanced once at Anetra, and turned to leave. But just as her hand reached for the door handle, Anetra spoke, her voice quiet but edged with bitterness.

“Does she pay you all to be this friendly? Or are you just naturally irritating?”

Robin paused. Her shoulders stiffened.

Then she turned her head, just enough to let Anetra see her expression. “Most of us are here because we chose to be,” she said, voice cool and even. “Most of us believe in her.”

“And some of you are brainwashed,” Anetra replied.

Robin smiled. But there was no warmth in it. “Keep thinking that. It’ll be easier when she breaks you.”

The door clicked shut.

Anetra sat back and rolled her eyes hard enough to make her temples ache.

This wasn’t a cell anymore, it was a theater, and everyone was putting on their best performance. She didn’t believe in Sasha’s grand speeches, or her carefully controlled vulnerability, or her little shows of generosity. I brought you food today, like it was a kindness, like she wasn’t the one who had her dragged aboard and thrown into this cage.

It was all a manipulation.

Sasha was playing a long game. And Anetra, trained and tempered as she was, refused to be a pawn in it.

But it didn’t stop them from trying.

Salina Estitties showed up the next day, food tray in one hand, a tankard in the other, already halfway through whatever strong brew she’d poured for herself.

“Well well well,” she crooned, swinging the door open with flair, “If it isn’t our favorite prisoner.”

Anetra didn’t look up.

Salina kicked the tray toward her with her boot, grinning. “Still pissy? Love that for you.”

“I don’t need your commentary.”

“I don’t need your attitude, but here we are,” Salina said with a smirk. She crouched down next to the tray and rested her forearms on her knees. “You know, you’d have more fun around here if you stopped pretending you were better than us.”

“I am better than you,” Anetra shot back.

Salina whistled. “Oooh. Big words for someone eating scraps in a cell.”
“I don’t eat your food.”

“Which is a shame,” Salina said, looking at the tray. “This one’s got the good stuff. Even threw in a cinnamon roll. Sasha said you looked like someone who needed sugar. I said you looked like someone who needed therapy, but hey. Who am I to judge?”

Anetra glanced at her sharply.

Salina just raised her brows. “Oh, now you look. Not for the food, but for the mention of Sasha. You two have a little spark going on?”

“Shut up.”

“Thought so,” Salina said, rising to her feet again. “That’s how it starts, you know. Hate. Hunger. Then suddenly, boom, feelings.”

Anetra pushed the tray towards the door. It clattered loud and sharp, food unmoving.

Salina didn’t flinch. She just grinned wider.

“Love that for you,” she said again, and walked out.

The next several days passed like molasses poured down an incline: thick, slow, almost sickening in how uneventful they were. Each crew member brought her food. Each one tried a different tactic. Sugar and Spice came together once and tried to play good cop/weird cop, one offering her gossip, the other singing sea shanties badly off-key. Anetra said nothing. Ate nothing.

Luxx returned with a vengeance, threw her tray at her like a discus, and called her a ‘royal brat with no taste.’ Anetra grunted, unimpressed.

Even Jax came down once, leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable. She didn’t bring food, just watched her for a minute before saying, “You ever think that maybe you’re wasting your time being angry at the wrong people?”

Anetra had snapped then. “I’m not angry. I’m focused.”

Jax just shook her head and left.

Through it all, Sasha didn’t return. Not once. Not a glimpse. Not a shadow. Not a word.

Anetra told herself that was good. She wanted distance. She didn’t want to see that calculating face, those clever eyes, that infuriating mouth. She didn’t want to see that little spark of vulnerability again. She didn’t want to remember how Sasha had sat on the floor with her, torn bread, talked about her daughter like a woman talking to a ghost of her former self.

She wanted to forget that conversation had even happened. But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

She replayed it in her head over and over, trying to strip it down, turn it into a trap, into a ploy, into something she could fight. But every version of it still rang true. Still felt real. And that… that was the worst betrayal of all.

Because she couldn’t fight real. And she wasn’t ready to feel it either.

So she stayed pissed. Cold. Silent. Unbreakable.

At least, that’s what she told herself.

Until the next time the lock clicked open.

And this time, it wasn’t food that came through the door.

It was Sasha.

Chapter Text

The sea was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that didn’t soothe, but scraped.
The kind of quiet that left Anetra alone with nothing but her thoughts, her pulse, and the constant echo of her failure.

Days had blurred. Her body had settled into the rhythm of captivity, the same wooden bench, the same dull scrape of footsteps overhead, the same meals dropped off and left untouched. Her pride still burned hot and constant, but it was no longer the kind of fire that gave her energy. It was the kind that left everything around her scorched.

She’d kept her silence. She’d let herself become part of the ship’s background noise. The cell wasn’t a cage anymore, it was armor. It was the only place she could control something, her own stillness, her own fury, her own refusal to play this game.

So when the lock clicked again, smooth and confident, and Sasha Colby stepped through the door for the second time, something inside her coiled instinctively, tight, sharp.

Sasha looked... exactly the same, and yet entirely different.

There was no tray this time. No bread. No wine. No kindness masquerading as casualness. Just Sasha. Alone. Standing tall, arms behind her back like a captain inspecting her ship.

“Still brooding?” she asked, the smallest hint of a smirk in her voice.

Anetra didn’t answer.

She didn’t even look at her. She kept her eyes trained on the back wall, where the wood had begun to splinter in one corner from the constant damp of the sea. She’d memorized every imperfection of that plank, used it as a lifeline.
But Sasha didn’t leave.

She took a few slow steps in, her boots silent despite the weight they carried. The air shifted with her presence, like the room was reacting to her before Anetra could.

“I’ve let you sit in your anger long enough,” Sasha said finally. “So now I’m giving you an option.”

Still, Anetra said nothing.

Sasha didn’t seem surprised.

She walked to the far corner, leaned her back against the wall with a sigh that sounded far too relaxed for someone in command of a notorious pirate crew. She crossed her arms and stared at Anetra, eyes unreadable. Not mocking. Not baiting. Just watching.

“I’m not interested in wasting my crew’s time feeding someone who’s pretending to be above all of this,” she said. “You’re not. You’re here. On my ship. In my cell. Because you lost.”

Anetra’s jaw flexed. Her eyes flicked up just briefly. Enough for Sasha to notice.

“You’re strong,” Sasha continued. “And smart. And clearly skilled, or the king wouldn’t have sent you. You’ve probably done things no one else on that island has dared to try.”

She pushed off the wall and started to pace, slow and deliberate.

“But here’s the thing,” she said. “You can sit here for another week. Or month. Or however long it takes for the rest of your anger to rot out of you. Or…” She stopped directly in front of the bars, hands sliding into her pockets. “You can agree to a deal.”

That got Anetra’s full attention.

She turned her head slowly, eyes narrowed. “I’m not interested in deals with pirates.”

Sasha smiled, just a little. “You’re already in a deal with pirates. You’re just not getting anything out of it.”

Anetra rolled her eyes.

Sasha didn’t flinch. “Here’s what I’m offering: if you agree to stop trying to kill anyone, stop trying to escape, stop… Glaring like you're about to break someone’s ribs with your stare, I’ll let you out of this cell.”

Anetra blinked. “Let me out,” she said slowly, like she didn’t trust the shape of the words in her mouth.

“You’d sleep in the hold with a couple of the younger crew,” Sasha continued “You’d help with maintenance, with deck work. Nothing critical. No weapons. Not until I trust you. But you’d walk free on the ship. Eat with the crew. Get some sun. And you’d stop slowly turning into a stone carving down here.”

Anetra laughed, once, short and sharp. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“And I’m just supposed to… behave? For a chance to mop your deck?”

“You can think of it however you want,” Sasha replied coolly. “You can think of it as a humiliation if it makes you feel better. You can think of it as strategy. You can even think of it as espionage. I don’t care.”

She stepped closer. Close enough that the scent of sea salt and something floral lingered in the air between them.

“But the truth is, you can’t keep rotting in here. You’re not built for inaction. And we both know it.”

Anetra didn’t respond.

Sasha tilted her head. “You don’t have to answer right now. But I’ll be back. And next time, I expect a choice. Because this?” She gestured vaguely at the cell. “Isn’t working for either of us.”

She turned to leave.

“And Anetra…” she added, just before the door closed behind her, “if you do try something, run, fight, sneak into the captain’s quarters with a shiv, I’ll throw you overboard.”

She said it like a fact. Not a threat. Not even with cruelty. Just... truth.

Then she was gone.

And Anetra was alone again.

She sat still for a long time. Longer than she’d realized. The ship shifted around her, creaked and sighed like a tired animal. Footsteps echoed above.

Somewhere far off, laughter. Music. Kerri’s voice, maybe, young and high and unbothered by war or mission or cells or expectations.

A deal.

Freedom of movement. Sunlight. Food not left on trays. No dignity. No weapons. No control.

Anetra ran a hand through her hair and let her head fall back against the wall. Her mind turned circles, and each loop made the question louder.

Why offer that?

Was it strategy? Manipulation? Was Sasha trying to get into her head again, wedge herself in with that calm voice and disarming openness?

Or was it something else?

Did she see something in Anetra she wasn’t supposed to? Something familiar?

She didn’t know, and that pissed her off more than anything.
But now the choice sat with her, sticky and cold, stuck to her ribs like bad whiskey.

She could stay here. Untouched. Righteous. Imprisoned. Or she could play the game. Walk the deck. Listen. Learn. Wait.

And maybe, just maybe, strike when no one saw it coming.

Her fingers tapped absently against her knee. Sasha wanted an answer? She’d get one. Just not yet.

The night crept in like a slow tide, steady and inevitable, and the darkness inside the brig grew heavier with it.

Anetra sat in silence, the quiet pressing in from all sides, wrapping itself around her like the thick fog that rolled in during early morning storms. The only sounds were the distant groans of the ship’s hull shifting with the waves, the occasional shout from the deck, and the rhythmic drip drip drip from a slow leak in the ceiling above her. The candle that had been left in the wall sconce was burning low, casting long, warped shadows that danced on the wooden walls like ghosts.

She hadn’t moved much since Sasha left. Not physically. But her mind was running and running.

She didn’t know how long she’d been sitting in that spot, legs folded, back against the cool wall, eyes fixed on the tray from earlier that someone had come to collect without a word. It was empty now. Like her thoughts, scraped raw.
Sasha’s offer rang in her ears like an echo trapped in the hull: You can agree to stop trying to kill anyone... I’ll let you out of this cell.
It shouldn’t have been a hard decision. Not for someone like her. Not for a soldier, a marine, someone who'd trained since she could stand. The answer should’ve been automatic: stall, manipulate, escape, destroy. She should have been halfway through a strategy by now. She should’ve already found a weakness.

But something about the whole thing didn’t feel like the war she'd been trained for.

This wasn’t an enemy fortress or a battlefield or some pirate ambush in the jungles of a foreign island. This was... strange. A ship, yes, but more than that. A community. No, a family. Loose, chaotic, dysfunctional, but undeniably bound. The crew wasn’t scared of Sasha. They weren’t muttering behind her back, plotting her downfall. They followed her. Spoke about her with reverence. Laughed with her, not at her. Trusted her.

And Kerri. The daughter. That detail still stuck in Anetra’s mind like a burr. What kind of pirate captain raised a daughter on a ship like this? What kind of life did that girl lead, surrounded by smugglers and fighters and thieves? And why had Sasha told her that? Why open up about something so private, so personal?
Maybe it was just part of the manipulation. Humanizing herself. Lowering Anetra’s guard.

But... maybe it wasn’t.

That uncertainty gnawed at her harder than hunger ever could.

She rubbed her face with both hands and sighed through her fingers.

Option one: stay in the cell. Hold the line. Never compromise. Maintain the mission. It was safer. Simpler. It kept her values intact, her purpose clear. But it also meant losing time. Losing opportunities. Rotting in silence. Starving herself out of spite. And worse, it meant being left behind. If they docked somewhere and moved the treasure, if Sasha slipped away again, Anetra would still be locked up with no leverage, no way to intervene.

Option two: take the deal. Step into the den of wolves, but with her eyes wide open. Keep her cool. Listen. Learn. Be strategic. Play the part of the humbled prisoner. Gain their trust, or at least their complacency. And wait.
Wait for a moment of weakness. Wait for a shift in the wind.

Wait for Sasha to slip.

She could do it. She was trained for this. But the problem wasn’t the risk. It was the cost.

Because deep down, Anetra knew herself. She knew how easily she absorbed the world around her. How quickly she adapted. How easily, once allowed to walk among people, she began to see them, not just as tools or targets, but as human. Flawed. Real. She couldn’t help it. That was the thing that made her dangerous.

But it also made her vulnerable.

And Sasha… Sasha wasn’t just a pirate. She wasn’t just a mark. She wasn’t even just a mother.

She was magnetic.

And that terrified Anetra more than any cannonball or sword.

If she stepped out of this cell and spent time on that deck, among that crew… if she started to laugh at one of Sugar and Spice’s terrible jokes, or saw Luxx whip her braid while telling someone off with flair, or watched Kerri run across the boards barefoot, chasing gulls, what then?

What if she started liking them?

What if she started seeing them not as obstacles, but as people?
What if she started seeing Sasha as something more?

Her chest tightened at the thought, and she shoved it down hard. This was war. A mission. A hunt. That’s what it had to be.

She looked around her tiny cell again. The cracks in the wood. The rusting bolts in the corners. The fading smell of salt and old dampness. The uncomfortable silence that had started to feel like her own breath.

It was safety. But it was also suffocation.

Her fingertips curled against the wood beside her, nails digging into the grain. She flexed her jaw, her eyes dark and thoughtful. The candle guttered once. Then again.

She would have to choose soon.

And whatever choice she made… it would change everything

But for now, she sat still and waited.

The ship rocked in its slow, patient rhythm, a lull that would’ve been calming under any other circumstance. But to Anetra, it felt like a clock, each creak and groan a reminder that time was slipping away.

And that she was doing nothing.

The cell had become unbearable.

Not physically, though the hard bench, the sour-smelling air, and the lack of sunlight were grating, but mentally. The silence had stopped being peaceful days ago. Now it was hostile. It whispered things she didn’t want to hear. It echoed her failures back at her louder than any voice could.

Her mission had been clear: retrieve the stolen treasure. Capture Sasha Colby. Return home with her head high and her reputation higher.

The king’s orders had not left room for failure, or for negotiation. But here she was. In a cage. Powerless. Forgotten.

And the worst part?

The worst part wasn’t that she’d failed. It was that she was starting to forget what winning was supposed to feel like.

Because this crew, they weren’t just pirates. They were something else. Something more complicated. They laughed. They fought. They danced and drank and sang with reckless joy and quiet pain. There were petty arguments, sudden tears, blistering loyalty. And Sasha, Sasha, with her steel voice and her warm eyes, her contradictions and calm, was at the center of it all.

It would’ve been easier if Sasha had been a monster. If she’d tortured her. Starved her. Shouted orders. But she hadn’t. She’d brought her food. Offered her a deal. Given her space to think.

Anetra should have hated her for that. But she didn’t. And that made everything worse.

She'd spent the last night lying awake on the floor, one arm thrown over her face, fighting the pounding in her chest. Not from fear. Not even from anger.
From conflict.

Because the truth was this: if she stepped out of this cell, if she accepted the deal, she wouldn’t just be stepping onto the deck. She’d be stepping across a line.

She would no longer be a soldier of the crown. Not in spirit. She would be something else.

A collaborator. A traitor. A woman who gave up her principles to save herself from boredom and rot.

At least, that’s what they would say. And maybe they’d be right.

But what was the alternative?

Sit here. Wither. Break. Let Sasha’s crew win by doing nothing at all. That thought, more than anything, clawed at her pride. She was a fighter. She didn’t give up. She didn’t surrender.

And right now, staying in this cell felt like surrender. Not because it was safe, but because it was stagnant. It meant waiting, for rescue, for a chance, for something that might never come.

But stepping out?

That was still a form of fighting. It was adaptation. It was war in another costume.

Get out. Watch. Learn. Bide your time. Strike.

And if it looked like betrayal… well. So be it.

Let the crown whisper. Let the king raise his brow. She’d do what she had to. For herself. For the mission. For the chance to end this her way.

By morning, the decision had settled in her bones, heavy and final.

She stood when she heard the lock click. Her joints ached, not from injury, but from stillness. From being still too long.

It was Robin again. Wordless, efficient, eyes calm.

Anetra met her gaze and said, with a voice hoarse from underuse, “Tell Sasha I accept.”

Robin blinked once. Just once. No surprise. No smugness. Just that same unreadable stillness.

Then she nodded. No questions. No congratulations. She simply stepped back, shut the door behind her, and left.

Alone again, Anetra sat back down and stared at her hands. They didn’t shake. But they felt heavier than they used to. This is strategy, she told herself. Nothing more.

But even as she repeated it, something in her chest shifted, something like grief. Something like the splintering of an old belief.

She’d chosen.

And now there was no going back.

Chapter Text

The key turned in the lock with the same slow, deliberate motion it always had, but this time, it sounded louder. More final.

Anetra stayed seated on the edge of the wooden bench, spine straight, shoulders tense, jaw locked tight. She didn’t need to look up to know it was Sasha. She could feel her before she even saw her, like the ship itself shifted slightly to accommodate her presence.

The door creaked open on hinges that hadn’t been oiled in years, and the familiar scent of sea-salt wind, worn leather, and faint jasmine followed her in. Sasha stepped into the brig with an ease that said she owned every plank of wood underfoot, and that she knew it.

And then she smirked.

God, that smirk.

The kind that came not from cruelty, but from knowing. Knowing she'd won this round. Knowing Anetra had bent, just a little, just enough.

“I heard you made a decision,” Sasha said, her voice low and warm, laced with amusement.

Anetra looked up slowly, expression carved from stone.

“I said I’d take your deal,” she said. “Not that I was happy about it.”

Sasha chuckled. “Would’ve been more suspicious if you were.”

She didn’t cross the threshold yet. She stood just inside the doorway, her weight shifted onto one hip, arms crossed over her chest like she was appraising a new acquisition. Her eyes moved over Anetra with a kind of lazy curiosity, watching her, reading her, maybe even enjoying the subtle war going on behind her expression.

Anetra hated how easily Sasha could read her.

She hated it more because Sasha didn’t use it like a weapon. She just… held it. Like knowledge. Like power she didn’t need to flaunt.

“Regretting it already?” Sasha asked.

“I haven’t done anything yet.”

“Mm. Fair. But you will.” Sasha stepped forward finally, slow and unthreatening, her boots barely making a sound on the worn floor. She stopped in front of the bars, then leaned a hand casually against them, just above Anetra’s eye level. “Let me guess: you spent all night weighing the consequences. Crown loyalty. Personal pride. The tactical advantage of being above deck versus the moral cost of collaboration. Did I get it right?”

Anetra’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“No,” Sasha agreed. “But I know people. And you’ve got all the markers of someone who’s very good at following orders, until the moment you realize the people giving them might not deserve your obedience.”

That landed sharper than Anetra wanted it to.

Sasha noticed.

“But hey,” she added quickly, almost flippantly, “maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you’re just bored.”

Anetra stood slowly, letting the movement stretch, commanding space with her height and her silence. She walked to the bars and stood on the other side of them, inches from Sasha’s face, not breaking eye contact once.

“I’m not your people,” she said, quiet but firm. “Don’t mistake necessity for loyalty.”

Sasha smiled. It wasn’t wide, it wasn’t even smug this time. It was something softer. Respectful, maybe. Amused. Thoughtful.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said.

There was a pause between them, tense, crackling, intimate. Not warm. Not yet. But charged.

Anetra shifted her stance slightly, arms crossed now, shoulders squared. “So what now? You gonna give me a mop and teach me how to scrub blood off the deck?”

Sasha tilted her head like she was considering it. “Eventually, sure. But first, you get out of this cell. Get some sun. Breathe in something that isn’t mildew and resentment.”

She pulled a keyring from her belt, metal clinking softly against the hilt of a dagger tucked at her hip. She turned the key in the lock again—one smooth click, no hesitation.

The door swung open. But Anetra didn’t move.

Not yet.

Sasha didn’t push. She just stepped back, making room. Giving space. “There’s no collar. No chains. You could still make a run for it if you’re feeling bold.”

Anetra raised an eyebrow. “You said you’d throw me overboard.”

“I would.” Sasha’s voice didn’t waver. “And I’d feel bad about it for maybe five minutes.”

Anetra exhaled through her nose, dry and unimpressed. “Touching.”

Sasha shrugged. “I don’t lie about consequences. It’s bad leadership.”

There was another pause.

Then Anetra stepped forward, one foot across the threshold, then the other. The air outside the cell felt different. Lighter. Warmer. But not free. Not quite. It was permission, not liberty.

Sasha didn’t gloat. Not aloud. But her eyes sparkled with that familiar smugness, the quiet kind that said I knew you’d come around.

“Don’t get used to this,” Anetra muttered.

Sasha raised an eyebrow. “To being out of a cell?”

“To thinking you know what I’m gonna do next.”

Sasha smiled again. Not wide. Just enough. “Now where’s the fun in that?”
Anetra rolled her eyes, but she followed when Sasha gestured down the hall.

The wooden floor creaked beneath her boots. The lanterns swung with the motion of the ship. Her body ached to move, even if her mind still snarled with doubt.

This wasn’t victory. Not yet. But it wasn’t surrender either. It was a beginning.
And beginnings, Anetra knew, were dangerous things.

The first step up the narrow stairs from the brig was harder than she expected.
It wasn’t the climb itself, Anetra had climbed worse terrain barefoot, with a dislocated shoulder, during monsoon season. It wasn’t the soreness in her legs, or the burn of muscles that hadn’t been used in days. It was what the step meant. That first movement forward after accepting Sasha Colby’s deal. That silent admission of, ‘Yes, I’ll play your game’.

She hated it. She hated it down to her bones.

But even as her jaw clenched and her shoulders stiffened with defiance, her body moved on instinct. She ascended one plank at a time, Sasha walking ahead of her, not glancing back. It was the same relaxed confidence the pirate captain always wore, like the ship obeyed her, not the sea.

As soon as they crested the final stair and the hatch above opened fully, the world exploded around her.

Not in fire. Not in battle. But in life.

The sunlight hit her like a punch to the chest, warm, fierce, golden. Not the pale, sickly trickle of light that made its way through the cracks in the brig, but full, unapologetic daylight. It painted the deck in glinting lines of gold, caught in the ropes and sails, shimmered across the sea like a blanket of flame. The wind was alive, whipping her hair back from her face, carrying the scent of salt and tar and citrus, someone was peeling an orange somewhere nearby, and the distant sharpness of gunpowder long discharged but never fully scrubbed from the wood.

The ocean itself was a riot of color. Deep blues and greens swirled in motion that seemed to pulse with the heartbeat of something ancient and wild. Gulls screamed overhead. The sails cracked in the wind. The ship groaned and sighed beneath her boots, its timbers alive and shifting.

And Anetra… Froze.

Not from fear. Not from awe. From relief.

She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed this.

Not the ship, specifically, not this ship. But the world above. The way sunlight touched her skin, how the sea air filled her lungs like something sacred. She had lived her life on the water. She was born to it. Trained on it. She’d spent years moving between ports and tides, learning how to read the wind and sky better than any map.

And now, after days of stale air and darkness, it felt like coming home, except it wasn’t. Not really. This wasn’t her ship. These weren’t her people.

She was a prisoner with privileges.

And still. Still, she closed her eyes for a second and let the sun warm her eyelids, the wind whip past her ears. She breathed in deep, the taste of salt sharp on her tongue, and something inside her cracked, something bitter and stubborn and knotted. Something that had been curled up in her chest since the moment the cannons had fired and her ship had gone down beneath her.

Sasha’s voice cut through the moment like a scalpel. “Careful. You’ll start enjoying yourself.”

Anetra’s eyes snapped open. Sasha stood a few feet away, arms folded, one brow cocked in that maddening way of hers.

Anetra didn’t answer immediately. She looked away, toward the endless stretch of sea, then up to the sails billowing against the sky like ribs against a lung.

Then she said, flatly, “Sunlight doesn’t mean I’ve changed sides.”

Sasha shrugged. “Didn’t say it did.”

“I’m still not on your crew.”

“Didn’t say you were.”

Anetra scowled. “So what exactly do you want from me?”

Sasha walked closer, still not touching, never touching, but she had a way of moving that felt like she was always just brushing up against your personal space. “I want you to work,” she said simply. “I want you to be useful. That’s it.”

“And if I am useful?”

Sasha tilted her head. “Then you get to keep breathing fresh air and feeling the sun on your face. Not a bad deal, considering the alternative.”

Anetra’s fists clenched. Not from rage, just from the sheer need to feel something solid in her hands. Something she could hit or hold.

“Don’t get comfortable,” she muttered.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Sasha said, but the smirk on her face told a different story.

There was movement across the deck. Marcia and Luxx were coiling rope and pretending not to stare. Spice was sitting on a barrel, trying ,and failing, to balance an apple on her nose while Sugar clapped encouragement. Jax and Aura were arguing over the knots used in the last sail raise. Even Salina, who usually walked like she owned whatever plank she stepped on, was moving around the mast, watching from a distance with curious eyes.

They were all watching. Not with malice. With interest.

Anetra hated that too.

She hated being the center of attention on their terms. A fallen soldier. A curiosity. A broken blade.

But she’d also been seen. Not as a prisoner. Not as a threat.

Just… as someone.

Someone who, for the first time in days, was standing under the open sky.
And for just a moment, as the wind tousled her hair and the deck shifted beneath her boots, she let herself forget who she was supposed to be.

Let herself just exist.

She would fight again. That fire hadn’t gone anywhere. She would remember her mission, her cause, her purpose. That steel was still in her spine.

But for now, she looked out at the ocean, and let herself breathe.

The spell of the sunlight didn’t last long.

It couldn’t.

The sea had its moments, its brief, golden promises of peace, but Anetra knew better than to trust them. This wasn’t her ship. These weren’t her comrades. The wind might be soft on her face, but danger was still heavy in the air, hidden behind the laughter and the idle movements of pirates who had the luxury of confidence.

The moment of stillness passed as Sasha stepped forward, now fully in her captain mode, back straight, voice clear, eyes sharp.

“Since you're out of your cell, you're going to earn your time above deck,” she said, more to the crew than to Anetra. “You’ll be doing what you’re told, when you’re told, how you’re told. No exceptions.”

There was a collective murmur from the crew, some raised brows, a chuckle from Irene, a quiet ‘this’ll be fun’ from Luxx. Robin said nothing, but her gaze flicked over to Anetra with that unreadable look again, curious, but not quite trusting.

Sasha didn’t wait for input. “And since I’ve got better things to do than babysit someone who’s still deciding whether she’s a prisoner or a partner—” She turned and gestured toward the thick-set figure leaning against a mast mid-deck. “—Jax, you’re on her.”

Jax, arms crossed, shifting her weight with the kind of practiced indifference that came from years of not giving a damn, until she was required to.

“Seriously?” She said, brow raised.

“You got a problem?” Sasha asked, one eyebrow arching back in challenge.

Jax held Sasha’s gaze for a beat too long, then gave a lazy shrug. “Nah. Just seems like a waste of my time watching a girl who looks like she wants to throw herself overboard.”

“She jumps,” Sasha said coolly, “you jump in after her.”

Jax rolled their eyes. “Of course.”

Sasha turned back to Anetra. “You stay within ten paces of Jax at all times. You do what she says. You don’t fight. You don’t run. You don’t sneak around. If you screw up, back to the brig. And next time, I won’t bring your food with a smile.”

Anetra’s jaw flexed.

Jax, meanwhile, looked her up and down with a faint grin that was half amusement, half challenge. “You good with orders, soldier?”

Anetra shot a look sharp enough to draw blood. “I’m not here to make friends.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Jax said. “I’m not that nice.”

There was a ripple of snickering from the crew, and Sasha, pleased, stepped back. “Welcome to the deck, Anetra,” she said, turning to walk away with the easy grace of someone who never had to look back.

Anetra didn’t reply. Her gaze followed her, though, watching how every crew member instinctively moved out of Sasha’s path without her saying a word.
It was infuriating, how natural it looked. Like she belonged to the sea in a way that had nothing to do with rank and everything to do with power.

“You coming, or you just gonna sulk over the view?” Jax’s voice cut through her thoughts.

Anetra snapped out of it and turned. “Where to?”

“Rope duty first,” Jax said, gesturing toward a pile of tangled coils near the portside railing. “Then barrel rotation. If you’re lucky, maybe someone’ll toss you a biscuit.”

Anetra gave a dry, bitter laugh. “What a dream.”

They walked across the deck, Jax setting a casual pace, like she wasn’t actually watching her, but Anetra knew better. Every time she paused to look around or adjusted her stride, she could feel Jax subtly reacting, changing angle, repositioning. Watching her without seeming like she was watching. It was good. Not royal-navy-good, but pirate-practical-good. The kind of efficient that came from too many years on the water and not enough sleep.

“You really hate this, huh?” Jax said as they reached the ropes. “Being here.”

Anetra knelt without answering, her fingers finding the knots out of muscle memory. She started working one loose, slow and deliberate. “What gave it away?”

“The scowl,” Jax said. “That or the fact that you look like you’re trying to chew your own teeth.”

“I didn’t come here to untangle rigging.”

Jax squatted beside her, not helping, just watching. “Yeah, well. You didn’t come here to get thrown in the brig either, but life’s full of surprises.”

Anetra looked at her sideways. “You always this philosophical?”

Jax shrugged. “Only when I’m stuck babysitting someone who’s clearly convinced she’s better than all of us.”

“I never said I was better.”

“No,” Jax said, “but you’re thinking it.”

Anetra didn’t answer that. She focused on the rope. The sun burned across her shoulders. Sweat pricked at the nape of her neck. But despite everything, despite the circumstances, the humiliation, the constant weight of decision pressing down on her, there was a strange comfort in the work. Her fingers knew what to do. Her mind, for just a moment, could let go of the larger picture and focus on the rope in front of her.

Jax must have noticed, because after a moment of silence, she said, “You’re good at it.”

Anetra gave a humorless huff. “I am in the navy.”

“Still are?”

Anetra paused. Just for a second. Then: “That’s a complicated question.”

Jax leaned back on her heels, watching her. “You’re not the first to think you’re gonna play both sides. Pretend to be useful while plotting your escape or your glorious revenge. Most of them fail. A few get real creative. One girl poisoned the water barrel once. Didn’t end well for her.”

“I’m not stupid,” Anetra said.

“No,” Jax agreed, “you’re not. That’s what makes you dangerous.”

Another long pause settled between them. Anetra kept working on the rope, her muscles moving out of instinct, her thoughts starting to spiral again.

The sun beat down. The sea lapped at the hull. The ship moved forward. Not toward her home. Not toward the king.

Toward something else.

And for the first time, Anetra didn’t know if she was moving with it, or just being carried along.

Chapter Text

The days passed, one bleeding into the next in that strange, timeless rhythm of life at sea. The sun rose, the sails swelled with wind, the crew moved like clockwork, or chaos, depending on the day, and Anetra… adjusted.

She didn’t think of it that way, of course. Not consciously. Not yet. But the truth was: she didn’t hate working.

She didn’t hate the feeling of rope in her hands or the ache in her shoulders after a long day hauling barrels and scrubbing salt from the deck. She didn’t hate the wind tangling her hair or the ocean spray cooling her skin in the brutal midday heat. And she definitely didn’t hate the way her body felt again, alive, sore, stretched. Tired, yes, but in a way that reminded her she wasn’t rotting in a cell anymore.

She told herself it was survival.

That keeping busy was better than stewing in her own frustration and waiting for a miracle. That every knot tied, every sail secured, every order followed was just another small step toward… what? Escape? Redemption? Completion of her mission?

She hadn’t figured that part out yet. She avoided thinking too hard about it.

Jax was always nearby. Always watching, but not in the way Anetra had expected. There was no leash, no barking commands, no constant suspicion. Just presence. A quiet, steady shadow who didn’t demand small talk but didn’t avoid it either.

At first, they barely spoke.

But as the hours turned to days, and the days piled into a pattern, the silence began to break in subtle, reluctant ways.

The first time, it was about the sails.

“You tie like a royal,” Jax muttered, arms crossed as Anetra fumbled through a knot she hadn’t tied since her academy years.

“Excuse me?” Anetra shot back, bristling.

Jax smirked, stepping forward to show her a quicker method. “That’s not an insult. Just means it’s too perfect. Too formal. You’re tying it like someone’s gonna inspect it with a clipboard.”

Anetra scoffed but watched carefully. “I was trained to pass inspections.”

“Well,” Jax said, looping the rope effortlessly, “out here, you tie it to hold through a storm. Or while someone’s bleeding out nearby. You learn to skip the pretty parts.”

The second time, it was about food.

They were sitting near the forecastle, picking at bowls of fish stew that smelled like seawater and regret. Jax ate like they hadn’t had a decent meal in weeks. Anetra pushed hers around with a spoon.

“You always this dainty?” Jax asked, slurping loudly.

Anetra glared. “It’s not food, it’s punishment.”

“You get used to it.”

“I’d rather die.”

“You say that now,” Jax said, grinning, “but wait until day twelve, when someone sneaks you half a mango and it tastes like heaven.”

“I’m not here to make friends,” Anetra said, more out of habit than belief.

Jax shrugged. “Lucky for you, I’m not trying to be your friend. I’m just trying to keep you from starving before I have to dive in after you.”

And then there were the moments that weren’t conversations. Just… existing in proximity.

Working the same tasks. Moving the same barrels. Sweating under the same sun. Laughing, not together, not quite, but near each other, when Spice tripped over a coil of rope and almost flung herself off the deck trying to impress someone with a sword flourish. Enduring the same lecture from Loosey about sail maintenance like they were both unruly children. Watching storms roll in from opposite sides of the ship and pretending neither of them was quietly calculating how long the hull would hold.

Jax was… not terrible company.

Anetra would never say it aloud. She barely let herself think it.

But in a way, they were kindred spirits, both quiet in their own way, both sharp-edged without being cruel, both more observant than they let on. Jax didn’t ask about her past, and Anetra didn’t volunteer it. And when their eyes met across the deck during some mundane task, there was no need to explain the mutual understanding that hung in the air between them.

It was easier that way.

She didn’t want to make this more complicated than it already was. Every moment above deck was a risk, a calculated compromise. She was working with the enemy. She was walking a tightrope between survival and betrayal, between purpose and something more dangerous: comfort.

Because she was getting used to it.

Used to the rhythm of pirate life. Used to the crew. Used to the fact that Sasha Colby, her target, her enemy, barely spoke to her now unless it was necessary. Sometimes she’d walk past Anetra on the deck, tossing a comment over her shoulder or offering a smirk that made Anetra’s blood simmer. Sometimes Sasha was just there, on the quarterdeck, hand on the wheel, hair wind-slicked and face turned to the horizon like the sea answered only to her.

And sometimes, in the rare quiet of night when Anetra couldn’t sleep, she’d lie on her back on the ship’s lower deck and stare up at the sky, listening to the creak of wood and the distant laughter of the crew, and wonder, not for the first time, ‘what the hell am I doing?’

She hadn’t forgotten the treasure. She hadn’t forgotten the mission. She hadn’t forgotten who she was.

But the days kept passing.

And the sea, like Sasha Colby, refused to be ignored.

It was late. The kind of late that wasn’t measured in hours, but in the heavy quiet that settled over the ship when the wind softened and the laughter died down. Most of the crew had turned in for the night. Even Sugar and Spice, who seemed powered entirely by chaos and unripe fruit, had finally stopped trying to juggle lanterns below deck. Only the creak of the ship and the sigh of the sea filled the air now, punctuated by the occasional flap of a loose sail or the groan of a shifting rope.

Anetra sat near the bow, her back against a coil of hempen line, legs stretched out, arms resting lazily over her knees. The stars overhead were painfully bright, unbothered by her restlessness. The moon sat low in the sky, casting a long silver streak across the black water. She hadn’t meant to stay out this long, but something about the night held her in place. It wasn’t peace. It wasn’t comfort.
It was more like… waiting.

Jax leaned against the railing a few feet away, chewing absently on a piece of dried fruit. They hadn’t said much since dinner. They rarely did at night. Jax, like her, seemed to prefer the quiet after a day of noise. They were content to let the silence stretch and breathe, unhurried and unpressured.

But tonight, the stillness pressed against Anetra’s ribs a little too tightly. She’d been circling a thought for hours. Days, really. Maybe even since the moment Sasha had stepped into her cell with a plate of food and that maddeningly calm voice.

She didn’t want to ask.

She didn’t want to care.

But she couldn’t un-hear the things she’d picked up in fragments. The crew talked too much sometimes, too loudly. Whispered arguments. Muted laughter. Names spoken with a softness that didn’t match the pirate life.

And Sasha Colby’s name always hovered at the center of it.

Anetra shifted, resting her chin on one arm. “Can I ask you something?”

Jax raised a brow, but didn’t move. “You’re asking.”

Anetra glanced over at her, her voice low. “What’s her deal? Sasha.”

Jax didn’t answer right away. She tore another piece of dried fruit off with her teeth and chewed slowly. Considering.

“You’re gonna have to narrow that down,” she said eventually. “Her deal is a pretty big category.”

Anetra exhaled, irritated with herself for even starting this. “I mean…” She paused, searching for the right words. “Why do you all follow her like that?”

Jax finally turned to face her fully, arms crossing over her chest. “You mean, why are we not mutinying and throwing her overboard?”

“Something like that.”

Another pause.

Jax shrugged one shoulder. “Because she’s Sasha Colby.”

“That doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“Well,” Jax said, tilting her head, “that’s kind of the point.”

Anetra frowned. “What does that even mean?”

“It means you don’t know her yet. Not really. You’ve seen her on the surface, sharp words, smug smile, walks like she owns the ocean. But that’s just the mask.”

“Everyone on this ship has a mask,” Anetra muttered.

“Sure,” Jax agreed. “But not everyone’s built an empire while wearing theirs.”

That made Anetra go quiet again. She didn’t like thinking of Sasha as anything more than a criminal. A name on a warrant. A mission. It was easier to picture her as a villain, an obstacle. Not a person with… history.

Jax must’ve sensed the shift because she pushed off the railing and walked over, settling down beside her with a soft grunt.

“She’s the real thing,” she said, voice lower now. “Most pirate captains? They’re hotheads. Greedy. Quick to spill blood, quick to die. They take what they want and burn everything else to the ground. Sasha’s different.”

“How?”

“She thinks.” Jax pulled her legs up, resting their arms on their knees. “Every decision she makes is calculated. Every move, every alliance, every risk, it’s part of something bigger. She plays the long game. And she wins. Not just because she’s smart, but because she actually gives a damn.”

Anetra turned to look at her. “About what?”

“Us.”

That was not the answer she expected.

Jax smirked slightly, catching her reaction. “I know. Shocking, right? Big, bad pirate captain with a heart. But it’s true. She takes care of her people. Doesn’t matter if you’re crew, stowaway, washed-up ex-navy with a chip on your shoulder, if she brings you on board, you’re hers. You screw her over, you’re gone. But if you stay loyal? She’ll move heaven and sea for you.”

Anetra stared ahead at the water, letting that settle.

“And the kid?” she asked after a while. “Kerri?”

Jax’s expression shifted. Softer. Guarded.

“You heard about that.”

“People talk.”

“Yeah, well.” Jax picked at a loose thread on her cuff. “Kerri’s everything to her. Most of us have someone back home, someone we send coin to, or letters when we can. But Sasha? She doesn’t leave anything behind. Except her.”

“Fifteen, right?”

“Yeah. Smart as hell. Sasha keeps her hidden, far from any port worth raiding. She’s got her own people watching over her. Keeps her off the maps. No one gets near unless Sasha says so.”

“That’s why she stole the treasure?”

Jax didn’t answer immediately. Then: “Partly.”

Anetra raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

“It means it’s not my story to tell.”

They fell into silence again. The waves lapped against the hull. Somewhere below deck, someone coughed in their sleep.

“She’s still a pirate,” Anetra said eventually, softer this time. “She still stole from the crown. From my king.”

Jax didn’t argue. She just nodded. “Yup.”

“She sank my ship.”

“Also true.”

“She captured me.”

Jax looked over, eyes glinting faintly in the moonlight. “And yet here you are. Watching the stars with your jailer.”

Anetra exhaled through her nose, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “I didn’t say I liked it.”

“I didn’t say you did.”

They sat like that for a long time.

Two soldiers on opposite sides of a war that no longer felt quite so black and white. Two people with too many questions and not enough answers. And somewhere far below them, in the quiet of a locked chest or a forgotten map, the treasure that started it all still waited. A gleaming symbol of loyalty, betrayal, power, love.

And the woman at the center of it, Sasha Colby, remained, as ever, just out of reach.

Untouchable.

But not, Anetra realized with something like dread, unknowable.

The ship had found its rhythm.

The kind of rhythm that crept in slowly, quietly, woven into the slap of the waves against the hull, the hiss of sails in the wind, the familiar shuffle of boots on weather-worn planks. Anetra hadn’t realized it at first, but days had begun to pass faster. The sun rose, the work began, the hours fell into each other, and before she knew it, it was night again. Again and again.

She still wasn’t one of them.

She didn’t laugh with Spice when she told jokes at breakfast. She didn’t spar on deck with Luxx or join Amethyst’s endless bickering over rum rations. She didn’t sit cross-legged on the cargo netting, humming sea shanties with Salina and Marcia.

But she wasn’t a prisoner anymore, either.

She was something else now. Not quite crew. Not quite captive.

Drifting somewhere in between.

And maybe that in-between space was where all the danger lived. The unspoken questions. The blurred lines. The creeping thoughts she didn’t like to examine too closely, about Sasha, about herself, about the person she used to be and the one she might be becoming.

She tried not to think too much about any of it. Tried to keep her head down, her hands busy, and her guard up.

But some things were harder to ignore than others.

Like the girl. Kerri Colby.

She hadn’t seen much of her since the day she’d learned the name, only glimpses. A flash of long braids in the distance, a momentary laugh from the lower deck, the curve of a profile against the setting sun. Kerri didn’t live among the rest of the crew. She wasn’t cleaning ropes or lifting barrels. She had her own space, quiet, separate. Tucked away behind reinforced doors and guarded looks.

Sasha kept her close.

But not too visible.

It was only recently that Anetra had begun to catch sight of her with any consistency. Mostly in the mornings, just after dawn, when the rest of the crew was still shaking off sleep. Kerri would appear on the mid-deck with Marcia, walking slow laps along the perimeter like the sea was her personal courtyard. Her clothes were simpler than Sasha’s but still finer than the average sailor’s. Her smile, when it appeared, was quick and self-contained. Not shy, but private. Observant.

And always, always under watch.

Sometimes Sasha walked with her. Other times it was Marcia, or Irene. Once, briefly, it had been Aura, who spoke to her in low tones like they were telling secrets or stories too ancient for the rest of the world.

Anetra never approached. Never spoke.

But she saw.

And that morning, as she stood at the side of the ship scrubbing down the salt-caked railing, she caught another glimpse.

Kerri was laughing.

She stood near the helm beside Marcia, one hand waving animatedly as she told some story that made Marcia’s eyes light up. Her posture was easy, confident. Fifteen, but not timid. She carried herself with the same kind of untouchable elegance as her mother, though less practiced, more unrefined.
Anetra didn’t mean to stare.

She didn’t even realize she was staring until the laughter quieted and the air shifted, like a shadow passing over the sun.

Her gaze, reflexive and too slow, snapped upward, and locked directly with Sasha’s.

The pirate queen stood at the helm, just a few paces behind her daughter, one hand on the rail, her stance casual. But her eyes…

Her eyes were not casual.

They pinned Anetra like a nail to a board, sharp, precise, unreadable.

There was no visible shift in her expression. No scowl. No raised brow. No smirk. Just silence. Watching her.

Sasha said nothing. Didn’t even move.

But Anetra’s stomach dropped anyway.

She turned away, too quickly, heart hammering in a way that felt ridiculous even as it happened. She tried to shake it off, tried to pretend it didn’t matter. Tried to focus on the sea spray licking at the side of the ship and the thick strands of rope beneath her hands.

But it was too late.

The weight of that look lingered.

It sat in the pit of her stomach like ballast, dragging her thoughts down, down, down into waters she didn’t want to explore.

She hadn’t looked at Kerri with suspicion. Or with hostility. She hadn’t been plotting anything. There was no plan.

She had just… looked.

Maybe trying to make sense of the connection. Maybe trying to understand how someone like Sasha, ruthless, commanding, powerful, could soften long enough to raise someone like that. Maybe trying to see her, the way you might study a puzzle you didn’t know you were holding until suddenly all the pieces fit in your hand.

She didn’t know what it meant.

Didn’t want to.

And yet, as the day wore on and the sun climbed high above the masts, she caught herself thinking about it over and over again. The tilt of Kerri’s head when she laughed. The shape of her smile. The way Sasha hadn’t looked angry when she caught Anetra staring, just… watchful. Like she’d filed the moment away for later.

Or maybe not.

Maybe Anetra was overthinking it. Maybe it didn’t mean anything. But she had a sinking feeling in her gut that it did, that with Sasha Colby, everything meant something. Every glance. Every silence. Every stray look across a sunlit deck.
And that thought stayed with her long after the sails were lowered, long after the sky turned from gold to gray to black. Even as she lay on her back in the crew’s quarters, listening to the low breath of the ship around her, she couldn’t stop replaying it.

That one moment.

That one look.

And the question she didn’t want to ask herself, but couldn’t shake: Had she stared too long?

Or had Sasha only noticed because she had been watching Anetra just as closely?

Chapter Text

It wasn’t intentional.

That was the first lie Anetra told herself.

She hadn’t meant to start talking more. Laughing, not laughing, exactly, but letting the corners of her mouth twitch a little when Marcia told one of her terrible jokes. She hadn’t planned on offering to tie down the sails before anyone asked, or catching a bucket before it rolled off the deck and banged into Spice’s shin. She didn’t wake up thinking ‘today I’ll tolerate Luxx and not roll my eyes when she critiques my boots.’

It just… happened.

Slowly. Almost imperceptibly. The way salt eats into the seams of a ship, not all at once, but one invisible crystal at a time.

At first, it was little things. Jax cracked a joke during a thunderstorm drill and Anetra responded with a smirk instead of a scowl. Loosey barked a too-enthusiastic ‘Good work’ when Anetra secured the rigging, and instead of sneering, Anetra just nodded. She didn’t thank her, but she didn’t argue either.

She found herself falling into the rhythm of the crew, not just in labor but in… presence. The subtle language of shared glances, low murmurs during meals, the way everyone knew without speaking that if Sugar was crying, Spice would be the one to fix it, and if Spice was crying, Sugar would deny it until she turned red in the face.

Even Irene, with her sharp tongue and sharper eyes, started calling Anetra ‘Not-bad-for-royal-navy’ instead of ‘Dead weight.’ It wasn’t affection, but it was something.

Still, Anetra held herself apart. She didn’t offer personal stories. She didn’t linger after meals. She didn’t seek company. But the walls were… thinning. Just slightly. Just enough to breathe through.

And Sasha noticed.

Of course she did.

She didn’t say anything, not directly, not at first. But Anetra began to feel her presence more often. Not in an obvious way. Not in threats or speeches or smug remarks. No. Sasha was more elegant than that. More surgical.

She would appear at odd hours. Early morning, when Anetra was coiling rope alone on the upper deck. Late at night, while Anetra scrubbed the stairs leading down into the galley. Sasha wouldn’t always speak, sometimes she’d just pass by, the faintest trace of sandalwood and sea on her coat, her eyes dragging over Anetra for a heartbeat longer than they needed to.

Other times, she would speak, but casually. Lightly.

“So you’re speaking to people now,” she said one afternoon, passing Anetra and Jax as they worked on reinforcing the mainsail rigging.

Anetra didn’t look at her. “They’re annoying. It’s hard to ignore them.”

Sasha laughed, low and smooth. “Careful. That almost sounded like banter.” She walked away before Anetra could snap back.

Another time, she sat on the quarterdeck steps, lazily peeling an orange with a jeweled dagger as she watched Sugar and Anetra tie new barrels to the railing. Sugar was chatting about nothing, something to do with stars and dream interpretation and how Spice once claimed she was descended from sea nymphs. Anetra gave a noncommittal grunt here and there, but she didn’t tell Sugar to shut up. She didn’t walk away.

Sasha didn’t say a word. She just peeled and watched.

And Anetra felt it.

Felt the weight of that gaze pressing into her spine, measuring, testing. It unnerved her.

Because she couldn’t decide whether Sasha was amused or… curious. Maybe both.

Then came the night of the storm.

It wasn’t a violent one, just a sudden squall, quick-moving, short-lived. But the rain fell hard and fast, and the sails needed to come down before the wind turned. Anetra was already halfway up the rigging before anyone gave the order, her boots slick on the ropes, the salt stinging her eyes. She moved like she knew what she was doing, not just from training, but from muscle memory.
From instinct.

She secured the line in record time and dropped to the deck just as Jax and Aura caught up. Loosey let out a whoop of approval. Even Luxx, begrudgingly, offered a small nod.

Anetra was soaking wet, breathless, and annoyed at herself for how good it felt.
And when she turned to hand off the rope, she caught Sasha watching from the helm, arms folded, eyes unreadable.

She didn’t look smug. She didn’t look proud. She looked… intrigued.

And that was worse.

Because Anetra didn’t know what she wanted Sasha to think. She didn’t want to be pitied. She didn’t want to be impressed. But she especially didn’t want to be seen as changing. As bending.

And that’s what this was, wasn’t it?

She was bending.

Even just slightly.

Letting the wind curve around her edges and shape her to fit this ship, this crew, this life she was supposed to hate.

She told herself it was strategy. Survival. A smart soldier adapts.

But it was harder and harder to tell where survival ended and something else began.

The crew didn’t treat her like a stranger anymore.

They passed her plates without prompting at meals. Asked her opinion, only sometimes, and usually on practical things, but it was still something. Jax let her sleep through morning watch once when she’d clearly been up all night, and Spice actually lent her a scarf after the last squall, chirping ‘It brings out your eyes!’ in a voice too chipper to strangle.

They weren’t her friends.

But they weren’t her enemies either.

And Sasha Colby, the enemy, the mission, the mark, kept noticing.

It wasn’t a threat. Not yet.

But the way she moved near Anetra now, the way she looked at her like a chessboard had appeared between them, and Anetra had finally placed a piece worth paying attention to, it made Anetra’s skin itch.

Because the more Sasha noticed… the more she noticed Sasha.

How her voice dropped an octave when she was giving serious orders. How her laugh, rare and rich, echoed in Anetra’s ribs longer than it should. How her boots never made noise on the deck, even when everything else was chaos. How she looked at Kerri with something almost holy, and at her crew with something almost… tender.

And how she looked at Anetra now.

Like she was waiting.

For what, Anetra didn’t know. But she had a sinking feeling she’d find out soon enough.

The wind was calm that night.

It passed through the rigging in soft hums, whispering lullabies to the half-dozing crew still lingering on deck. Most of the others had gone below, tucked away in hammocks or hunched over dice games and rum. Even the twins had finally quieted, Sugar murmuring something sleepy beside Spice as they leaned against a stack of barrels, arms folded like mirror images.

Anetra sat by herself near the bow, back pressed to the worn rail, legs stretched out, eyes lifted to the sky.

There were more stars here than at home.

Or maybe she just never looked up long enough to notice.

The sea rolled gently beneath the ship, steady and patient, and for the first time in a long time, she let herself think, really think, about the place she came from.

The creak of the wood beneath her felt foreign compared to the rigid stone corridors of the royal docks. The breeze didn’t carry the scent of incense or polished steel. And the voices down below, half-drunk and laughing, sounded nothing like the barked orders of navy captains or the ceremonial commands of the palace.

This was a different world.

And it was one she wasn’t sure she understood anymore.

What would they think of her now?

Her crew. The ship she’d served on before this one. A proper vessel, navy-standard, painted in deep green and black, trimmed with the golden insignia of the King’s crown. Sleek. Disciplined. Loyal.

They’d been handpicked for the mission. Elite. Chosen not just for skill but for reputation. And she’d been at the front, trusted, respected, maybe even a little feared. Not because she talked much, she rarely did, but because she got things done. Clean, quiet, no fuss. She was good. She knew it.

They’d trusted her.

She wondered now who among them had survived the attack.

She remembered the chaos, the fire, the screaming. The way cannonballs had shattered their bow like it was nothing but driftwood. The acrid sting of smoke in her lungs. The cold slap of the ocean when she went overboard.

She’d tried to keep count of how many had gone down with the ship, but it had all blurred together, panic and thunder and sinking wood.

Still. Some would’ve made it. Survivors always did.

And if they had… then they would’ve gone back.

Home. To him. The King.

Her jaw tensed just thinking about it. The way his voice always echoed in the throne room, thick with self-importance and expectation. She could still hear his command in her mind, delivered with that familiar icy authority:

‘You are to retrieve the treasure and capture Sasha Colby. Alive. For trial.’

Not a request. Not a negotiation. A decree.

It was the only kind of language he knew.

She remembered kneeling on the polished floor, her uniform crisp, her pulse slow and steady. She hadn’t spoken then either. Just nodded once. That was all it took. That had always been enough.

But that was weeks ago now.

And somewhere on that island, back beneath that gleaming marble dome, he would’ve received the news. First the reports: “The ship is overdue.” Then the confirmations: “Survivors returned. It was Sasha Colby. The ship was destroyed.”

Her name would be among the missing.

Presumed dead. Or, worse, presumed captured.

What would the King think of that?

Would he be furious? Embarrassed? Or would he simply write her off as a loss, a failed pawn in a larger game?

She didn’t know. She had never failed before.

But she did know this much: if he did think she was alive, then he would not rest until she was either taken back… or buried at sea.

Would he send another ship?

She exhaled through her nose, slow and controlled.

Yes. Of course he would. Sasha hadn’t just sunk a navy vessel, she had stolen from him. The treasure she’d taken wasn’t just gold or jewels, it was a symbol. A message. One she’d carved into the King’s pride like a blade into flesh. He wouldn’t stand for it.

And if Anetra was alive? He would expect her to finish what she started.

But then came the harder question.

Did she want him to send someone?

She didn’t answer it right away. Just stared up at the stars a while longer, the ship rocking gently beneath her. Somewhere behind her, the door to the captain’s quarters creaked open, and she heard Sasha’s voice, a soft murmur to someone else, probably Marcia. She didn’t catch the words, just the rhythm.

Calm. Measured. Confident.

Not that Sasha ever sounded any other way.

Anetra’s fingers curled into the fabric of her pants.

She should want rescue. She should want to be pulled out of this hell, to return to the discipline and structure of home. She should want to go back. To finish the mission. To honor her station.

She was a marine. A soldier of the King.

This, this pirate ship, this strange rhythm of sea-salted freedom and chaotic camaraderie, this wasn’t her place.

But the thought of going back didn’t spark the kind of relief it used to. It felt… Tight. Claustrophobic. Like stepping into a cage.

Because what would they do with her if she did return?

Celebrate her? No. At best, they’d look at her with suspicion. At worst, with judgment. She’d been a prisoner. She’d worked alongside pirates. She hadn’t retrieved the treasure. She hadn’t killed Sasha.

And part of her, just a small part, barely the size of a ripple, wasn’t sure she wanted to anymore.

Not because she trusted Sasha. Not because she liked her. But because she was beginning to see things she wasn’t supposed to.

Things that didn’t align with the black-and-white stories she’d been raised on.
Sasha had a daughter.

Sasha protected her crew with a kind of fierce, unshakable loyalty Anetra had never seen among her own.

Sasha had rules, unspoken, maybe, but real. Discipline. Order. Intent.

None of that fit with the pirate caricature she’d been fed in royal training.
And worse, the longer she was here, the harder it became to draw the line between the honor she was supposed to be fighting for and the loyalty she saw, felt, every day on this ship.

She closed her eyes, letting the cool wind kiss her cheek. She could still taste salt on her lips.

Would he send another ship? Yes.

The better question was: What would she do when it arrived?

And that… she didn’t have an answer for.

It came quietly, the doubt. Not with a scream or a sharp snap, but like a crack in the hull, deep below the waterline, small, almost invisible at first, but growing with the tide. Anetra didn’t even realize it was happening until she heard herself thinking the words:

‘Do I even want to be rescued?’

The moment she thought it, she hated it.

She straightened on instinct, spine going stiff like she’d been caught red-handed, like someone had just shouted it across the deck, exposed it to every sailor within earshot. Her chest ached with the betrayal of it. Not betrayal of Sasha, not even of the King.

No. Betrayal of herself.

Because she’d always known who she was. A marine. Loyal. Focused. She did not flinch.

But this doubt, it came with weight. A dangerous kind of gravity, dragging her deeper into the question she didn’t want to ask.

And the worst part was that it wasn’t a sudden shift. Not a clean break from what she used to believe. No, it was more like erosion. Small pieces of certainty worn away, one by one, over long days and longer nights.

At first, she clung to the thought of rescue the way a drowning man clings to driftwood, desperate and sure it was the only way to survive. But lately…

Lately the word didn’t bring comfort. It brought conflict.

Because what would rescue mean?

It would mean shackles. Not literal, though maybe those too, but the kind you wore invisibly: duty, silence, obedience. It would mean standing before the King with a bowed head, reciting facts like confessions, omitting anything that didn’t fit the narrative he would demand.

It would mean pretending.

Pretending she hadn’t started to see the crew as something more than criminals. Pretending she hadn’t noticed how fiercely Marcia protected the younger ones. Pretending she hadn’t seen Luxx secretly mend Sugar’s coat when she thought no one was watching. Pretending she hadn’t found a strange sort of peace in the mundane rhythm of ship life, cleaning, tying rope, adjusting sails, working with her hands and not her orders.

Pretending she hadn’t started to… understand Sasha. To like her.

No, not like. She didn’t like her. Not really, right?

But she’d stopped hating her.

That was the problem.

She hated that she could see Sasha’s layers now, how the charm wasn’t an act, but a tactic honed to perfection. How the command she wielded wasn’t built on fear, but respect. The kind Anetra had only seen among the best captains, captains who led from the front, not the throne.

She hated that she’d caught herself watching Sasha’s hands when she gestured, wondering how someone could be so elegant and so dangerous at once. She hated that she noticed Sasha didn’t eat until her crew had, that she was always the last to sleep and the first to rise. She hated that, sometimes, when she caught Sasha’s eye across the deck, something inside her chest moved.

She hated that she didn’t hate her anymore.

And that was the betrayal.

Because she had always thought herself immune to this kind of confusion. She wasn’t weak. She didn’t break. She didn’t let emotions cloud judgment. That was the difference between the navy and the pirates, order and chaos, law and rebellion.

But that line was starting to blur.

There were rules here, too. Just different ones. Ones based on trust earned instead of demanded. On choice instead of fear.

And that scared her more than anything.

Because she was starting to wonder if this, this crew, this ship, wasn’t the chaos she was supposed to avoid…

But the freedom she never knew she needed.

She dug her fingers into the worn wood beneath her, trying to steady herself. The ocean stretched out endlessly before her, soft and moonlit, nothing but waves and stars and silence.

She didn’t want to stay here forever. Did she?

No. No. That would be madness.

She had a duty. A role. A place. She was a soldier, not a sailor. She belonged to the sea only as a tool of the crown, not as one of its wild children.

But then again… what had the crown ever given her, really?

Structure? Purpose? Sure. But warmth? Kindness? Understanding? No.

Not like this crew, strange, flawed, chaotic, infuriating, but present. Real. Alive.
And Sasha, Sasha who had every reason to kill her and hadn’t. Sasha who’d offered her freedom, even if on a leash. Sasha who could’ve broken her spirit and instead chose to study it.

Sasha who watched her like she saw her. And Anetra didn’t like being seen.

Because when someone sees you, really sees you, they can reach you. They can touch parts of you that were supposed to be locked away, shielded by silence and discipline and distance.

And maybe, just maybe, Sasha was starting to reach her.

Which meant it wasn’t just the King she was betraying now. It wasn’t just the navy, or the mission.

It was herself.

Or at least, the version of herself she thought she had to be.

She let her head fall back against the rail, eyes closed, wind in her face. A part of her still wanted to be rescued.

But another part, quiet, subtle, and growing stronger each day, wasn’t so sure anymore.

And that part… scared her most of all.

Chapter Text

It began with a change in the air.

The ship had been unusually quiet that morning, no bickering from the twins, no loud declarations from Salina, not even a sarcastic quip from Loosey echoing across the deck. It wasn’t the kind of quiet that came from rest or laziness. It was the tight-lipped, shoulder-hunched kind of quiet that suggested something had shifted beneath the surface, and no one quite knew how to name it yet.
Anetra felt it immediately.

She’d grown used to the rhythm of the ship, the clamor, the teasing, the buzz of too many people in close quarters trying to make chaos feel like family. But today, that rhythm faltered. People moved faster. Jax, normally relaxed and effortlessly cool, kept glancing toward the crow’s nest. Luxx had her arms crossed tighter than usual, her perfectly arched brow pulled in the smallest frown.

And Sasha… Sasha wasn’t on deck.

That alone was strange enough to set off warning bells.

The captain rarely hid herself. She didn’t hover in her quarters unless there was work to be done, navigation to review, maps to update, storm routes to plan. And even then, she always emerged before long, striding across the ship like the sea itself bent to her will.

But not today.

Today, Sasha was absent.

Anetra didn’t ask questions. She wouldn’t have gotten answers anyway. Her place was still that of a tolerated outsider, barely past prisoner, definitely not crew. Jax hadn’t said much that morning, just handed her a coil of rope and a bored, “We’ve got knots to check,” and left it at that.

But she felt it. In every sideways glance. In the taut silence that pulled at the corners of every conversation.

Something was coming.

And then she heard it.

Late in the afternoon, while scrubbing the already-cleaned rail just to keep her hands busy, she passed near the galley hatch where Loosey and Aura were speaking in low, urgent voices.

The words weren’t meant for her.

But the wind was just right.

“…from the west, two days off. Navy flag, no question,” Aura muttered.

Loosey hissed, low and tense. “We don’t have time to reroute. If we change course now, we’ll lose the wind, and we still need to restock in Calebra.”

“I don’t care about Calebra. We’ve got her on board.” Aura’s voice was sharp as a blade. “You think they won’t recognize her? She’s not just some low-rank sailor, Loosey. That’s Anetra, she was second in command on the King's mission.”

“I know who she is,” Loosey snapped. “I’m saying if we bolt now, it’ll be obvious. They’ll chase. And if we stay—”

“We get boarded.”

Silence.

Then Aura’s voice again, quieter. “Have you told Sasha yet?”

“No. But someone will have to.”

Anetra didn’t stop walking.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t turn. Didn’t show a single reaction on her face as she stepped away from the hatch and down the length of the ship.

But her chest was tight.

A navy ship. Two days out. Heading straight for them.

They were coming.

He was coming.

Whether it was the King himself or a vessel dispatched under his name, it didn’t matter. They had found the trail, tracked Sasha across open water, and now they were coming to finish the mission.

Her mission. The one she’d failed.

Her mind reeled. The thoughts came too fast to catch, unraveling like rope snapping under pressure. The ship. The crew. Sasha. Kerri. Her orders. Her loyalty. Her name.

Because they would know. If the King’s ship saw her here, standing on deck, not in chains, not in the brig, but working, breathing, living among the enemy, they wouldn’t ask questions. They wouldn’t wait for explanations. She would be judged before her boots touched their deck.

And the worst part was…

She didn’t know if she’d fight them.

Because suddenly the idea of returning, of being dragged back in front of the throne, forced to account for every choice made here, it felt wrong. Like she’d be leaving something unfinished.

No. Someone.

Her eyes drifted toward the captain’s quarters without meaning to.

Sasha still hadn’t come out. And now Anetra understood why. She already knew.

She hadn’t told the crew yet. Not openly. But she always knew before the rest. She had ears in ports Anetra had never heard of. Informants, allies, favors owed. Sasha didn’t wait for fate to find her. She met it on her terms.

And now… fate was two days away.

Anetra’s gut churned. Not from fear. Not exactly. But from a pressure that had no direction, a storm building behind her ribs, all instinct and impulse and no clear path.

She should feel relieved.

This was her chance. Rescue. Retrieval. Return.

But instead…

She felt like she was standing on the edge of something sharp and inevitable.
The old part of her, loyal, sure, unbending, wanted to act. To use her knowledge. To prove herself again.

But the newer part, the one she barely let herself acknowledge, wanted to run. Not away from the ship, but with it. To warn Sasha. To protect this strange, maddening group of misfits who had let her live, let her breathe, let her be something more than just a soldier.

She didn’t know which part was stronger.

And she didn’t know how much longer she had to figure it out.

Two days. Forty-eight hours before the past crashed into the present. And this time, there would be no calm in the storm.

The wind had shifted again.

It wasn’t just the way the sails trembled slightly against their ropes or how the clouds loomed lower than usual, it was in the air itself, thick with expectation and tension, as if the sea itself were holding its breath.

By the time dusk fell, the silence that had threaded its way through the ship all day had solidified into something heavier. Even the crew’s footsteps were quieter, as though everyone had silently agreed not to disturb the weight bearing down on them.

Anetra noticed Sasha’s absence more acutely as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky with bruised purples and deep orange. The captain hadn’t emerged once, not to bark an order, not to check a map, not even to eye Anetra with one of her inscrutable smirks.

So when Jax handed Anetra a rag and nodded toward the captain’s quarters with a simple, “She wants to see you,” the words hit her like a cannon blast.
Her heart didn’t pound, it thudded. Slow and heavy, like something had curled around it and begun to squeeze.

The walk to Sasha’s cabin felt longer than it had any right to. She paused once outside the door, hand hovering near the handle. Then, slowly, she knocked.

“Come in.”

Sasha’s voice was steady, but quieter than usual. No iron in it. No lilt of command.

Anetra stepped in.

The room was dimly lit, the only illumination a low lantern hanging above the desk. Maps were spread across it like a storm, papers weighed down with glass flasks and a half-empty mug. Sasha stood by the stern-facing window, one hand resting on the sill, her gaze lost in the dark water beyond.

She didn’t turn when Anetra entered. She didn’t speak for several long seconds.

“How long have you known?”

Her voice wasn’t accusing. It was quiet. Measured. Almost tired.

Anetra’s throat dried instantly. “Known what?”

“You heard. Somewhere on the ship. Doesn’t matter where.”

A pause.

“That a navy ship’s on its way.”

The words didn’t carry anger, just confirmation. Sasha had always been perceptive, but this was something else. This was a woman who had played this game far too many times and already knew the next ten moves by heart.

“I—” Anetra started, but it felt wrong. Too fast. Too defensive.

Sasha turned then, finally, and her eyes locked onto Anetra with a calm that was almost worse than fury.

“I want to believe you’re still trying to figure out where you stand,” she said, each word measured like she’d weighed them carefully before letting them fall. “I want to believe that.”

Anetra stayed silent, her jaw clenched.

Sasha crossed the room slowly and leaned on the edge of the table, arms folded loosely in front of her.

“I don’t need you to swear loyalty. I don’t expect you to pick up a cutlass and start singing sea shanties with the crew.” Her voice was still soft. “But a ship is heading our way, Anetra. And I know the King doesn’t send ships just to say hello. I need to know what I’m up against.”

Silence.

Anetra felt the storm begin to rise inside her.

She wanted to speak. Part of her even felt she owed Sasha something. Not her soul, not her allegiance, but maybe the truth. Maybe a detail. Anything that might help this crew brace for what was coming.

But then came the other part.

The part that screamed that this was treason. That she was already standing on thin, cracked ice, and one more slip would send her crashing through, forever lost.

That if she told Sasha even one small detail, about navy tactics, about who might be leading that ship, about what signal flags to watch for, it would mean she had fully crossed the line. No turning back. No justifying. No redemption.
The King’s face came unbidden into her mind’s eye, distant, severe, cold as marble. He had raised her. Not as a father, no, but as a commander raises his blade. Forged her into what she was. He had never smiled at her. Never praised her. But he had trusted her.

And she had never wanted anything more than to deserve that. Now, standing here, she could feel that trust breaking like bone.

“I…” Her voice cracked, and she cursed it.

Sasha didn’t press. Didn’t threaten. Didn’t pace or shout or draw close the way so many captains she’d known might have.

She just waited.

And that made it worse.

Anetra looked at her. At the quiet strength of her posture. The way her eyes held more exhaustion than command in them tonight.

And still, she couldn’t do it.

“I can’t,” she whispered, barely audible.

Sasha didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. She just nodded once, as though she’d already suspected this would be the answer.

But something in her face changed.

The cool composure didn’t crack, not entirely. But the edges of her mouth turned down slightly, and the spark in her eyes, sharp and knowing and alive, dimmed.

She looked… disappointed. Not enraged. Not insulted.Just… quietly, deeply disappointed.

As though something she’d dared to hope for had finally slipped through her fingers.

“You know,” she said slowly, almost more to herself than to Anetra, “I didn’t bring you out of that cell to manipulate you. Or turn you. I just… figured maybe, if you saw us, really saw us, you might understand.”

Anetra’s hands clenched at her sides. “I do see you.”

Sasha gave her a look. A piercing, unreadable look.

“No,” she said softly. “You see what you want to see. Still too scared to admit what you do.”

The silence between them thickened, heavy with all the things that hadn’t been said.

Sasha pushed off the desk and turned her back again, walking back to the window, her shoulders somehow more slumped now.

“Dismissed,” she murmured.

It wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t a command barked down. It was resignation. Pure and raw and painful.

Anetra lingered for a second longer. Wanting to say something. Needing to.
But she had no words. No clarity. Just a hurricane of guilt and confusion and shame roiling in her gut.

So she turned.

And walked out.

The lantern behind her flickered as the door shut, casting Sasha in golden light and shadow.

And Anetra, for all her training, had never felt more unarmed.

The next day brought clouds, low and grey, not yet weeping, but heavy enough to threaten. The sky was a lid on a boiling pot, thick and stifling. The sea, by contrast, was unnaturally calm, glassy beneath the hull, as if it too were holding back a storm.

Anetra worked the ropes with half her strength, hands moving from habit rather than focus. She couldn’t stop thinking. Couldn’t stop feeling. That was the worst part, not the confusion, not even the shame. It was the feeling. The rawness of it. Like she was being scraped down the middle, hollowed out and forced to sit with the emptiness.

The night before hadn’t left her. Sasha’s voice, quiet, steady, hurt, looped in her head like a bitter tide.

I want to believe you’re still trying to figure out where you stand.

You see what you want to see. Still too scared to admit what you do.

She had slept like shit. Tossed on the thin hammock in the supply alcove they’d given her when she was first let out of the brig, every creak of the wood sounding like judgment. When the sun rose, she had climbed out of it with a jaw clenched so tight it felt like her teeth might crack.

She hadn’t seen Sasha that morning. She tried not to think about that either.

Jax was unusually quiet beside her as they adjusted a sail, neither of them talking. Anetra hadn’t said much in days. Not since that moment in Sasha’s cabin. And Jax, perceptive in her own cool, sideways way, hadn’t pushed.
The silence between them wasn’t tense. Just… muted. Like everything else.
Anetra wasn’t sure how much time had passed when Robin called out from the upper deck, her voice slicing through the still air.

“Update from the crow’s nest!”

Everyone turned, a few heads rising from their tasks.

Robin leaned over the railing, one hand cupped to her mouth, the other waving toward Aura and Marcia, who stood near the helm.

“Navy ship’s slower than we thought. Must’ve been caught in a storm. Looks like we’ve got a week. Maybe more.”

Anetra’s breath caught. She didn’t realize how tightly she’d been holding her body until she exhaled all at once.

A week.

Not two days. Not the edge of disaster breathing down their necks. A stretch of time long enough to think, long enough to move, long enough to, do something.
The crew buzzed with cautious relief. Loosey clapped her hands, muttering something about resupply still being possible in Calebra. Sugar and Spice high-fived each other dramatically. Even Luxx allowed herself the tiniest exhale, rolling her shoulders back as if the weight of an invisible knife had lifted from between them.

But Anetra… She didn’t feel relief. Not really.

The pressure hadn’t gone away. It had just… stretched. Pulled thinner. Made the torment longer. She wasn’t free from the coming decision. She was being given more time to sit with it.

And it felt like being flayed alive.

She left the deck without a word, brushing past the others and ignoring the curious glance Jax shot her way.

She didn’t go to her alcove. Didn’t go belowdecks. She made her way to the edge of the ship, out near the bow, where the wooden rail was still warm from the afternoon sun. She rested her elbows on it and stared out at the water.
It was too beautiful for how awful she felt.

The ocean shimmered in a way that mocked her. It didn’t care about politics, about orders or betrayals or aching in her chest. It just… was. It moved and churned and fed the wind and rocked the ship and whispered old stories in the foam of its waves.

And she, Anetra, soldier, sailor, loyalist, liar, felt like the ocean had already swallowed her whole.

The King would call her a traitor if he saw her now. That much was obvious. She hadn’t tried to escape. Hadn’t fought to take control of the ship or even gather information. She’d worked alongside pirates. Eaten with them. Slept under their sails.

She liked Jax.

She could tolerate Luxx’s sharp tongue. Robin’s quiet confidence. Even the damned twins had grown on her.

She’d caught herself laughing, laughing, once at something Amethyst said. And she'd hated herself for it.

And Kerri… she still hadn’t spoken with her. But she saw her, now and again. Climbing the rigging. Chatting with Marcia. Practicing knots. Always watched carefully by Sasha, never far from the captain’s protective eye.

It made something twist in Anetra’s chest, something unfamiliar. Something warm.

But it was Sasha who ruined her.

It was Sasha who she couldn’t stop thinking about, no matter how hard she tried.

Her confidence. Her fire. Her strength and her calm. Her damn eyes when she looked at Anetra like she wanted something more from her than silence and obedience.

Anetra had never had anyone look at her that way. Not as a soldier. Not as a tool. But as a person. A possibility.

And she’d disappointed her.

The way Sasha’s voice had gone quiet in that cabin. The way she hadn’t raised it in anger. That was the part that haunted her most.

It would’ve been easier if Sasha had yelled.

If she had drawn a blade or locked her back in the brig or told the crew Anetra was a lost cause.

But no.

She had hoped.

She had believed Anetra might be something more. And Anetra had let that belief shatter.

She closed her eyes, gripping the rail tighter.

She couldn’t stand by and do nothing. Not anymore.

Not with that navy ship looming closer, not with a week left to prepare, not with Kerri laughing up in the rigging and Jax calling her Netra when no one else was listening, and not with Sasha walking around the ship pretending she hadn’t been hurt.

She couldn’t let them fall.

Anetra would not stand on the deck of this ship and watch it burn. Not if she could help it.

She didn’t know what that meant yet, didn’t know what exactly she would say, or how to begin. But she knew who she’d say it to. And she knew what she had to do.

Her hands finally loosened their grip on the rail.

And she turned toward the captain’s quarters.

Chapter Text

The sky had darkened by the time Anetra made her way back across the deck, though the sun hadn’t fully disappeared, it still lingered low, casting a golden haze that touched the sails and caught in the salt-streaked lines of the wood. The sea was quieter now, the wind soft as a sigh. But the heaviness in her chest hadn't lessened, not even a little.

Her boots were steady against the deck, but she felt like she was walking into a storm all the same.

She reached the captain’s quarters and paused. Her hand rested against the wood, knuckles lightly brushing the grain. She didn’t knock yet. Just stood there, breathing. Letting the sound of the ocean fill her ears, letting it lull her nerves.
Her heart was pounding.

Not like it did before battle, not like it had when she boarded enemy ships or stared down cannon fire. That kind of fear was almost comforting in its simplicity.

This was different.

This was fear of being seen. Of being known. Of choosing something and never being able to go back.

Finally, she knocked. No answer at first.

Then a quiet, “Come in.”

She stepped inside.

The room was lit softly again, though tonight the lantern was lower, casting shadows across the map-littered desk and the weathered floorboards. Sasha was there, of course she was, standing near the same window she always seemed to return to, one hand on her hip, the other holding a cup of something that steamed faintly in the cool air.

She didn’t turn around immediately.

“Didn’t expect you back so soon,” she said, voice careful. “Or at all.”

Anetra swallowed. “I know.”

Sasha didn’t respond.

Anetra took a breath.

“I heard the update. About the navy ship.”

That made Sasha glance over her shoulder, just briefly. “Still time,” she said, her tone unreadable.

Anetra stepped closer. Just a few feet. Not too close. Not yet.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said quietly.

Sasha said nothing.

“I’ve been thinking,” Anetra went on, slowly, like she had to pull each word from some tangled net inside her. “About… what you said. And about what I didn’t say.”

She waited. Still no interruption. Just Sasha, listening.

“I didn’t answer you because I was afraid. Because I thought telling you anything would mean losing who I was. Turning my back on everything I’d been trained to believe. Everything I thought I stood for.”

A pause.

“But I haven’t been that person in weeks.”

Sasha turned to face her now. Fully. Her expression was still guarded, but her eyes, those sharp, storm-colored eyes, held something softer at the edges.

Anetra took another step forward. “I’ve been angry, and bitter, and lost. But I’ve also been watching. Watching this crew. This ship. You.”

Another breath. Steadying. “And I realized something. You all don’t fight for gold. Or glory. Not really. You fight for each other. For freedom. For space.”

Sasha’s jaw flexed slightly, but she didn’t interrupt.

“I kept trying to convince myself I didn’t care,” Anetra said, voice lower now, more raw. “That I wasn’t part of this. That it was just survival. But I do care. And I am.”

She looked Sasha straight in the eye. “So here it is.”

She stepped forward again, standing in front of the desk now. Just across from Sasha.

“I’ll tell you what you want. About the navy. About their tactics. About what they’ll try, who might be captaining that ship, what they’re likely to do. I’ll give you everything I know. No half-truths. No games.”

Sasha blinked, just once.

“But…” Anetra continued, “there’s a condition.”

Sasha arched a brow.

“I want to be part of the crew.”

That caught Sasha off guard. Anetra saw it in the flicker of her eyes, in the way she straightened just slightly.

“I don’t want to be just the prisoner who happened to be useful. I don’t want to be pitied or tolerated or kept around just until the next battle. If I’m doing this, if I’m helping you, I want to belong. I want a place.” She hesitated, then added, softer, “I want to earn it. Whatever it takes. But I want in.”

Sasha didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, something unfolded across her face. Slowly. Carefully. A kind of stunned joy, tempered with disbelief, as though she was afraid to break it by reacting too quickly.

And then, finally, Sasha smiled.

Not her smug smile. Not her flirty, teasing grin. This one was different.

This one was real.

It started at her eyes, and then bloomed wide and radiant, like sunlight bursting through stormclouds. And it changed her entire face.

“Anetra,” she said, voice soft and full of something far warmer than any command.

She stepped forward, slow and sure, and placed her mug on the desk with a quiet clink.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say that.”

Anetra’s breath caught.

Sasha took one more step, and then she was close, close enough that Anetra could smell the salt and spice in her clothes, close enough to feel the heat of her.

“I didn’t want to push you,” Sasha said, her voice barely above a whisper now. “Didn’t want to force anything. But I’ve known since the day you stopped spitting at my boots that you weren’t like the rest.”

Anetra’s lips twitched, almost a smile. “That’s a low bar.”

Sasha laughed. Honest and unguarded.

And then, her expression softened again.

“You want to be part of this crew?” she asked. “You already are.”

Anetra looked at her, searching for sarcasm. But there was none. Just truth.
Sasha reached out, slowly, and touched her wrist. Just lightly. Just enough.

“We’ll get through this,” she said. “Together.”

Anetra nodded.

And in that moment, the weight on her chest lifted, not all the way, not entirely, but enough that she could breathe again.

For the first time in weeks, she didn’t feel like she was sinking.

She felt like she was home.

The moment settled between them like the hush before a tide turns. Warm, still, precarious. Sasha’s hand lingered at Anetra’s wrist, thumb brushing once, just once, against the edge of her skin before she stepped back, giving Anetra space, but not distance.

The smile didn’t leave her face, but it dimmed slightly, shifted into something softer. A kind of reverent quiet, as if she knew that what came next needed room to be spoken.

Anetra exhaled slowly.

It felt strange, this peace inside her, like walking through a ruined city and realizing something sacred had survived the fire.

“I’ll tell you everything,” she said, more to herself than to Sasha.
And then she did.

She didn’t sit, she didn’t trust her legs not to tremble, but she leaned against the edge of the desk, her arms crossed not in defiance but in focus. Like the words needed the anchor.

“The navy ship heading this way, if I had to guess based on the timeframe, the most likely candidate is The Bastion. It’s fast. Not as fast as you, but fast enough. Built for interception, not for long sieges.”

Sasha nodded, her expression sharpening, not coldly, but keenly. The captain’s instinct waking up in her.

“Captain of The Bastion is likely to be Commander Vesper,” Anetra continued. “She’s not a brute. She’s smart. Cold. Methodical. Doesn't act without information. She was one of my instructors when I first earned my commission. She drills her crew to move as one unit, like a machine.”

Sasha raised an eyebrow. “You think she knows you're on board?”

“I’d bet on it,” Anetra said grimly. “She’s the type to gather intel from survivors. Quietly. Efficiently. She’d know the King would want confirmation before he sent a second force after you. Knowing me, knowing how I think, would give her an edge.”

Sasha nodded again, arms crossed now, mirroring Anetra’s stance.

“She won’t attack blindly,” Anetra continued. “She’ll approach with caution. She’ll watch for weak points. If she doesn’t think she can win, she’ll pull back and radio for reinforcements.”

“Reinforcements?” Sasha’s voice was calm, but firm.

Anetra nodded. “She has the authority to call in the Silver Guard. That’s the King’s personal fleet. Bigger, slower, but if she’s stalling for time, you’ll be facing a wall.”

Sasha’s eyes narrowed, her mind clearly calculating. “And how long would that take?”

“If she calls them the moment she sees us? Two weeks. Three at the most.”

Sasha exhaled. “So we fight her, we win, and we run before her backup gets here.”

“If we fight her and win,” Anetra corrected.

They were quiet for a moment. The waves tapped gently against the hull, the rhythm almost soothing.

“I’ve seen her battle strategies,” Anetra said at last. “I’ve trained under them. I know her weak points. I know where she keeps her cannons focused, how she uses wind to outmaneuver. And I know she has a blind spot portside when her sails are full.”

Sasha blinked, slowly. “That’s a big oversight.”

“She compensates by keeping her best gunners posted there. But if you hit it fast, if you come in low, angled just right, you could disable her rudder. Force her to spin out or stall.”

“You’ve really thought this through.”

“I had to,” Anetra said. “There’s no walking back what I just said. No crawling back to the navy with excuses.”

She finally let her arms drop to her sides.

“I’m burning the bridge behind me.”

Sasha studied her for a long moment.

Then, quietly, she said, “That wasn’t a bridge anymore. It was a leash.”

Anetra didn’t know what to say to that. So she said nothing.

Instead, she looked around Sasha’s quarters, at the maps scattered across the desk, at the small trinkets on the shelf, a polished compass, a knife carved from bone, a tiny wooden carving of a hawk perched on a ledge. A captain’s room, but also a woman’s. Lived in. Personal.

Anetra’s eyes flicked back to Sasha.

There was something different in her now. Not just the tension of planning or the relief of Anetra’s confession.

Something else.

A kind of vulnerability under the confidence, like a shoreline barely visible beneath moonlight. Anetra could feel the shift in the air.

Sasha wasn’t just waiting to say thank you.

She was waiting to say something else.

Anetra didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

She knew the tide was turning again.

And this time, Sasha was the one about to dive deep.

Sasha didn’t speak right away.

She moved instead, graceful as ever, but slower now, like every step held weight. She reached for the lantern beside her desk, adjusted the flame just slightly, not enough to brighten the room much, just enough to fill the space between them with a warmer, gentler glow.

Anetra didn’t push her.

She stood still, watching, sensing the shift in the air. The pressure that came with someone preparing to peel themselves back, to tell a story that lived somewhere beneath their skin.

Sasha finally exhaled, turning to lean her hips against the edge of the desk, arms folding loosely across her chest. She didn’t look at Anetra at first—her eyes were fixed somewhere in the middle distance, like she was looking through the wood, through time.

“I haven’t told anyone this in years,” she began quietly, the storm gone from her voice, leaving only the undertow. “Not the full thing. Parts, sure. Pieces. Enough to keep the crew loyal. Enough to make me look braver than I felt. But not the whole truth.”

Anetra didn’t speak. She didn’t have to.

Sasha’s fingers tightened slightly against her sleeve.

“I wasn’t born on the sea,” she said. “I was born in a port town. On the farthest edge of the southern islands. The kind of place nobody really cares about unless it’s burning. Or profitable.”

Her mouth twisted. “Ours was neither.”

She paused, a faint, distant smile ghosting her lips.

“My father worked in a dyehouse. My mother was… well. She was around when she wanted to be. Which was mostly when she was too drunk to know better. I learned early how to stay quiet. How to disappear into corners. How to listen.”

Anetra could picture it, Sasha, younger, quieter, but with those same sharp eyes, already soaking in the world like a sponge soaks ink.

“The older I got, the less I wanted to disappear,” Sasha continued. “And the more I realized… people like us, we don’t get to grow without making noise. Without fighting for it.”

She looked up then, her eyes locking on Anetra’s.

“So I started making noise.”

A small, rueful laugh slipped out of her. “I stole my first ship when I was fifteen.”

Anetra’s brows rose slightly.

Sasha grinned. “Don’t be too impressed, it was barely more than a fishing vessel. But it was mine. And I took it straight out of the harbor with two friends and a flask of rum. We didn’t even know how to work the mainsail properly. Crashed it into a sandbar within the hour.”

Anetra smirked. “Sounds about right.”

Sasha laughed again, the sound richer now, tinged with memory. “We got better. Eventually. We patched up the hull, traded it in for something faster. We started smuggling, mostly. Medicines, textiles, things the Crown overtaxed or banned just to flex muscle.”

Her smile faded a little.

“It felt good. To help people. To outsmart the King’s men. But it was never just about rebellion.”

She hesitated. The words caught on something.

And then, quietly, she said, “Then I had Kerri.”

Anetra stilled.

Sasha’s eyes softened—no fire, no bravado. Just quiet light.

“She wasn’t planned. Her mother was a navigator from the Eastern Isles. Brilliant woman. Fierce as the wind and twice as impossible to predict. We met in a port storm. Loved like fools. Argued like fire and dry brush.”

A beat.

“She died when Kerri was three. Fever. No medicine came fast enough.”

Sasha didn’t blink.

“I buried her in the same town where we met. Then I took Kerri and left. For good.”

Anetra’s throat tightened.

“I couldn’t go back to smuggling,” Sasha said. “Not with a child to raise. So I did the only thing I knew how to do better than running.”

She paused. Then, simply: “I fought.”

She didn’t mean that metaphorically. Anetra could tell. It was in her voice, the sharp edge returning, quiet but solid.

“Privateering. Boarding ships. Reclaiming stolen goods. Only difference between a pirate and a Crown sailor is who signs your paycheck. The line’s thinner than they want you to believe.”

“And now?” Anetra asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Now?” Sasha tilted her head slightly. “Now I make my own rules. My crew eats because I make sure of it. Kerri has books, and ink, and clothes that don’t carry royal stamps. She’s safe, because I won’t let this world take her the way it tried to take me.”

She smiled faintly.

“She wants to be a botanist, did you know that?”

Anetra blinked. “No. I didn’t.”

“She reads everything she can get her hands on. Studies the plants we pass on the islands. Luxx taught her how to press them properly for preservation. I think she’s planning to catalog them all one day.”

Something swelled in Anetra’s chest, something sharp and warm and not easily named.

Sasha looked down at her hands, thumb running absently along the edge of her sleeve. “I don’t want her to grow up learning only how to survive. I want her to live. To build something better.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was full. Of pain, and pride, and all the quiet truths that Sasha had carried for years with no one to share them with.

Anetra stepped closer.

Not too close.

Just enough to let Sasha know she’d heard her. That she was still here.
That she wasn’t going anywhere.

Sasha met her eyes again. And for the first time since they’d met, not in defiance, not in challenge, not even in amusement, she looked vulnerable.
And real.

And herself.

“Thank you,” Anetra said quietly.

Sasha smiled again.

It wasn’t radiant this time.

But it was the most honest smile Anetra had ever seen.

Chapter Text

The next morning, when Anetra stepped out onto the deck with the sun at her back and the wind curling softly around her ears, she knew something had changed.

It wasn’t just the way the air felt, though that was different too. Lighter, somehow. Not that oppressive, tight-chested weight she’d carried like a shackle since her capture. No, this was something else. Like she could finally breathe in full without guilt hollowing out her lungs. Like the ship itself recognized her as something more than a passenger or a prisoner.

But more than that, it was the looks.

She’d barely made it halfway to the mainmast when she caught the first one.
Amethyst, who had always been a little wary in her glances, always a little tense when Anetra passed, now gave her a once-over and cracked a grin, wide and full of teeth, like she’d been waiting to welcome her the whole time.

“‘Bout time,” she said, shaking her head, then went right back to hauling rope like she hadn’t just shattered Anetra’s internal sense of equilibrium.

Anetra blinked, but kept walking.

Then it was Sugar and Spice.

The twins were perched on a pair of barrels, slicing dried fruit and bickering about who had forgotten to restock the cinnamon. Their arguing stopped the moment Anetra came near. Sugar elbowed Spice, gently, for once, and Spice gave Anetra a sly, sideways smile.

“So you’re finally one of us, huh?” Sugar asked, her voice sing-song.

“I guess that means we don’t have to keep pretending we don’t like you,” Spice added, throwing a piece of mango into her mouth.

“Not that we didn’t like you,” Sugar clarified. “We just didn’t know if we were supposed to.”

Spice shrugged. “Now we know.”

Anetra opened her mouth, then shut it again.

The hell was happening?

She kept moving.

Marcia passed her next, humming something breezy under her breath, arms full of linens. “Welcome to the dark side, baby,” she said with a wink, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Took you long enough.”

Even Salina, Salina, who had side-eyed Anetra more than once, and whose version of ‘cordial’ was usually a grunt and a nod, tilted her chin in a kind of casual salute as Anetra passed. “We figured it was coming,” she said simply, like she was discussing the weather.

Luxx, too, spotted her from up at the lookout and hollered something unintelligible but distinctly pleased before returning to her telescope.

And then there was Jax.

Jax approached while Anetra was pulling a coil of rope into order, silent until she was standing a foot away. Her boots thudded lightly on the deck, arms crossed over her chest in her usual cool, unreadable stance. She watched Anetra for a beat, long and thoughtful, then smirked.

“I knew it.”

Anetra raised an eyebrow. “Knew what?”

“That you weren’t just passing through,” Jax said. “Takes one to know one.”

“One what?”

Jax grinned. “Runaway. From something big.”

Anetra didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. Because Jax was right. And they both knew it.

She looked around again.

Everywhere she turned, there was warmth, not over-the-top, not the saccharine sort, but something real. Nods. Grins. Elbows to the ribs. The kind of camaraderie you couldn’t fake, the kind that came from people who had known, maybe from the start, that Anetra wasn’t going to be their enemy forever.

And now, she wasn’t.

She was their crew mate.

Later that day, she found herself at the helm, checking knots near the wheel, when Irene sauntered over, sipping something that steamed from a battered tin cup.

“So,” Irene said, swirling the drink, “what’s it like to be on the correct side of history?”

Anetra rolled her eyes. “You gonna give me shit about it?”

Irene grinned. “Nope. Gonna say I’m glad you’re here.”

Anetra paused. That one hit a little deeper than she expected.

“…Thanks.”

Irene nudged her shoulder, just lightly. “Takes guts. Not everyone can drop a legacy like that and start over. You did. That means something.”

Anetra swallowed hard, blinking into the wind.

The thing was… She’d been ready for resentment. For suspicion. Maybe even rejection. She’d expected to be put through trials, forced to prove herself again and again, to grovel and bleed and claw for acceptance.

Instead, she was… Welcomed.

And not because she’d been useful. Not because she’d earned it with intel. But because, somehow, they’d all known she’d been walking the line for weeks. And they’d been waiting, patiently, for her to choose.

And now that she had?

They celebrated.

She wasn’t sure what to do with that.

All her life in the navy, loyalty was something you proved with obedience. With silence. With clean boots and perfect posture. With orders followed without question and pride swallowed whole. It was something you owed, not something you gave freely.

But here, on this mad, defiant, impossible ship, loyalty was earned and offered. A two-way street.

And maybe that’s what was undoing her, slowly, piece by piece.

Not the smiles. Not the laughter. Not even the trust.

But the ease. The way they made room for her, like she’d always belonged.

By dusk, when Sasha appeared at the helm again, coat whipping in the wind and expression unreadable as she scanned the horizon, Anetra stood beside her without hesitation. No tension in her shoulders. No fear in her voice.
Sasha glanced over once, a flicker of something fond in her eyes.

“Looks like they’ve all made up their minds,” she murmured.

Anetra raised a brow. “About what?”

“You.”

Anetra paused.

“And?”

Sasha’s lips curled, just a little. “They like you.”

A beat.

“I like you.”

Anetra didn’t look away from the sea, but her smile was real, quiet, and full of something that felt very much like peace.

For the first time in a long, long while… She was exactly where she was meant to be.

It happened in the late afternoon, just as the sun had started its slow descent toward the horizon, spilling gold over the endless spread of ocean. The light caught the sails like fire and danced on the waves in liquid ribbons. Anetra was leaning against the railing on the starboard side, hands loosely clasped as the wind toyed with her loose strands of hair. She’d just finished her task for the day, patching up one of the torn sails, and was indulging in the rare moment of quiet.

She didn’t hear Sasha approach at first.

The captain moved quietly when she wanted to, Anetra had learned that already. It was part of what made her such a force: Sasha Colby knew how to command attention, but she also knew when to slip in under the radar. The rustle of her coat, the soft knock of her boot against a wooden plank, that was what finally drew Anetra’s eye.

“You have a moment?” Sasha asked, her tone unreadable, but her gaze direct.

Anetra nodded, curious but cautious. “Sure.”

Sasha gestured with a tilt of her head. “Walk with me.”

They walked without speaking at first. Down the deck, past Spice practicing knife throws against a barrel and Luxx sprawled on her back on a stack of crates, eyes shielded from the sun by one hand. Past Salina humming under her breath as she coiled ropes, and Robin Fierce examining the sky with the faintly amused look of someone who didn’t quite trust the weather to behave.

They descended the steps to the lower deck, where things were quieter. Cooler. The sound of the ocean softened by thick wood and shadows. Sasha led her past the mess area, past the crew’s bunks, until they stopped in front of a small door set into the side of the hall. It was painted a soft, muted green, aged and chipped at the edges, but carefully maintained. It was the only door Anetra had never opened, never passed through.

Sasha turned to her.

“She’s in here,” she said, quieter now. “If you want to meet her.”

Anetra’s breath caught. “Kerri?”

Sasha nodded.

“She knows about you. A little. Enough to be curious. But I didn’t push. I figured it was time… If you were ready.”

Anetra hesitated.

Not because she didn’t want to meet her. But because this, this felt sacred.

Different. This wasn’t about strategy, or battle plans, or loyalty oaths. This was Sasha giving her something… Personal.

This was Sasha offering her family.

She nodded.

Sasha knocked gently, two quick taps, and opened the door without waiting for a response. She stepped in first, and Anetra followed.

The room was small, but filled with light. There were three windows cracked open to let in the breeze, and a hammock swaying gently in the corner, draped with colorful blankets. Books were stacked in uneven towers beside a narrow desk. Bundles of dried herbs and pressed flowers hung from strings along the walls, their scents blending together into something soft and earthy. The place smelled like lavender, parchment, salt.

At the desk, a girl sat with her back to them, scribbling furiously into a notebook. Her hair was thick and dark, curling softly down her back, and her shoulders hunched in concentration.

“Kerri,” Sasha said gently.

The girl turned.

Her eyes were wide and strikingly clear, a shade of brown that gleamed almost amber in the light. She looked like Sasha, there was no question. The same cheekbones. The same elegant poise in how she sat, even casually. But her youth was all her own, fifteen years and already burning bright.

She looked at Anetra without fear. Without suspicion. Just calm curiosity.

“This is Anetra,” Sasha said softly. “She’s… part of the crew now.”

Kerri tilted her head slightly, studying her. “The one from the navy?”

Anetra cleared her throat. “Yeah. That’s me.”

Kerri stood slowly, barefoot and unhurried, then walked over. She didn’t extend her hand, just looked up at Anetra, eyes sharp, measuring.

“You’ve been here a while,” she said, matter-of-fact. “Everyone talks about you.”

Anetra blinked. “Do they?”

“Mm-hm. Sugar said you’re quiet but cool. Luxx said you’ve got ‘hot idiot energy’, whatever that means. And Jax said you’re better at knots than most of the others.”

Sasha sighed, clearly trying not to laugh. “I’m going to have a word with Luxx.”

Kerri smiled then, bright and effortless, the kind that lit up the whole room.

“I think it’s cool you’re staying,” she said to Anetra. “Most people don’t. They get scared. Or greedy. Or they think we’re just a bunch of criminals.”

Anetra crouched slightly, bringing herself to eye level.

“I thought that once,” she said honestly. “Not anymore.”

Kerri’s smile softened, and for a second, she looked like a child again, young, bright, full of hope. She reached over to the desk and picked up a pressed flower, placing it carefully into a blank page of her notebook.

“This one’s from the Isle of Whispers,” she said. “We stopped there a few months ago. No one else wanted to go ashore, but there’s a plant there that glows blue at night. I stayed up to watch it. It was the best night of my life.”

Sasha’s voice was warm. “She stayed up so late I had to carry her back to the ship.”

“I wasn’t asleep,” Kerri protested.

“You were snoring.”

Kerri stuck out her tongue, and Sasha laughed, really laughed, the sound low and full and real.

Anetra felt something pull tight in her chest.

She hadn’t expected this. The quiet intimacy. The way the light glinted in Kerri’s hair. The ease with which Sasha moved in this space, like she wasn’t a fearsome pirate captain at all, just a mother who had carved a life out of chaos with her bare hands and was trying, against all odds, to keep it gentle for her daughter.

Kerri flopped back into the hammock, kicking her feet up.

“You can come by whenever,” she said to Anetra. “I like having someone new to talk to. Just… don’t touch the pressed mushrooms. They’re really delicate.”

Anetra raised both hands. “No mushroom-touching. Got it.”

Sasha touched her elbow gently, guiding her back toward the door. “She has a lot of questions. Don’t be surprised if she corners you with twenty the next time she sees you.”

“I think I can handle it,” Anetra said.

When they stepped back out into the corridor, Sasha shut the door quietly behind them, leaning against it with a sigh.

“I was scared you wouldn’t want to meet her,” she admitted after a moment.
Anetra turned to her. “Why would you think that?”

Sasha didn’t look away. “Because this… This is the part of me that isn’t the legend. It’s not the swords or the battles or the stolen gold. It’s just me. And her. And everything I’ve tried to protect.”

Anetra was quiet for a long moment.

Then she said, with quiet certainty, “I’m glad you showed me.”

And she meant it. With everything in her.

They stood there in the dim corridor for a moment, just the two of them,wrapped in the quiet hum of the ship’s heartbeat. The wood creaked beneath their feet as the gentle sway of the sea rolled under them, and the scent of salt and lavender still clung faintly to Anetra’s clothes from Kerri’s room.

Sasha hadn’t moved from where she leaned against the door, arms crossed, her gaze distant. Not cold, never that, but careful. Still. Watchful. Anetra had seen Sasha face cannon fire without blinking, seen her cut through tension with nothing but a flick of her voice. But here, now, she seemed… hesitant. Like she’d opened a door far more intimate than the one behind her.

Anetra stared at her for a long moment, and something bloomed in her chest. A slow, warm ache, like sunlight behind her ribs.

She wasn’t sure what it was, exactly, only that it was big. Bigger than duty. Bigger than the title she used to carry. Bigger than the weight she’d dragged onto this ship.

So she stepped closer. No words yet. Just movement.

And she wrapped her arms around Sasha Colby.

It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t rough or desperate. Just… honest. Two arms around a woman who had let her into something sacred. A gesture that said: ‘I see you. I see what you’re protecting. And thank you for trusting me with it.’
At first, Sasha stiffened.

That was the thing about her, command was sewn into her bones. She didn’t expect comfort. Didn’t lean into vulnerability. Didn’t seek softness unless it was for someone else, someone she loved fiercely. But this… this was new.
She hesitated for the length of a breath.

And then her arms came up, slowly, settling around Anetra’s back. Strong. Grounded. There was a quiet exhale against Anetra’s neck, and Sasha melted just enough, not collapsing, but leaning. Letting herself be held.

Anetra closed her eyes.

She hadn’t hugged anyone in years. Not like this. Not without armor, not without duty hanging between her and the other person like a curtain of expectation. But this, this was different. Sasha didn’t ask for it. She didn’t demand it. She didn’t expect anything.

And somehow, that made it mean more.

“I mean it,” Anetra said, voice rough with something she couldn’t quite name. “Thank you. For showing me Kerri. For trusting me.”

Sasha pulled back just enough to meet her eyes.

“You didn’t have to thank me for that.”

“Yeah, I did,” Anetra said. “You didn’t have to let me in. Not just to her. But… To you. And you did.”

Sasha’s expression softened. There was something behind her eyes now, something deeper than amusement, more vulnerable than pride.

“You’ve already seen more of me than most people ever will,” she said softly “You’ve seen me angry. Cold. Ruthless. And now… this.”

“And I still want to be here,” Anetra replied, dead honest.

That truth hung between them like a thread of gold.

Sasha nodded slowly. “I know.”

They lingered like that, close, quiet, grounded in the moment, until the rhythm of the ship and the hush of the sea folded around them again.

Then, gently, Sasha stepped back. The warmth in her eyes hadn’t dimmed, but there was something steadier in her posture now. A return of the captain, tempered by something more personal. Something unspoken but shared.

“I should get back up to the deck,” Sasha said, clearing her throat. “Salina’s got the crew doing drills and if I’m not there, they’re going to try and tie Sugar to the mast again.”

Anetra gave a half-smile. “Was she the one who put salt in the rum last time?”

“Allegedly.”

They both chuckled, quiet and easy, and something loosened in Anetra’s chest again.

“Come up when you’re ready,” Sasha added. “No rush.”

She turned to go, boots light against the wooden floor, coat swaying at her calves like it always did.

But before she disappeared up the stairwell, she looked back over her shoulder.

“Thanks for hugging me,” she said softly. “It’s been a long time.”

Anetra didn’t answer right away. Just nodded.

And in the quiet that followed, she stood in the hallway alone, bathed in the afterglow of something fragile and real.

She hadn’t just crossed a line. She hadn’t just made a choice.

She’d found something.

A place. A connection.

And maybe, just maybe, a future.

Chapter Text

The air shifted.

Even before the lookout’s voice rang out from the crow’s nest, Anetra had felt it, that subtle tension that wrapped itself around the rigging, slipped into the wind, and coiled in the pit of her stomach like a storm building behind her ribs.

The ship was coming.

The navy vessel, the one they'd misjudged by days, the one she had once called an ally, it was real now. No longer a distant problem, no longer an unconfirmed rumor carried on the tides. It was out there, bearing down on them like a slow, relentless promise.

The crew responded before the first bell could even echo down from above.
Luxx Noir London dropped her paintbrush mid-stroke, the design she’d been painting onto one of the spare sails abandoned in half-finished blues and golds. Jax snapped upright from her seat on a crate, tension curling in her spine like a bow drawn tight. Sugar and Spice exchanged a look across the deck, their identical faces suddenly stripped of mischief. Robin Fierce muttered something low under her breath, already slipping off her jewelry, her version of armor shedding.

Salina was the first to move, shouting something sharp and commanding that rippled through the crew like a wave, activating their bodies with muscle memory and adrenaline.

Ropes were pulled. Barrels were rolled to their designated points. Cannons checked, loaded, aimed.

This wasn’t the first time this crew had prepared for a fight, but this time felt different. Heavier. Because this time, Anetra wasn’t watching from the enemy deck. She was in it now. On their side.

Sasha appeared not long after the alarm, her coat catching the wind, her hair pulled back and out of her face in one smooth, practiced motion. Her face was steel, but her eyes, when they found Anetra, flickered with something else. Not fear. Not even doubt.

Readiness.

“We have hours,” Sasha said calmly, walking up to Anetra where she stood near the helm. “They’re still miles out. But they’re making good speed.”

Anetra nodded, heart thudding against her ribs. “What’s the plan?”

“That depends,” Sasha replied. “On what kind of captain they’ve sent.”

“If it’s Commander Vesper as I guessed,” Anetra muttered, “she won’t wait to talk. She’ll fire first.”

Sasha’s jaw tightened slightly, but she said nothing.

The sky had begun to shift, golden warmth giving way to colder hues as the sun sank lower. The wind, too, had changed, it still held the sea’s salt, but with an edge now, like something slicing beneath the surface.

Sasha gave the orders, precise and efficient, and her crew responded with the kind of devotion that came from trust built over blood and salt and time.

Loosey Laduca worked her way along the port side, barking instructions with the severity of a drill sergeant. “Get that sail tighter or I’ll tie you up myself and see if you can do better in the wind!”

Aura Mayari and Irene Dubois were hauling crates of ammunition with surprising ease, bickering the entire time about the best way to preserve cannon powder in a salt-heavy environment. Amethyst, barefoot and soot-smeared, darted between them with a grin, lighting fuses just to ‘test the sparks.’

But the undertone beneath it all was focused. Tight. They were laughing, yes, but it wasn’t carefree. It was the laughter of people who knew how close they stood to the edge.

Jax appeared at Anetra’s side with two cutlasses, offering one without a word.
Anetra took it without hesitation. The grip was worn, the blade old, but cared for. Reliable. Like the crew.

“You good?” Jax asked, squinting at her under the tilt of her hood.

Anetra shrugged, giving the sword a testing swing. “I’ve had worse days.”

Jax grinned. “Same.”

Kerri was kept below decks, Sasha made that very clear. No arguments. No exceptions. It was the only thing Sasha insisted on with no room for debate.

Marcia had taken that duty, sitting with her just outside the powder hold with a deck of cards and a sharp eye on the stairs. Anetra had seen the quiet fury in Sasha’s face when she ordered it, the unspoken promise: ‘if they get past me… they will not get past you.’

As night fell, lanterns were lit, not many, just enough to navigate the deck. They didn’t want to give the ship on the horizon more than it needed to see. They’d keep the shadows, use them as allies.

Anetra took a moment away from the bustle, stepping near the edge of the ship and staring into the night. The wind played with her hair, tugged at her sleeves.

The stars were just beginning to appear.

The last time she’d looked up at the sky like this, she’d been on a navy ship, alone, steady in her mission. She hadn’t questioned the cause, hadn’t questioned herself.

Now… everything was different.

She could still hear the orders being called behind her. The soft grunts of effort, the metallic chime of weapons being sharpened. But beyond it, under it, she felt something else.

Loyalty.

Not demanded. Not imposed. Earned.

Anetra turned and looked back at them. All of them.

Sugar rolling her eyes at her sister’s complaints. Spice tugging at the rigging with grit and determination. Salina snapping at someone to ‘stop acting like they’ve got seaweed for brains.’ Irene and Aura now calmly assembling barrels of pitch. Robin Fierce brushing dust from her sleeves with regal grace, even in battle prep. Luxx balancing a dagger on one finger and saying, “Let them come, I’m bored.”

They weren’t just pirates.

They were people. Fighters. Survivors. Family.

And she was one of them.

Sasha came to stand beside her again, quiet for a long moment.

“They’ll fire a warning shot,” Anetra said quietly. “Unless Vesper is feeling dramatic.”

“We’ll be ready,” Sasha replied.

“I know,” Anetra said.

She meant it.

The sea rolled below, endless and dark. The stars watched from above. And the storm, the real one, was coming fast.

But Anetra, standing shoulder to shoulder with Sasha Colby and the crew of the fiercest ship she’d ever known, didn’t feel like she was about to drown.

She felt like she might fight.

The stars shifted slowly overhead, silent witnesses to the storm brewing not in the clouds, but within Anetra herself.

She stood at the stern of the ship, her arms resting against the worn wooden rail, fingers curling into the salt-slick grain. Below, the ocean whispered its secrets, waves brushing against the hull like steady, rhythmic breath. Behind her, the crew moved like clockwork, laughter and tension braided together in a strange harmony as they prepared for the possible battle.

She should’ve been focused. Should’ve had her thoughts fixed on the navy ship drawing closer by the hour, on drills, on tactics, on survival.

Instead, her mind kept looping the same question over and over: ‘What happens when they find me?’

The navy. Her old ship. The king’s men. The crown.

The people who had trusted her. Who had raised her up through their ranks, who had told her she was a prodigy, a model of service, honor, loyalty.

‘What will they do to me now?’

Anetra exhaled slowly through her nose, the breath catching in her chest. Treason was no small thing. Treason, especially her kind of treason, was the kind that didn’t come with trials. It came with rope. With chains. With whispered disgrace and silent erasure.

The sea didn’t care about politics, but men did. Kings did.

And even if she fought against them now, even if she fought for something, for someone she believed in more than she had ever believed in the crown… it wouldn’t matter to them.

‘They’ll call me traitor.’

Her fists tightened around the rail.

A footfall behind her was the only warning before Sasha appeared at her side again, this time quiet, casual, not announcing herself as a captain or a pirate, but simply as a person. As someone who had learned the rhythms of Anetra’s silences and knew when to lean in, when to leave space.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just stood beside her, looking out at the horizon like it owed her something.

“The wind’s shifting,” Sasha said after a long while. Her voice was quiet, calm, almost like she didn’t want to disturb the sea. “Storm’s still holding off. But it won’t wait forever.”

Anetra gave a soft grunt. “Neither will they.”

Sasha looked sideways at her, eyes catching the faint gleam of lantern light. “You’re thinking about what happens if they catch you.”

It wasn’t a question. Anetra didn’t bother pretending.

“Yeah,” she said. Her voice was flat, but honest. “I can feel it in my chest. Like… like a rope slowly wrapping around me. Like the noose is already there, just waiting for the final tug.”

Sasha nodded slightly. Not dismissing. Not placating. Just acknowledging.
“It’s a hard thing,” she murmured. “Turning your back on what raised you. I remember the first time I let go of something like that, it felt like ripping off my own skin.”

Anetra turned her head, surprised.

Sasha’s eyes were distant, the wind playing softly through a few loose strands of her hair. “The island I was born on, the house I came from, it was clean, respectable. Orderly. My father was nothing if not loyal to a name. To rules. To the right way of doing things. I was supposed to be just like them. A fine lady. Maybe marry a man with gold. Produce heirs. Smile.”

She let out a breath that sounded like a laugh, except it wasn’t funny.

“When I first ran,” she continued, “I told myself I’d never miss any of it. But some nights? I’d still dream of it. Not the comfort. Not the people. Just… the safety. The illusion that everything was simple.”

Anetra didn’t say anything. She just listened.

“But it wasn’t simple,” Sasha said. “It never was. And I realized something: I wasn’t scared of being hunted, or hated. I was scared of becoming someone who didn’t know who she was without someone else's rules to follow.”

Her eyes found Anetra’s again.

“You’re not weak for feeling scared. You're not selfish for grieving what you lost. But you’re not wrong either, Anetra. You made a choice. A brave one. And no matter what happens… you are not alone in it.”

Anetra swallowed hard. The knot in her chest loosened, just a little.

“I still think about the day they find me,” she admitted, her voice barely above the wind. “What they’ll do. What they’ll say.”

“They’ll call you a traitor,” Sasha said simply. “They’ll try to shame you. Make you feel small. Try to erase everything you’ve done here, everything you’ve become.”

Anetra looked down, brows furrowed, jaw clenched.

“But let me tell you something.” Sasha leaned in slightly, her voice soft, but steady like stone. “I’ve fought against cowards. Against monsters. Against tyrants hiding behind polished crowns. And you? You’re none of those. You are braver than they ever were. You walked through fire and made a choice most people wouldn’t even consider.” She paused. Then, quietly: “I would fight the whole navy for you.”

Anetra’s breath caught.

Sasha didn’t flinch. “And I’m not the only one. Every single person on this ship, every laugh you’ve heard, every hand that’s worked beside you, they would too. You’ve earned that. Not with words. With actions.”

There was a silence that followed, not empty, but full. Charged.

And then, slowly, like she wasn’t sure she was even doing it, Anetra reached over and laid her hand over Sasha’s on the rail.

The gesture was small. Quiet. But it carried the weight of everything she couldn’t say.

‘Thank you. I’m scared. I trust you. I want to be brave, too.’

Sasha squeezed her hand, once. Firm.

“We’ll get through this,” she said. “And when that ship gets here… we’ll show them who you are now.”

Anetra nodded, and the knot in her chest loosened just a little more.

She didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. But for the first time since she’d watched her old ship sink beneath the sea, she felt something close to peace.

Not because she had no fear.

But because she wasn’t facing it alone.

The ship moved like a living thing beneath her feet, creaking and groaning with the pressure of preparation, of tension, of the storm of violence edging closer with every tick of the clock. But for a moment, just a moment, Anetra was away from all of it.

The sun had set, the world steeped in dusky twilight, and the lanterns along the deck glowed like fireflies in the dark. The sky above was cloudless, but the sea still carried the weight of an approaching clash. Everyone knew it was only a matter of time now. They were ready. Or, they were trying to be.

Anetra was making her way across the lower deck, checking on the last rounds of supply movement, when she heard the quiet voice behind her.

“Anetra?”

She turned.

Kerri.

She stood in the shadow of one of the bulkheads, half-lit by the flickering lantern hanging above her head. Her dark curls were pulled back loosely, and her hands were curled nervously in the hem of her tunic. She looked even younger than her fifteen years in that moment, not because of her age, but because of the fear she was trying so hard not to let show.

Anetra straightened, instinctively softening her expression. “Hey.”

Kerri stepped closer, not quite looking her in the eye. “Are you going up…? To the deck, I mean. When it happens?”

Anetra hesitated. Her hand instinctively brushed the hilt of the cutlass belted at her side. “That was the plan.”

Kerri nodded slowly, but didn’t say anything for a beat. Her mouth opened like she might speak, then closed again.

It was only when Anetra tilted her head slightly, eyebrows raised in quiet encouragement, that she finally murmured, “I was wondering if… maybe you could stay down here. With me.”

The words dropped like a stone in Anetra’s chest.

Kerri looked up quickly, as if afraid she’d said something wrong. “I- I know you probably want to be up there. Helping. You’re good with a blade, and everyone trusts you now, and you’ve been so, so brave about all of this. But I just… I don’t know…”

She trailed off, biting her bottom lip. She wasn’t crying. But the fear was there, tightening her voice like a chord strung too taut.

Anetra knelt slightly so they were on eye level. “You scared?”

Kerri hesitated. Then, in a whisper: “Yes.”

The truth of it hit Anetra hard, not because Kerri was weak, but because she wasn’t. Because she’d seen this girl handle herself with maturity and poise that most adults couldn’t summon. Because it reminded her that no matter how tough Kerri acted, she was still a kid. Still Sasha’s kid. Still someone caught in the middle of something she didn’t ask for.

Anetra exhaled slowly. “You want me to stay here with you?”

Kerri nodded, a tiny movement. “I know I’m not supposed to ask. I know the crew needs you, and Mom, she trusts you up there. But… if something happens…” She looked down. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Anetra stood slowly and, without needing to think about it, reached for her hand. “Come on. Let’s talk to your mom.”

Sasha was in the middle of speaking with Luxx and Salina near the helm when Anetra approached. Her eyes flicked up at once, sharp as always, but softened when she saw Kerri behind her.

Anetra gave her a look, quiet, serious, but gentle. A look that said: ‘It’s not an emergency, but it’s important.’

Sasha excused herself, murmured something to Salina, and stepped away with them.

They stood at the edge of the quarterdeck, the ocean stretching dark and wide behind them. The crew moved in tense choreography around them, but this moment felt still, somehow.

“She wants me to stay below with her,” Anetra said without dancing around it. “When the navy gets close.”

Sasha blinked, surprised, only for a heartbeat, and then looked at her daughter.

Kerri didn’t flinch under her gaze, but she looked… guilty. “Just during the worst of it,” she said. “I don’t want to get in the way. I just… I’d feel safer. With her.”

Sasha’s eyes didn’t leave hers. Something passed between them, something deep and full of memory. Of promises kept and broken and kept again.

Finally, Sasha exhaled, and turned to Anetra. “Will you protect her?”

Anetra didn’t hesitate. “With everything I have.”

Sasha nodded once. The smallest motion. But in that one nod was trust. Was weight. Was the handing over of the most important thing in her world.

“Then yes,” she said softly. “Stay with her. The crew will understand.”

Kerri’s relief was palpable, even if she tried to hide it. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Sasha’s waist. Sasha embraced her tightly, burying her face in Kerri’s hair.

Anetra looked away, giving them the moment.

After a beat, Sasha turned to her, one hand still resting protectively on Kerri’s back.

“She’s not as scared of cannon fire as she is of silence,” Sasha said quietly. “It’s the waiting that gets her.”

Anetra nodded. “I get that.”

They exchanged a look. Not tense, not emotional, steady. There was a shared understanding now. A new layer of connection forged not in passion or conflict, but in the quiet choice of care.

“Stay with her until the morning,” Sasha said, touching Anetra’s arm briefly. “If anything changes… I’ll come to you.”

Anetra nodded.

And then, without words, she and Kerri turned, hand in hand, and made their way below deck.

The space below was dim and close, warm with the smell of salt, wood, and the faint lingering smoke of pitch. The lanterns swayed slightly with the ship’s motion, casting slow-moving shadows across the walls.

Anetra found a small alcove near the sleeping quarters, tucked just far enough into the hold to feel safe, but close enough to the hallway that they’d hear if anything happened.

Kerri sat cross-legged on the floor beside her, shoulders brushing, their backs against a support beam. Neither of them spoke for a while.

Eventually, Kerri whispered, “Thank you. For staying.”

Anetra looked at her, eyes soft. “Anytime.”

They sat in silence again, the kind of silence that wasn’t empty, but rather, full. Full of unspoken fears. Full of shared stillness. Full of a strange new bond that neither had expected, but both felt growing with each breath.

The ship rocked. Outside, the sea waited. So did the navy. So did the battle.
But for now, below the deck, where the creak of the timbers was the only sound, Anetra sat with the daughter of the pirate she once swore to destroy.

And in that moment, she wasn’t a traitor. Or a marine. Or a captive.

She was a shield. A promise.

A protector.

Chapter Text

The first sound was a distant thump, dull, bone-deep, like something massive had struck the water and rippled through the hull. It wasn’t much at first. Just enough to still the breath in Anetra’s lungs. Just enough to make Kerri lean in closer to her side.

Then came the second.

A crack, sharp and sudden, wood splintering from above. Cannon fire. Close. Too close.

Kerri flinched before she could stop herself. Anetra instinctively wrapped an arm around her, drawing her in tight against her side, bracing herself against the support beam behind them as the ship groaned under the pressure.

The low deck was dim and cramped, lit only by the single lantern swaying overhead. Its flame danced erratically with the sudden jerks of the ship’s movement, shadows flickering wildly across the wood like ghosts rising from the planks.

Anetra's eyes didn’t leave the ceiling, even though she couldn’t see anything. Her body was rigid, muscles straining with the effort to stay calm, to stay ready.

“They’re here, aren’t they?” Kerri whispered.

Anetra didn’t lie. “Yeah.”

Another boom sounded, closer this time. The ship shuddered. Dust shook free from the beams above, sprinkling down like ash.

Then the sounds began to rise.

Not cannon fire now, but yelling.

Footsteps.

Shouts of orders, both Sasha’s voice, sharp, clear, unwavering, and others from the crew, answering her, moving fast. Metal scraped against wood. Swords were being drawn. Bootsteps thundered across the deck.

Then, clashing steel.

The unmistakable ring of blade meeting blade.

Kerri curled tighter into Anetra, and Anetra tightened her arm around the girl instinctively. She lowered her mouth close to Kerri’s ear.

“They’re holding the line,” she murmured. “They’ve trained for this. They knew it was coming.”

Kerri nodded, but her hands had gone cold in Anetra’s. Her breath came fast, shallow.

And then, a scream. Not close, but close enough.

Anetra closed her eyes for a brief moment and focused on every sound. She could tell from the pitch, the rhythm of the clash, it wasn’t disorganized. Sasha’s crew was fighting smart. She could hear Luxx calling out positions. Robin’s voice barking something sharp and strategic. Loosey’s voice cut through the fray with a guttural yell that had the weight of a war cry. They weren’t falling apart.

They were holding.

But so was the navy.

Anetra heard the clamor of iron boots, the clang of formal armor against Sasha’s lighter pirate leather and cloth. The navy fought hard, but predictable. By the book.

That might be their downfall.

But still, the storm above was chaos. A chorus of violence, every sound bristling with risk.

Kerri’s fingers clutched tighter at Anetra’s arm. “I hate this,” she whispered. “I hate waiting.”

“I know,” Anetra said, voice low but steady. “I do too.”

She remembered being on the other side of this once. Sword in hand. Purpose in her chest like fire. She remembered storms and boarding parties, charging across gangplanks to seize pirate vessels. She remembered the thrill and terror of war.

But this time, she wasn’t at the front.

This time, she was here, where she chose to be. With Kerri. With someone who needed her. With the one person who didn’t need her to fight, but to stay.

The clash above grew louder, closer. More footsteps. More boots. Anetra heard a body fall above, hard, and instinctively reached for the cutlass at her hip.

“Anetra,” Kerri whispered, panicked. “What if they come down here?”

Anetra looked her dead in the eye, her voice suddenly like steel. “Then I make sure they don’t take a single step past that door.”

Kerri stared at her, wide-eyed, but nodded. Anetra could feel her heart pounding through the girl’s back where they touched. And under her own ribs, the same rhythm echoed, steady, strong.

She wasn’t going anywhere.

Even if it meant drawing blood. Even if it meant facing her old comrades.

Another yell from above. This one, familiar.

Sasha.

Anetra tensed. It wasn’t a cry of pain. It was a command. Sharp and furious. But it meant she was still standing. Still fighting.

Kerri flinched at the sound, then whispered, “I hate hearing her up there.”

“She’s good,” Anetra murmured. “She’s the best I’ve ever seen. Your mom’s not just strong, she’s smart. She’ll be okay.”

“…But what if she’s not?”

Anetra looked at her. The fear in Kerri’s voice was a blade, slicing through all her own doubts and guilt. She wasn’t a soldier in this moment. She was something more vital. Something more fragile.

A promise.

She knelt in front of Kerri, cupping her shoulders gently. “If anything happens,” she said softly, “I will get you out. Do you understand me?”

Kerri stared at her, silent.

“I don’t care what I have to do. I don’t care if I have to jump into the ocean with you in my arms. If this ship sinks or burns or anything in between, you will be safe. I swear it.”

Kerri nodded slowly, trying to be brave.

But then, something shifted above.

The sound of boots descending the main stairs. A thud. Wood creaking. A door slamming open somewhere up the hall.

Someone was coming below.

Anetra stood, sword already drawn, her body tense and ready.

She moved between Kerri and the hallway without hesitation, her stance sure and steady. She raised her voice just enough to carry down the narrow passage.

“One more step, and I take your leg.”

The footsteps froze.

Silence.

“It’s just me!” came the familiar voice of Jax, panting.

Anetra exhaled sharply through her nose and lowered her blade, but only slightly.

Jax rounded the corner, sweat streaking her brow, one side of her jacket torn. “They tried the port side. We’re holding. But I came to check on you two.”

Anetra looked her over, assessing quickly. “You good?”

“Still standing,” Jax said, with a grin that was more adrenaline than joy. “Luxx told me to find you. Said to tell you Sasha’s fine, and they’re pushing them back.”

Kerri let out a breath that sounded like it had been held for years.

Anetra nodded once. “Good.”

Jax glanced at Kerri. “How’s she holding up?”

“Tougher than she looks,” Anetra said, without even a trace of sarcasm. “But we’ll stay here. In case they break the line.”

Jax nodded, clapped Anetra’s shoulder. “We’ll keep ‘em from getting that far.”

And with that, she disappeared back into the fray.

Anetra turned back to Kerri, who was looking at her with something deeper than relief. Something like trust. Like belief.

Outside, the battle raged on.

But down here, in this little corner of the world, Anetra held the line. And she would not let it break.

For a brief moment after Jax’s footsteps faded back up the stairwell, there was a fragile sense of quiet, broken only by the muffled shouts and metallic clashes above deck. Anetra stayed where she was, sword lowered but still in her grip, her body angled just enough to keep herself between Kerri and the hallway.
The lantern overhead flickered, casting her shadow long across the wooden planks.

Kerri’s breathing had finally evened out again. She had her knees pulled up to her chest, her arms wrapped tight around them as she leaned against the wall. There was a brave edge to her stillness, but beneath it, Anetra could see the fear lingering, buried but not gone.

“You meant what you said earlier, right?” Kerri asked softly after a moment.
Anetra didn’t look back. “Every word.”

Kerri nodded, her gaze falling to the cutlass in Anetra’s hand. The blade glinted faintly in the low light.

“How many times have you done this?” Kerri’s voice was quieter now. “Protected people.”

Anetra’s jaw tightened. “Not enough.”

The words were true, heavy with guilt she rarely let herself acknowledge. She had spent years protecting a kingdom, not people. And now, here she was, sword drawn for the first time in the right cause, ready to defend something that mattered.

Someone that mattered.

She didn’t regret her choice.

But fear still gnawed at the edges of her thoughts, fear of what waited above, fear of who might come looking for her now that her betrayal wasn’t just a suspicion but a truth.

The next set of footsteps came slower.

Heavy. Familiar.

Anetra stiffened instantly, every muscle in her body locking into place.

No running now. No hiding.

She knew that stride, the steady, deliberate pace of someone who moved with confidence because they knew no one would stand in their way. The sound alone dragged her back into old memories of stone halls, drills at dawn, and sharp commands she never questioned.

She shifted her stance, hand tightening around her sword.

Kerri looked up at her sharply. “Who is it?”

Anetra didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

A figure appeared in the doorway, a tall silhouette framed by dim light from the passageway behind. Broad shoulders. Armor polished to a shine even after battle. And those sharp, calculating eyes that had once assessed Anetra’s every move with ruthless precision.

Commander Vesper. Her old supervisor. Her mentor. The woman who had once molded her into the weapon the navy wanted her to be.

For a brief second, neither of them spoke.

Vesper’s gaze swept the small space with practiced efficiency, lingering on Anetra first, then the drawn sword, then Kerri tucked behind her.

The recognition in her eyes was slow, like watching ice spread across still water.

“Anetra,” Vesper said at last, voice low, steady. The same voice that had barked orders across the training grounds, the same voice that had once praised Anetra for her ruthless discipline.

Only now it was sharper. Colder.

“I should have known you were still alive.”

Anetra’s grip tightened on the sword, her body tense but controlled. “You shouldn’t be here.”

A faint, humorless smile tugged at Vesper’s lips as she stepped fully into the room, boots hitting the wood with practiced authority. “I should say the same to you.”

Her eyes flicked toward Kerri again, curiosity narrowing into something sharper, calculating, dangerous.

“And who’s this?” Vesper asked, tilting her head. “A prisoner? Or… something more valuable?”

Anetra didn’t move.

“Leave her out of this.”

Vesper’s brow arched with interest at Anetra’s tone, firm, protective in a way Vesper hadn’t heard from her before.

“Her?” Vesper’s eyes slid back to Kerri, narrowing in thought as she seemed to piece something together. “Young. Hidden below deck during a battle. Far too guarded to be just another stray.”

And then, realization flickered across her face, sharp and dangerous.

“Colby has a daughter.”

The words were soft, but they landed like cannon fire.

Anetra’s blood ran cold, but she held her ground.

Vesper took a slow step forward. “So that’s it. The infamous Sasha Colby’s little secret.” Her gaze flicked back to Anetra. “And you, guarding her like some kind of loyal hound.”

Anetra’s jaw clenched. “If you’re smart, you’ll turn around and walk away.”
Vesper’s laugh was quiet, amused in that cruel, knowing way Anetra had always hated.

“Loyalty looks good on you,” she said. “Shame you’ve chosen to waste it.”

Her hand moved to the sword at her hip, fingers curling around the hilt with an ease that sent something icy down Anetra’s spine.

“You know what the king will do to you for this, don’t you? Harboring his greatest enemy’s child? Betraying everything you swore to protect?”

Anetra didn’t flinch. “I am protecting something.”

“By turning your blade on your own people?” Vesper’s voice was sharp now, cold fury bleeding into every syllable. “On me?”

Anetra didn’t blink. “You’re not my people anymore.”

Vesper’s expression hardened, and in a single, fluid motion, she drew her sword.

“Step aside, Anetra.”

“No.”

A moment of silence stretched between them, heavy, taut, ready to snap.

Vesper’s lips curled into something almost pitying. “Don’t make me do this.”

“You’re not taking her.”

Anetra could feel Kerri’s breath quicken behind her, could hear the faint tremble of wood as the girl pressed herself deeper into the corner.

Vesper exhaled sharply, like disappointment, like finality.

“Then you leave me no choice.”

The first strike came fast, Vesper always struck fast.

But Anetra was faster.

Their blades met with a metallic clang that reverberated through the room, sending vibrations down Anetra’s arms. She shifted her weight, twisting Vesper’s strike away from Kerri’s direction, every instinct sharp from years of training under this very woman.

Vesper pressed forward, strength rippling through her precise movements, but Anetra held her ground. It was like fighting a reflection of her past self, disciplined, calculated, merciless.

But Anetra wasn’t who she used to be.

“Still fighting like you have something to prove,” Vesper hissed between blows.

Anetra blocked another strike, her feet sliding back an inch as Vesper’s blade glanced off her own. “I don’t have anything to prove to you.”

They moved like shadows, blades clashing in the tight space, Anetra angling herself between Vesper and Kerri with every turn, keeping her back to the girl, her focus unshakable despite the rapid pounding of her heart.

Vesper’s frustration simmered beneath her calm exterior, her blows growing sharper, more erratic.

“Look at you,” she snarled. “Throwing everything away for pirates. For her.”

Her gaze flicked past Anetra toward Kerri again.

And that was when Anetra felt it, that heat in her chest sparking into something fierce and unmovable. She twisted her sword down hard, catching Vesper’s wrist just enough to throw her off balance.

A split second.

That’s all it took.

Anetra moved without thinking, without hesitation, her blade driving forward in one smooth, brutal motion.

The steel slid into Vesper’s chest.

For a heartbeat, everything stopped.

Vesper’s breath hitched, eyes wide, surprise, disbelief, and something almost like regret flickering across her face. Her fingers twitched around her sword, but her strength was already fading.

Anetra’s chest heaved, her grip tight around the hilt buried deep in the woman she’d once followed without question.

Vesper’s mouth opened like she might say something, but nothing came.
Her body slumped forward, heavy, and Anetra let her drop slowly to the floor, pulling her blade free with shaking hands.

For a moment, all she could hear was the pounding of her own heart. Her breath. The faint sound of footsteps and clashing steel still raging above.

And Kerri, pressed against the wall, eyes wide with terror, staring at Anetra like she wasn’t sure whether to run or collapse.

Anetra took a breath sharp and shaky,and turned toward her, wiping her blade on her sleeve with trembling fingers.

“It’s over,” she said softly. “You’re safe.”

But before Kerri could answer, before Anetra could even breathe properly, boots thundered down the stairs.

A figure appeared in the doorway, framed in the dim lantern light.

Sasha.

Her coat was torn, hair wild from the fight, her eyes blazing like a storm.

She froze at the scene in front of her.

Anetra, blood-smeared sword still in hand.

Vesper’s body crumpled at her feet.

And Kerri, wide-eyed, trembling, tucked behind Anetra’s shaking form.

For a moment, no one moved.

No one spoke.

The storm had come.

Sasha stood in the doorway as if rooted to the spot, the flickering lantern overhead casting dancing shadows across her face. Her wild curls clung to her sweat-dampened brow, a smear of soot running down her temple. She looked like she’d just stepped out of hell, and maybe she had. But nothing she’d seen up there, no cannon blast or sword swing, compared to the fear now strangling her chest at the sight before her.

Anetra stood motionless in the middle of the room, her blade still wet with blood.
At her feet, the body of a woman Sasha didn’t recognize at first glance, but whose uniform told her enough. Navy. Higher up, too, judging by the insignia and the way she carried herself even in death.

And behind Anetra, nearly trembling, was Kerri.

Her daughter. Her baby.

Shaken.

But alive.

Sasha’s breath caught in her throat, and for a terrifying, endless second, she couldn’t move. Her heart stuttered painfully in her chest, like it couldn’t decide whether to seize up or burst entirely.

Then, like something broke loose inside her, she surged forward.

“Kerri—!”

She dropped to her knees before the girl had a chance to react, gathering her in her arms with a force that knocked the breath from them both. Kerri gasped softly, her small frame curling into her mother instinctively, her hands clutching at the front of Sasha’s coat like it was the only solid thing in the world.

Sasha cradled the back of her head, fingers weaving into Kerri’s thick hair, her other arm wrapping tight around her shoulders.

“I’m here,” Sasha whispered, over and over, voice breaking apart with each repetition. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you, baby girl—”

Kerri trembled in her arms but didn’t cry. She just nodded against her shoulder, her cheek pressed to the side of her mother’s neck, eyes still fixed on Anetra’s bloodstained figure like she didn’t know how to look away.

Sasha kissed the top of her daughter’s head before she finally, reluctantly, pulled back. Her eyes scanned every inch of Kerri, her arms, her face, her throat, for injuries. Her hands fluttered, unsure where to land, as if she couldn’t believe Kerri was unharmed, and needed to see it to believe it.

“Are you hurt?” she asked, voice low and hoarse. “Tell me if you’re hurt.”

“I’m okay,” Kerri managed. “I’m okay, Mom…”

But Sasha looked unconvinced. Terrified, even. She pulled Kerri into one more tight hug before standing back up, hands still trembling.

And then her eyes turned to Anetra.

It wasn’t anger in them, though for a split second, when she had first entered the room and seen Anetra standing with her sword drawn, it could’ve gone that way.

But now? Now it was something else.

Something more raw.

Anetra had stepped back just slightly, giving space but still keeping herself between the body and the two of them. Her eyes met Sasha’s, unflinching, unreadable. Blood smeared across her shirt and hands. Her sword hung limp at her side.

Sasha stared at her for a long, stretched-out beat. Something unspoken passed between them, an electric thread, tense and frayed at the ends.

Then Sasha finally exhaled.

And took a step forward.

“Anetra…” Her voice faltered, just once. She stopped herself, breathed again, steadier this time. “You— You saved her.”

Anetra blinked, surprised by the intensity of her tone. “I— Yeah. I wasn’t gonna let her take her.”

But Sasha just kept looking at her, as if words weren’t enough. As if she could see more in Anetra than even Anetra could.

Then, suddenly, wildly, Sasha surged forward and threw her arms around her.
The hug was clumsy, desperate. Sasha’s fingers tangled in the fabric of Anetra’s shirt like she needed something to hold onto or else she might come undone entirely. Anetra stood stiffly for a moment, caught off guard, she wasn’t used to being touched like this, much less by her. But then, slowly, her arms came up and closed around Sasha in return.

And Sasha held her tighter.

“Thank you,” Sasha whispered into her shoulder, voice ragged and raw and real. “Thank you, Anetra. I don’t—” Her breath hitched. “I don’t know what would’ve happened if you weren’t here. I don’t even want to think about it.”

Anetra swallowed. Her throat was dry, her chest heavy.

“She was your old supervisor?” Sasha asked, glancing back at the body. Her voice was gentler now, quieter.

Anetra gave a stiff nod.

“I trained under her. Served under her. Trusted her.”

Sasha’s eyes darkened with understanding. “And you still did this.”

Anetra looked down at her blood-streaked hands, then slowly met Sasha’s gaze. “She was going to take her. I wasn’t going to let that happen.”

A silence stretched between them, heavy and full of weight neither of them needed to name.

Sasha pulled back just slightly, not all the way, not yet. One hand still rested on Anetra’s arm, her touch warm and steady.

“I’ve fought a lot of battles,” she said softly. “Won more than I should have. Lost more than I ever talk about. But nothing… nothing has ever scared me as much as walking down those stairs and not knowing what I was going to find.”

Her voice cracked.

Anetra’s heart clenched at the sound.

“I thought—” Sasha stopped herself, her lips pressing together. “When I saw you. The sword. Kerri. My whole world stopped.”

“I would never hurt her,” Anetra said quietly. “You know that.”

“I do now,” Sasha said, a small, broken smile lifting the corner of her mouth. “But gods, Anetra… I didn’t know what I was walking into. And when I saw you standing there—”

She cut herself off, took a breath. Her eyes were glassy, shimmering faintly in the lantern light.

“I’ve lost too many people,” she said. “And if I lost her—”

Anetra shook her head. “You didn’t.”

Sasha nodded slowly. “Because of you.”

She looked at Anetra like she wanted to say more. Like there were a thousand words bottled up behind her lips.

But instead, she squeezed Anetra’s arm once more and turned back toward her daughter, kneeling again and pulling her close.

Anetra stood there for a moment, watching them, mother and daughter, safe and alive, huddled together beneath the creaking beams of the ship’s lower deck.

She still wasn’t sure what this all meant. What came next. What it meant to have taken a life in defense of something that mattered. Of someone who mattered.

But for now, that could wait.

For now, she let herself breathe.

Chapter Text

The sun had begun to set by the time the final cannon fell silent.

The waters around the ship were still smoking, splinters of wood floating among the waves like shattered bones, darkened with ash and blood. The ocean had become a graveyard for broken masts and shattered pride, the once-imposing navy ship listing in the distance, battered and burning, its sails nothing but torn ghosts in the wind.

On the deck of Sasha’s ship, the crew gathered.

They were bruised, bloodied, and exhausted, but they were alive. More than that, they were victorious.

Marcia sat on the railing, wrapping a bandage around her upper arm with her teeth, grinning through the pain. Luxx leaned on a barrel nearby, sword still drawn and smudged with soot, laughing breathlessly with Salina. The twins, Sugar and Spice, held onto each other, cuts and bruises on their cheeks but shining with pride. Robin had a nasty gash on her thigh but stood tall anyway, shoulder pressed against Irene’s as they exchanged relieved glances.

Jax stood beside Anetra, hands on her hips, her face still smudged with gunpowder. She nudged Anetra lightly, not with words, just a small, knowing look. Like this, this feeling, was something worth holding onto.

And in the middle of it all stood Sasha.

She looked regal, even bloodstained. Her coat was torn at the shoulder, one of her boots half unlaced, and there was a smear of dirt across her jaw, but her back was straight, her chin lifted. Her curls were wild in the breeze, catching the last light of the sun as it dipped low across the water, turning the sky molten red.

Kerri stood beside her, safe, arms crossed tight as if grounding herself after everything that had happened below. Anetra kept a small but watchful distance, close enough to feel present, not hovering. Sasha had insisted she stand with the crew.

And now, as the wind settled and the last cries from the water faded into silence, Sasha raised her voice.

“I know we’re tired,” she began, and the crew quieted immediately. “I know we’ve fought like hell. And I know we all have bruises we won’t feel until tomorrow. But I need you to hear me now.”

The wind stirred her coat like a banner.

“We just beat a navy warship.”

A cheer burst from the crew, hoarse, ragged, but fierce. It echoed out over the water, loud and defiant and alive. Some whooped. Some stomped their feet. A few lifted weapons in the air.

Sasha let the sound crest and fall before continuing.

“We were outgunned. Outmanned. Some of us thought we wouldn’t make it. I know some of you did.”

She smiled wryly as a few heads lowered in sheepish agreement.

“But we did. We made it. Because we’re not just thieves. We’re not just pirates. We’re not just a ship full of misfits with nothing better to do.”

Her gaze swept over them, fierce and proud.

“We’re a crew.”

Murmurs of agreement rippled around the deck.

“And part of being a crew is trusting each other. Watching each other’s backs. Risking ourselves for someone else, not because it’s easy, but because it’s right. And today…”

She turned slightly, eyes locking on Anetra.

“Today, one of us did just that.”

The crew turned too. Slowly, like a current passing through them, they all shifted to face Anetra. She stiffened slightly under the attention, jaw tightening. She hadn’t asked for this. She hadn’t wanted this. But she stood tall anyway.

Sasha stepped forward, voice quieter now, but no less strong.

“I don’t need to tell you what she risked. You all saw it. You heard it. You felt it. Anetra stood between a navy blade and my daughter.” Her voice caught for half a heartbeat. “She chose us. Not because she had to. Not because she was ordered to. But because something in her, someone in her, knew it was worth it.”

A hush had fallen over the deck, thick and heavy with meaning.

Anetra felt her throat grow tight. She shifted her weight, glancing briefly at Jax, who gave her a single nod. Kerri’s eyes were fixed on her, wide and awed. She didn’t speak, but something in her expression, a quiet kind of trust, cut deeper than words.

“She could’ve run,” Sasha continued. “Could’ve let her take Kerri. Could’ve stayed neutral. But she didn’t. She fought. For this ship. For this family.”

Then Sasha stepped up beside her.

“And I want every single one of you to hear me loud and clear—” She placed a hand firmly on Anetra’s shoulder. “—Anetra is one of us now.”

The cheer that rose then was louder than the last, sharper, more alive. Luxx let out a triumphant whoop. Sugar and Spice jumped up and down together, clapping. Jax patted Anetra’s back once, hard, nearly knocking the air out of her. Robin offered a raised blade. Irene grinned. Even Amethyst and Aura, who didn’t always say much, gave her small, solemn nods.

It hit her harder than she expected. The warmth. The pride. The belonging.

She didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. But she didn’t have to. Sasha leaned in just slightly, her voice lower, just for her.

“Thank you,” she murmured, a hand still firm on her shoulder. “For saving her. For saving me.”

Anetra looked at her. Really looked. And for the first time in days, maybe weeks… she let herself smile.

Just a little. Just enough.

Because maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t lost.

Maybe she had finally found something worth staying for.

The adrenaline had begun to wear off. Now came the aftermath. With the battle over, the screams faded to moans, the fire to smoke, the violence to silence. Sasha gave a few sharp orders, calm but firm, before she took Kerri by the hand and quietly led her away from the deck, into the ship’s belly and back to the captain’s quarters. Kerri didn’t speak, just nodded, still pale but walking steadily beside her mother.

Anetra watched them go for a moment. Just a moment. The sway of Sasha’s coat. The weight of her hand on her daughter’s shoulder. The way Kerri glanced over her shoulder, not fearfully, but in a lingering sort of way, as if still clinging to the presence of someone who’d kept her safe.

And then they were gone.

A breeze cut across the deck, and Anetra blinked herself back into motion.

There was work to do.

The ship was a mess. Splinters littered the deck like bone fragments. Smoke still curled from a hole in the aft railing where a cannonball had torn through. Blood streaked the wood in places, some of it the navy’s, some of it the crew’s, indistinguishable in the chaos of battle. Ropes hung loose, sails were in tatters, and the air was thick with gunpowder, sweat, and salt.

The crew was already moving.

Luxx was barking orders to Robin and Amethyst as they began dragging the injured below deck. Jax had started coiling the scattered ropes, her arm bleeding but her expression sharp. Marcia and Salina were kicking debris into piles while the twins ran back and forth, collecting supplies and broken pieces of gear.

And Anetra, now, finally, one of them, jumped in without being asked.

She grabbed a bucket and a cloth, started scrubbing blood from the floorboards near the helm. Her muscles ached. Her hands were raw. But she didn’t stop.

Every now and then, her eyes would drift across the deck.

To the scattered scraps of navy uniform.

There were bits of them everywhere, torn sleeves, shredded coats, buttons still clinging to blood-soaked fabric. One glove dangled from the railing like a forgotten promise. A hat floated in a barrel filled with rainwater and seawater and god knows what else. The navy’s symbol, once proud, embroidered in silver thread, was stained and broken, trampled beneath boots that had once obeyed it.

Anetra stared at it longer than she meant to.

There had been a time, not long ago, when she wore that symbol over her heart. When she stood on a deck like this one, clean-cut and obedient, the king’s banner flapping above her. She remembered standing shoulder-to-shoulder with her unit, reciting oaths, checking weaponry, drilling until her arms ached. She remembered how it felt to be part of something official.

And now?

Now she was scrubbing blood from the deck of a pirate ship.

She bent to pick up a strip of navy cloth, someone’s sleeve, maybe. Torn at the shoulder, the edge scorched.

She turned it over in her hands, thumb brushing the threads.

They would’ve taken Kerri.

Her jaw tightened.

She would’ve taken Kerri.

The woman she killed. Her former superior. A woman whose voice she used to respond to with a crisp salute. Who used to lecture her on discipline, loyalty, hierarchy. She’d looked at Sasha’s daughter like she was leverage. A pawn. An opportunity to finish the mission.

And if Anetra hadn’t been there…

She closed her fist around the cloth.

She didn’t want to think about it.

The deck tilted slightly as the ship shifted with the wind, and she planted her boots wider to stay steady. She dropped the cloth into the refuse pile they were building by the mast and moved on. She helped Jax re-fasten a rope, then helped Salina clear a broken crate. Every so often, she glanced toward the captain’s door.

Still closed. Still quiet.

And every time she looked, she felt something tighten in her chest.

It was a strange thing, this loyalty. It wasn’t clean. It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t something she could point to anymore and say: ‘This is right, and that is wrong.’ The lines had blurred, shifted like ink in water.

But her hands still worked. They tied knots, hauled canvas, lifted boards.

Her feet still moved, dodging rubble, climbing rigging, helping someone here, fetching water there.

She was still useful. Still herself. And yet… not quite.

She passed Robin near the stern, who gave her a tired but genuine nod. Anetra returned it. Later, she passed Sugar, who bumped her shoulder in that bubbly, conspiratorial way she always did. Spice offered her a rag to clean her hands. Aura tossed her a flask of water. It was quiet, simple camaraderie, but it meant something.

It meant everything.

And in the back of her mind, that image lingered: Sasha’s arms around Kerri, voice shaking as she thanked her. The way her own hands had trembled after the fight. The weight of the sword in her palm. The stunned silence when Sasha had declared her one of the crew.

This was her life now.

And as she scrubbed, as she lifted and hauled and worked side by side with the crew, her crew, she realized something: She didn’t regret a damn thing.

The salt stung at the cuts on Anetra’s hands.

She barely noticed.

Her fingers were slick with sea grime and drying blood, wrists aching from scrubbing the deck in slow, methodical circles. Around her, the rest of the crew moved like the tide, steady, constant, wounded but not broken. The aftermath of battle left no space for stillness, not even for reflection. There was always something to fix. Always something to lift, mend, tie down, or wipe away.
Anetra had been at it for hours.

Every scrape of the mop against the planks was another second she didn’t have to think. About the woman she’d killed. About the girl she’d protected. About the way Sasha had looked at her, eyes wide with some fragile, terrifying mix of gratitude and fear. A fear that hadn’t been for herself.

Anetra pressed harder into the deck, jaw clenched, arms shaking.

The red had faded from the wood by now. Most of it. Some stains would never come out. Not really. Blood had a way of clinging. So did memory.

Jax walked past with a coil of rope slung over her shoulder, giving Anetra a low whistle.

“You’re gonna scrub through the whole ship at this rate.”

Anetra didn’t look up. “Good.”

Jax paused. “You alright?”

“Fine.”

Jax nodded once. It was an answer they both knew wasn’t true, but it was the kind of lie you didn’t call out when someone was trying to breathe through it.
Anetra heard her walk away, boots fading over the planks. She shifted back on her heels, stretching her arms out for a moment, rolling her stiff shoulders. Her back ached from crouching. Her legs from fighting. Her thoughts… They ached in ways she didn’t have a name for.

She tilted her face toward the sky.

The clouds had broken, just a little, letting warm sunlight drip through like honey. It dappled the deck with golden patches that sparkled over broken glass and water puddles, made the devastation look almost serene. The sails were still being mended, Marcia was halfway up the rigging with a needle and thread nearly as big as her hand. Sugar and Spice were fussing over Marcia, who had her feet propped up on a barrel and her arm wrapped tightly in gauze.

There was laughter now. Not loud, not wild, but real.

It slipped between the ropes and the wood, gentle and exhausted and alive. It felt earned. Like sunlight after a storm.

Anetra exhaled slowly.

She’d almost started cleaning again when she heard it.

“Anetra.”

Her name. Crisp. Certain.

She turned before she even realized she was moving.

Sasha stood at the top of the stairs leading to the captain’s quarters. Her silhouette was framed by the sunlight, casting her features in partial shadow, but even from a distance Anetra could make out the quiet set of her mouth, the lift of her chin, the way her arms crossed loosely over her chest like she’d been waiting there a while.

There was something calmer about her now. Less fire, more smolder.

Their eyes met.

Sasha didn’t raise her voice again. She didn’t need to.

She tilted her head toward the quarters and said, soft but sure, “Come.”

Anetra swallowed hard.

She stood slowly, brushing her hands on her thighs, even though it didn’t do much, she was coated in salt and sweat and splinters. Still, some old instinct twitched in her spine, one that used to stand at attention when a superior gave a command.

Only this wasn’t command. Not exactly.

It was… Invitation.

She didn’t look at anyone as she crossed the deck. Didn’t look at the uniforms still gathered in bloody piles. Didn’t look at the navy insignia peeking through torn cloth. Didn’t look at the crew members whispering in quiet tones, or at the way Marcia paused her sewing to watch.

She just walked.

The stairs creaked under her boots as she reached Sasha.

They stood face-to-face for a breath. Two women changed by the same fire. One had stolen a treasure, the other had come to steal it back. And now here they were, meeting on the same ship, hearts tangled in the wake of battle and decisions too sharp to name.

Sasha said nothing.

Just turned. Opened the door. Stepped inside.

And Anetra followed, without hesitation.

Chapter Text

The door shut behind Anetra with a deep, final-sounding thud, not ominous, not cold. Just... Decisive. The kind of sound that marked a line in the air. One of those quiet, weighty moments where something changed, even if the world hadn’t caught up yet.

Her eyes took a second to adjust. The light inside the captain’s quarters was softer, filtered through warm canvas draped over the windows. The room still smelled faintly of seawater, old maps, wax, and the faintest trace of Sasha’s perfume, like orange blossoms steeped in rum. A few candles flickered in sconces on the wall, and a lantern swayed slightly from the ceiling with the ship’s natural rhythm.

It was surprisingly still in here.

And empty, almost.

Kerri wasn’t inside. For a moment, Anetra's shoulders tensed, unsure if maybe she'd been summoned here because of that. Because something had gone wrong. But Sasha, already halfway across the room, must’ve felt her hesitation.

“She’s resting,” she said gently, turning as she spoke, not quite facing Anetra yet. “Fell asleep the second her head touched the pillow. I think she finally let the fear catch up to her.”

Her voice was quieter now. Stripped of its usual steel and swagger. There was still that undercurrent of strength, of course, Sasha never lost that, but it was softened. Rounded at the edges by the exhaustion of battle, the tenderness of motherhood, the echoes of something deeper.

Anetra didn’t reply right away.

She stood near the door, unsure of what to do with herself, her body still stiff with the aftershocks of adrenaline. Her boots were still muddy. Her clothes crusted with salt and blood. Her hair was tied back messily, a few strands having long since escaped and dried to her face. She felt like a soldier who’d wandered too close to something sacred.

And maybe she had.

Sasha crossed over to the map table in the center of the room. Charts lay scattered across it, old ones, hand-inked, corners curled. A compass rested near the edge, its glass fogged with thumbprints. Sasha trailed her fingers across the surface, not looking at any of it. Just… Grounding herself.

“I’ve thanked you already,” she said after a pause. “But it doesn’t feel like enough.”

Anetra shook her head slightly. “You don’t have to—”

“I do,” Sasha said, turning now. Her voice was firmer, but not sharp. “Because I need you to understand something.”

Anetra held her gaze.

Sasha stepped closer, a few feet between them now. Not invading her space, just entering it. Slowly. Deliberately. Her eyes didn’t waver. There was still that intensity in them, but it wasn’t the kind that wanted to burn anyone alive. It was the kind that saw things. Really saw them. And Anetra could feel herself being seen.

“You didn’t just fight off an enemy,” Sasha said. “You didn’t just save someone on the crew. You didn’t even just protect a girl.” Her lips curled, not quite into a smile, but something on the edge of one. “You saved my daughter.”

Anetra exhaled, slow and quiet.

She remembered the moment in flashes. The way Kerri had clutched her arm, half-hidden behind her as the navy officer made her demands. The way her voice had rung in her ears. ‘Move aside, sailor. She’s just a piece to be used.’ The way Anetra’s hand had moved almost on its own, muscle memory and instinct and something deeper guiding the blade through her old commander’s ribs.

She could still feel the hilt in her palm. Could still see the disbelief in her eyes as she fell.

“She would’ve fought him herself,” Anetra muttered. “Kerri. She’s… strong.”

Sasha’s expression flickered into something warm and fierce. “She is. But she’s still a child. And I’m her mother.”

She moved toward the small table by the window, pouring herself a glass of something dark and amber-colored. She didn’t offer Anetra any, just sipped quietly and let the silence stretch for a breath or two. Not awkward, just thoughtful.

“You know,” Sasha said after a moment, “when I heard noises below deck, when I realized that navy bastard had headed below, something in me broke. I thought—” Her voice caught, but she didn’t let it crack. She swallowed and pressed forward. “I thought I’d lost her. That I’d made the wrong call, letting you close. Letting myself… trust you.”

Anetra’s chest tightened, her heart beating unevenly. She hadn’t realized until now how much that trust mattered. How much she’d been afraid of losing it.

“But I didn’t,” Sasha continued, softer now. “I didn’t lose her. Because of you.”

She set the glass down and stepped closer again, standing in front of Anetra now, close enough that the warmth from her skin cut through the chill of Anetra’s sweat-soaked clothes. Her gaze softened.

“Thank you,” she said, again. Quietly. Deeply. “For saving the most important thing in my life.”

And this time, it didn’t sound like just gratitude.

It sounded like truth.

Anetra didn’t know what to say. Her throat was dry, her pulse thrumming in her ears. She managed a small nod, her eyes dropping for just a second before locking back onto Sasha’s.

“I’d do it again,” she said, voice low but sure. “If it was her, if it was you… I’d do it again.”

Sasha didn’t smile. But something glimmered in her eyes, like sunlight catching on the surface of deep water. Dangerous. Beautiful. Full of something just beginning to take shape.

The ship creaked softly around them, the storm passed, the wind settling into calm.

And in the stillness between them, something began to shift.

The silence between them lingered like the last note of a song that refused to fade.

It was thick with meaning, saturated in things neither of them had the words for yet. The air was warm inside the captain’s quarters, safer than the rest of the ship, quieter. Sasha’s eyes stayed fixed on Anetra’s, and Anetra found herself unable to look away. Couldn’t have, even if she wanted to.

She didn’t want to.

Sasha took in a breath, soft but deep, and stepped just a little closer. She reached past Anetra, slowly, carefully, and with a small flick of her fingers, unlatched the door. Then she turned the key in the lock with a metallic click. A gesture not of entrapment, but of intention. Of privacy.

The lock clicked into place like a heartbeat.

Then she looked at Anetra again, and she was no longer just the fearsome pirate captain, no longer just the woman who had stolen gold and shattered expectations. She was something far more disarming, unguarded.

“You want to know the truth?” Sasha asked, her voice low, almost breathless.

Anetra didn’t say anything, just nodded once. She could feel the weight of her own heartbeat, steady and loud in her chest. The room felt smaller. Not suffocating, just... Close. Intimate in a way she hadn’t let herself imagine.
Sasha leaned back against the edge of the table, her fingers curling lightly on its surface. She didn’t break eye contact.

“I knew,” she said softly. “I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you at first. Knew what you were. What you were sent for. A sailor. A soldier. The King’s dog, some would say.”

Anetra flinched, but Sasha’s voice stayed steady, gentle. No mockery.

“But there was something in you, even then. That first day. You had this look, like you hated all of us, but hated yourself for it more.” She let out a soft exhale, a shadow of a laugh. “And maybe that should’ve been my first warning.”

Anetra’s throat tightened.

Sasha went on, slower now, like she was peeling something open inside herself that hadn’t seen daylight in years. “I kept telling myself you were a threat. That I was keeping you around just to keep my eye on you. That you were useful. Strong. Capable. I told myself a hundred reasons to justify it. But none of them were the real one.”

She stepped away from the table.

One slow step. Then another.

“I kept you around,” she said, voice dipping into something raw and quiet, “because the second I looked at you, I felt something shift. Something in me that’s been locked down for years.”

She was standing in front of Anetra again now, their height nearly level, their breath mingling in the narrow space between them. Anetra could feel the warmth of her skin, the slight tremble in her breath. Her chest rose and fell in rhythm with Sasha’s.

“I’m not someone who does feelings, Anetra,” Sasha whispered. “I’ve built a life out of being untouchable. Unreachable. Because that’s how I keep my crew safe. That’s how I keep Kerri safe. But then you came along, and suddenly all of that stopped making sense.”

She reached up, her fingers hovering near Anetra’s jaw but not quite touching. Just close. Just enough to feel the electricity between them.

“You make me angry,” Sasha said, her eyes flicking across Anetra’s face like she was memorizing every line. “You make me insane. And you make me want things I haven’t let myself want in a long, long time.”

Anetra’s breath hitched.

She felt like something in her had broken open. But not in a painful way, in a necessary way. Like stone cracking under pressure to reveal something bright beneath. A truth that had been buried under salt and fear and duty.

“I feel the same,” Anetra said, finally, her voice husky. “I didn’t want to. I told myself I hated you. That I couldn’t trust you. That I needed to get off this ship. That this was all a mistake.”

Sasha’s expression didn’t change, but something shimmered in her eyes.

“But somewhere along the way,” Anetra continued, softer now, “I stopped seeing this place as a prison. I started looking forward to working the ropes. Started… respecting the crew. Started thinking about Kerri. About you. And that scared the hell out of me.”

Sasha smiled then. A small, real smile.

“I think we’re both terrified,” she said, taking another step closer until there was barely a breath between them.

Anetra reached up, tentative, at first, and brushed her fingers lightly against Sasha’s arm. It wasn’t a bold gesture. It wasn’t a grand declaration. But it was real. It was hers.

“You make me want things too,” she whispered.

Sasha’s eyes flicked down to her lips for a split second, then back up.

“What kind of things?” she murmured.

Anetra smirked, just barely. “Dangerous ones.”

And in that instant, they both laughed. Quiet, breathless laughter that came from deep inside their chests. Not because anything was funny, but because the tension had cracked just enough to let something else in.

Sasha’s hand found Anetra’s then, gently, deliberately. Their fingers laced together. It felt like grounding. It felt like promise.

No kiss. Not yet.

Just this.

The quiet truth of two women standing in the wreckage of a thousand choices, holding onto the one that finally felt right.

Outside, the ship rocked gently with the waves. The crew worked above. The stars would come out soon.

But here, in the captain’s quarters, in the golden hush of something just beginning, Anetra stood close to the woman she’d been sent to capture.
And didn’t want to leave.

The moment stretched.

Not tense, not fragile, just full. Like the space between two crashing waves, holding still just long enough for breath to catch and hearts to beat and worlds to shift without sound. Sasha’s hand was still in Anetra’s, their fingers tangled like the rigging of the ship, tight, secure, strangely delicate.

Anetra couldn’t tell if it was her heartbeat or Sasha’s she was feeling in her chest. Maybe both.

Neither of them moved right away. There was no rush. No urgency. Just that slow, quiet gravity drawing them together, deeper and deeper into the kind of closeness that didn’t need words anymore.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” Sasha murmured, not quite a whisper, but almost. Her thumb brushed along the side of Anetra’s hand, her voice low and reverent, like she was saying it to the ocean itself.

Anetra’s voice was rough when she finally spoke. “I think I do.”

Her free hand reached up, hesitant at first, brushing a strand of hair behind Sasha’s ear. The simple motion made Sasha’s eyes flutter shut for a second, just a second, and when they opened again, there was nothing guarded left in them. No walls. No armor.

Just her.

Anetra leaned in, and their foreheads touched. Not a kiss, just contact. Their breath mingled. Sasha’s hand had slipped up to Anetra’s shoulder, sliding around the back of her neck, gentle, grounding, pulling her in without force.

“I’ve been in command a long time,” Sasha whispered. “I know how to take what I want. But I’ve never wanted something like this before.”

Anetra closed her eyes, leaning into the touch. “Me either.”

The silence that followed was thick with understanding. With choice. Sasha shifted, her hand cradling the side of Anetra’s face now, thumb stroking softly across her cheekbone, and Anetra tilted her head slightly, eyes fluttering open just enough to see Sasha watching her, like she was the answer to a question she hadn’t dared ask until now.

Then, slow as moonlight on calm water, Sasha leaned in.

Their lips met.

It wasn’t fierce. It wasn’t frenzied. It was soft, deliberate. Like tasting the truth for the first time and being afraid to lose it. Sasha’s lips were warm, plush, steady. Anetra kissed her back with a quiet hunger, one hand rising to Sasha’s waist, the other pressing gently to the small of her back.

The kiss deepened, just slightly. Sasha pulled Anetra in closer, their bodies aligned now, a familiar rhythm already building between them. Mouths moving with growing confidence, like they had been waiting for this longer than either of them wanted to admit.

Sasha made a soft sound, a kind of sigh that escaped into the space between their lips, and it did something to Anetra, ignited something low in her stomach. She pressed her body in just a little more, and Sasha responded instantly, her fingers tangling into the back of Anetra’s shirt, her other hand anchoring at her jaw, guiding her.

The kisses grew heavier. Not rushed, but needier. Hungrier. Sasha’s mouth opened slightly beneath Anetra’s, and when their tongues brushed, it was slow and electrifying. Like a match striking in the dark. They both gasped softly into it, breathing each other in, breathing each other down.

Anetra’s hands slid around Sasha’s waist, pulling her flush against her, and Sasha didn’t resist, she melted into her, one hand curling behind Anetra’s neck, the other slipping under the edge of her shirt, not greedy, just grounding. Skin on skin.

It wasn’t lust. Or rather, it wasn’t just lust. It was years of loneliness unraveling. Weeks of tension breaking open. It was two people finally letting themselves feel the thing they had been tiptoeing around every time their eyes had lingered too long.

When they finally pulled back, lips swollen and breath ragged, their foreheads touched again. Neither spoke. Anetra’s hands rested on Sasha’s hips, and Sasha’s arms had slipped around her neck, her fingers trailing lightly across the skin at the nape.

Sasha exhaled first, quiet and deep, her smile breaking through in fragments.

“Well,” she whispered. “That was…”

Anetra smirked, brushing a kiss to the corner of Sasha’s mouth. “Long overdue?”

“Exactly what I was going to say.”

They leaned into each other again, the second kiss slower, deeper, even softer. Sasha kissed like she commanded, fully, with presence, with purpose, but this wasn’t conquest. It was invitation. It was confession.

And when they pulled apart a second time, Sasha didn’t speak. She just held Anetra for a long moment, her fingers resting over the beat of her pulse. Her eyes searched Anetra’s like she was still making sure this was real.

“I don’t want this to be a secret,” Sasha said finally, voice hushed but firm. “Not from the crew. Not from Kerri. Not from myself.”

Anetra nodded. “Neither do I.”

Sasha gave a breathy laugh, her forehead still resting against Anetra’s. “Gods, I think I might really be in trouble.”

Anetra’s lips curled. “You’re not the only one.”

They kissed again.

Outside the captain’s quarters, the ship rocked gently on the sea, steadying itself after the battle. The moon had begun to rise. The crew, below and above, murmured through their tasks, unaware that in the captain’s cabin, something had shifted far deeper than tides.

Anetra had come here a prisoner.

Now, she was something else entirely.

And in Sasha’s arms, under her touch, within her kiss, she knew it.

She was free.

Chapter Text

The following morning dawned slow and hazy, the kind of golden sunlight that made the sea look like it had secrets of its own. Anetra stood at the railing, her hands gripping the wood as she let the warm spray of salt and breeze cool her flushed skin. Last night still hummed under her skin like a song she couldn’t shake, Sasha’s hands, Sasha’s lips, Sasha’s everything. It had been real. Soft, slow, and real.

And now… now they had to go back to normal.

Well. Almost normal.

They’d agreed, quietly, between lingering kisses and half-laughed words whispered in the dark, that they’d keep it to themselves for just a few days. Not out of shame. Just… time. Time to sit in the quiet gravity of what had changed. Time to breathe it in fully, before the world came rushing in.

“We’ll keep it quiet,” Sasha had murmured, her fingers brushing back through Anetra’s hair. “Just for now. So it’s ours for a little longer.”

Anetra had nodded. “Ours,” she’d repeated. And it had felt sacred.

But the crew?

The crew didn’t need to hear a word to know something had changed.

By midmorning, it was clear the shift was no longer subtle. Anetra had barely stepped into the galley when Luxx raised one perfect brow and gave her a look so smug it could’ve powered the sails.

“Well, well,” Luxx drawled, spooning a handful of dried fruit into her mouth. “Someone’s glowing.”

“Didn’t know the sea breeze came with highlighter,” Marcia added from across the table, nudging Robin with a wicked grin.

“I’m not glowing,” Anetra muttered, grabbing her ration with practiced ease and keeping her face locked in its best neutral expression.

Luxx leaned across the table. “Oh, sweetie. You’re radiant. Positively… Loved-up.”

“I’ve seen less suspicious blush on fresh-caught snapper,” Salina Estitties chimed in with a grin, leaning back in her chair as if she were settling in for a show. “And she’s not even trying to hide it.”

“I’m not blushing.”

“Then your face is just permanently that color now?” Irene teased, sliding into the room with her usual eerie grace.

Anetra groaned. She should’ve known better than to expect the crew to mind their business. Pirates, after all, were not known for their subtlety, or discretion.

Jax passed her on the way to the barrels, bumping her shoulder with just enough force to make her stumble half a step. “You don’t gotta say it,” she muttered low enough for just the two of them. “But… good for you.”

That… Anetra actually didn’t mind. She gave Jax a brief nod, almost grateful.
But the rest of them? They were relentless.

By the time they were out on deck hauling supplies from below, Sugar and Spice had joined the fray, flitting around Anetra like seagulls who’d spotted a shiny trinket.

“So where were you last night?” Spice asked with a smirk.

“Didn’t see you in the crew quarters,” Sugar added, batting her lashes exaggeratedly. “And we always see everything.”

“Must’ve gotten… sidetracked,” Spice giggled.

Anetra sighed as she tightened the ropes in her grip. “I was on deck.”

“Deck of the captain’s quarters, maybe,” Sugar sing-songed, earning a mock scandalized gasp from Spice.

Aura, leaning against a barrel nearby, chuckled and muttered, “Girl, let her breathe.”

But it wasn’t mean-spirited. If anything, it was a kind of initiation. A warm, noisy welcome into the strange and irreverent family she was now fully, messily part of.

Robin nudged her gently as they worked side by side, her voice calm and kind beneath the teasing chaos around them. “They mean well,” she said with a smile. “They’re just happy you’re… well. Happy.”

Anetra blinked at that. Happy? Was she?

Yeah. Yeah, she was.

Even with the heat in her cheeks and the crew circling like nosy gulls, she was… happy.

She glanced up toward the captain’s quarters just once, just quickly, and saw Sasha standing at the window. Watching. Not with worry, not with fear. Just watching her. A slow smile tugged at Sasha’s lips. A private one. One that was only for her.

Anetra looked away quickly, but she could still feel the warmth of it on her skin.
They’d keep it quiet a little while longer, sure. Let the newness settle like salt in the air, let it become part of the ship’s rhythm.

But the crew knew.

They knew in the way Sasha passed by Anetra just a little slower. The way their hands brushed when no one was looking. The way Anetra, once so rigid and clenched like a stormcloud, moved with a little more ease. A little more light.
They weren’t shouting it from the crow’s nest.

But they didn’t have to.

Because every creak of the wood, every gust of wind through the sails, every laugh from the crew who now called her one of theirs, it all echoed the truth Anetra hadn’t dared believe when she first stepped on board.

She belonged here.

And she belonged to her.

The sun hung low in the sky, golden and molten, spilling light across the deck like a secret too beautiful to be kept. The crew had finally scattered for some much-needed rest after a long day at sea, their laughter and teasing fading into the wood and ropes as night crept gently over the horizon. The ship rocked in calm rhythm beneath them, the sea unusually still, like even the ocean knew something important was about to happen.

Anetra stood outside Sasha’s quarters, arms crossed over her chest, trying to calm the nerves fluttering wildly in her stomach. She wasn’t afraid of Sasha. Not anymore. She wasn’t even afraid of the crew, teasing and all, they’d embraced her in ways she hadn’t expected. But Kerri… Kerri mattered in a different way.

Telling her wasn’t a battle to win.

It was a trust to earn.

The door opened quietly, Sasha poking her head out with a soft smile. Her eyes crinkled at the corners when she saw Anetra, like the very sight of her filled in something important. Without a word, she opened the door wider, stepping aside to let her in.

Inside the quarters, the oil lamps cast everything in a golden glow. Kerri was curled in the corner hammock, one leg tucked under the other, a book in her lap, though she wasn’t reading it. She looked up as they entered, blinking curiously, and immediately sat up straighter when she noticed they were both standing there, silent and a little awkward.

“Everything okay?” she asked. Her voice wasn’t nervous, but it was cautious.

She knew her mother too well not to pick up on the shift in atmosphere.
Sasha stepped forward first, pulling over a small stool and sitting down on it beside her daughter, facing her directly. Anetra hovered near the door for a beat too long, before Sasha’s quiet glance coaxed her to move closer.

“We wanted to talk to you about something,” Sasha said gently.

Kerri tilted her head slightly, closing the book and holding it to her chest. “Is it about what happened during the battle?”

“No,” Sasha said. “It’s… more personal.”

That piqued Kerri’s interest. Her eyes darted between them, Anetra standing just behind Sasha, arms still crossed, trying to look casual. She was failing, and Kerri saw right through it.

Anetra cleared her throat, stepping forward a little. “It’s about me. And your mom.”

Kerri didn’t say anything at first. Just waited. Sharp, patient. So much like Sasha it was eerie.

Sasha smiled a little, resting a hand on her daughter’s knee. “You’ve probably noticed… things have changed between us.”

Kerri raised a brow. “You mean how she comes out of your cabin looking like she just got struck by lightning?”

Anetra choked on a laugh. Sasha rolled her eyes but smiled, clearly biting back a laugh of her own.

Kerri grinned. “Yeah. I noticed.”

“You’re not surprised?” Anetra asked cautiously.

“I’m fifteen, not five.” Kerri shrugged. “Also, I’ve got eyes. And ears. And you guys aren’t exactly subtle.”

Sasha let out a breath, her hand tightening just slightly on Kerri’s knee. “We just… wanted to make sure you heard it from us. Before we tell the rest of the crew. Before this becomes something more… official.”

Anetra stepped forward fully now, her voice softer than usual. “This doesn’t change anything for you, Kerri. I’m not trying to… replace anyone. Or mess up what you and your mom have.”

Kerri looked at her for a long moment, truly looked. She’d been watching Anetra for weeks now. Watching the way she’d softened, the way she’d grown into the ship, into the crew. The way she’d risked her life for Kerri without a second thought. The way she looked at Sasha like she was something sacred.

“I know that,” Kerri said finally. “And I trust you. I think you make her better.”

Sasha’s breath caught, a flicker of emotion crossing her face. Anetra looked like someone had punched her in the gut, gently.

Kerri leaned forward, reaching out and taking Sasha’s hand. “She was always strong. But she’s happy now. She’s been happier since you came aboard.”

Anetra smiled, tight-lipped and overwhelmed.

“And I’m glad,” Kerri said, softer now. “So… if you guys are together, then I’m okay with it. I mean, if you’re okay with her snoring.”

“I do not snore,” Sasha muttered.

“Mom, yes you do,” Kerri said, grinning wide. “You sound like a drowning walrus.”

Anetra cracked a laugh, and Sasha groaned, dramatically hiding her face in her hands as her daughter burst into giggles. And in that golden lamplight, the tension broke apart, like it had never been there to begin with.

After a while, Kerri stood and hugged her mother, strong and warm. Then, without hesitation, she turned and hugged Anetra too. Not tentative. Not half-hearted. A real hug. The kind that meant everything.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Kerri whispered.

Anetra hugged her back tightly. “Me too.”

When Kerri left the quarters not long after, heading down to the crew bunks with her book tucked under one arm, Anetra sat down beside Sasha in silence, watching the girl disappear.

“You were worried for nothing,” Sasha said after a moment.

“I always worry about Kerri.”

Sasha smiled. “Yeah. Me too.”

They sat there for a long time, shoulder to shoulder, the quiet settling like a second skin. For the first time since their kiss, the world felt a little more real again, like everything was unfolding just as it was meant to.

They hadn’t told the crew yet.

But they’d told Kerri.

And that meant everything.

It started with breakfast.

The crew was gathered around the galley, the morning sun cutting through the salt-streaked windows in golden beams. There was the usual clatter of spoons against metal, the too-loud laughter of Sugar and Spice as they gossiped about who’d dropped a bucket of water on Aura’s boots the night before (it was Amethyst, who was still trying to deny it with a mouth full of salted fish), and the general thrum of another day aboard the ship.

Anetra sat beside Jax at the end of one of the long tables, picking halfheartedly at a hunk of dried bread and some fruit. She and Sasha had agreed that today was the day. No more dodging smirks or sidelong glances or the increasingly bold questions from Luxx. They’d told Kerri, and Kerri had not only taken it well, she’d wrapped her arms around it, given it her blessing.

So there was no reason to hide anymore.

Except maybe nerves.

Sasha had slipped into the galley after most of the crew had already arrived, calm as ever, dressed in her usual black leathers and silks, dark hair braided back in intricate loops that glinted in the light. She looked every bit the fearless captain.

Anetra could barely breathe watching her.

And then Sasha caught her eye. That look, warm, steady, the one that always cut right through Anetra like a ship through a storm, and gave the slightest nod.
It was time.

Sasha stepped toward the center of the room, the crew slowly quieting as they realized she was about to speak. Anetra stood too, beside her, heart pounding in her chest like it was trying to escape.

“Alright,” Sasha began, voice cutting clearly through the galley, “I’ve got something to say.”

Luxx smirked instantly. “Finally admitting you’ve been sneaking off to kiss your little knight in shining armor?”

A snort rippled through the room, and Sasha chuckled despite herself. “Not sneaking,” she said, turning slightly so Anetra was beside her. “Not anymore.”

Anetra cleared her throat, straightened her shoulders. “We’re together.”

“Officially,” Sasha added, giving Anetra a small, grounding look that made her insides flip in the best way.

There was a moment of stunned silence, half a beat where even Sugar stopped chewing mid-bite, and then:
“Thank GOD,” Irene groaned. “I was starting to go insane.”

“I’ve been betting on this for weeks!” Marcia cried, slamming a hand on the table.

“I told y’all!” Luxx hollered triumphantly. “Y’all owe me three weeks’ worth of rum!”

The room exploded into cheers, laughter, hoots and hollers. Salina actually stood on her bench and threw her arms up like they’d just scored a victory over the crown itself. Robin shook her head with a smile, and Jax elbowed Anetra so hard she nearly lost her footing.

“Took you long enough,” she muttered.

And through it all, Sasha just stood there, that calm confidence turning slightly soft at the edges as she reached down and took Anetra’s hand in front of everyone.

No hiding.

Just truth.

They didn’t kiss, not yet. This wasn’t about spectacle. It was just about them. And the crew saw it. Felt it. The teasing simmered down, turning warm, full of respect.

Family.

Later that day, the sun high overhead and the waves rocking steady underfoot, Sasha pulled Anetra aside just as the deck was beginning to quiet from the midday bustle.

They stood near the stern, the ocean stretching out behind them like a promise.

“I’ve got something else to ask you,” Sasha said, eyes squinting slightly in the sunlight.

Anetra tilted her head. “Yeah?”

Sasha hesitated. Just for a moment. Then: “Move into my quarters.”

The wind tugged at Anetra’s hair, and the world seemed to still for a breath.

“I—” she blinked. “Seriously?”

“I mean, your bunk’s not that bad,” Sasha said, a teasing curl to her lip. “But I’d rather have you close. And… You’d have more space. Privacy.”

Anetra looked down, jaw clenched around the sudden weight in her chest. Not fear. Not hesitation.

Just… something warm. Something tender.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“I want you there,” Sasha said simply. “Not just because we’re together. Because I want you to feel like you belong. This ship is yours now, too. Not just the crew. Not just the work. All of it.”

Anetra stared at her for a long moment, something raw and quiet welling behind her ribs. She thought about the cell. The cold. The loneliness. The way she’d once looked at Sasha and thought of her as nothing but an enemy, a prize to be captured.

And now, she was being offered a home. Not just in a room, but in a life.

Anetra nodded slowly. “Okay.”

Sasha smiled. Not the usual confident smirk, not the cocky captain’s grin.

This was smaller. Softer. Real.

“I’ll help you move your things tonight,” Sasha said.

“I don’t have much,” Anetra replied, almost laughing. “A few clothes. My sword. That’s it.”

“Then it won’t take long.”

Sasha reached out, brushed a piece of wind-tossed hair from Anetra’s cheek, her fingers warm against her skin. “You’ve already brought the most important thing.”

Anetra raised a brow. “What’s that?”

Sasha leaned closer, voice a breath now. “You.”

The wind roared quietly around them, waves clapping gently against the hull.

Anetra didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

She just took Sasha’s hand again, fingers lacing together like they always should’ve been.

And the ship sailed forward, into whatever came next.

Chapter Text

It’d been a few months since they had found love.

Far from the open sea, in the heart of the royal capital where gulls dared not cry and the wind smelled not of salt but of stone and smoke, the King of the Isles sat upon his high-backed throne, a goblet of fine wine clenched tight in his hand. The hall was vast and echoing, draped in tapestries bearing the crest of his line, a silver hawk piercing a serpent with its talons. Usually, this symbol filled him with pride. Today, it mocked him.

Before him knelt three ragged survivors, former sailors of the ill-fated vessel he’d dispatched weeks ago, the same ship that was meant to bring back Sasha Colby in chains and return the stolen treasure to its rightful vaults.

They were bruised, burned in places, bandaged hastily with torn cloth and smeared with dried blood and salt. One of them had lost an eye. Another limped so badly it took him three full minutes to get from the door to the marble floor beneath the throne. And still, they didn’t dare look up at their king.

The silence that followed their tale was deafening.

"So let me understand this correctly," the king finally said, his voice quiet and cold as the grave. "Not only did you fail to apprehend the pirate queen, not only did you lose the treasure, not only did you allow my navy's second-best ship to be sunk beneath the waves... but Anetra. My Anetra. My most loyal hound. My sword in the dark. She was there. And she lived."

"Y-yes, Your Majesty," the one-eyed man croaked, shaking. "She was captured. But we thought—"

"You thought she’d resist," the king finished, voice rising only a fraction, though the weight behind it could have leveled mountains. "You thought she'd slit her own throat before aiding the enemy."

"She didn't, Your Majesty," the limping man said, voice barely above a whisper. "We saw her. She fought for them. Protected the captain and the crew. Killed one of our own."

The goblet shattered in the king’s hand.

Red wine, thick and dark, ran down his fingers and onto the polished armrest of his throne like blood.

A long, terrible silence fell again.

"Leave me," he said at last, his voice low and lethal. “Before I do something far worse than have you flogged for your failure.”

The survivors scrambled to their feet, bowing and stumbling and almost tripping over each other to get out of the hall. The heavy doors slammed shut behind them, echoing through the chamber like cannon fire.

The king sat in stillness, the crushed goblet at his feet, the wet crimson trailing down his knuckles.

Anetra.

He had raised her from nothing. She had been a feral child, found starving in the gutter outside the eastern wall, eyes fierce and teeth bared like a wild dog. He had trained her. Fed her. Molded her into a weapon.

She had been his most brutal enforcer. His silent executioner. The hound he loosed upon enemies too slippery for war or diplomacy. She had been loyal. Efficient. Unquestioning.

And now?

Turned.

Gone soft for the greatest pirate, of all people. For the very thief who had humiliated the crown and raided his most sacred treasury.

He could still remember the last time he saw Anetra. She had knelt before him in her ceremonial blues, head bowed in quiet deference, awaiting the orders that would send her after Sasha Colby. There had been no doubt in his mind that she would return with the pirate’s severed head in one hand and the treasure in the other.

And now she was a traitor.

He rose from his throne slowly, the wine on his hand now dry and sticky. He stepped down from the dais and crossed the hall with calm, measured steps, stopping before a massive wall map of the Isles and the surrounding seas. Dozens of colored pins marked out the known trade routes, pirate sightings, naval movements. His fingers traced the jagged path he’d sent Anetra on.
“Turned by a woman,” he murmured. “By a thief.”

He ground his teeth.

“Is it love?” he asked no one. “Or is it something worse? Has she grown weak?”
The idea made his stomach turn.

He reached for the thick leather-bound logbook on the nearby desk, flipping open to the last few entries. In the margins of the last page was a small note: a second navy ship had been due to sail in a week's time, with the backup fleet.
He would make sure it carried not soldiers this time, but hunters.

He moved quickly, summoning his highest-ranking generals with sharp, clipped orders. Messengers were dispatched within the hour, hawks released from the tower. Preparations began in silence, deep beneath the palace, new ships stocked not with standard arms, but with something far more personal. Far more devastating.

He would find Anetra again. Not to redeem her. Not to bring her back.

But to make an example of her.

His hound had bitten the hand that fed her.

Now it was time to put her down.

It arrived in the hands of a wandering merchant, half-crumpled in the bottom of a crate of spices and oranges.

Loosey found it first. She was bartering with the man for dried mango when she noticed a roll of parchment sticking out from a bundle of old maps and news leaflets. She unrolled it, glanced once at the bold black lettering, and let out a sharp, delighted cackle that made half the market turn.

By the time she made it back to the ship, the crew had already gathered for the noon meal. Loosey didn’t bother announcing herself, she just slammed the poster down on the table with a dramatic flourish, sending a few of Sugar’s peeled shrimp flying.

“Look what I found,” she sang.

The crew leaned in instantly.

It was unmistakable.

A wanted poster. Freshly printed. The ink barely dry. Royal seal of the King of the Isles still gleaming faintly in wax at the bottom.

And right there in the center of the parchment, beneath the harsh black headline, ‘WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE’, was a sketch. Not perfect, but close. The jaw was a bit too sharp, the eyebrows a bit too arched, but anyone who had spent more than five minutes with Anetra could recognize her from it.

There she was. Cloaked, sword on her hip, expression somewhere between calm and dangerous.

The reward offered? Ten thousand gold crowns.

Dead or alive. Preferably dead.

There was a beat of silence as the crew processed it.

Then Spice let out a long whistle. “Damn, mama. They really hate you now.”

Anetra stood at the edge of the group, arms folded. She didn’t move at first. Just stared at the poster, at the rough sketch of her face, at the wanted text.

Then, she smiled.

Wide. Sharp. Almost feral.

“About time,” she said.

Sasha, who had been lounging just behind her, stepped forward. She reached past Marcia, plucked the poster from the table, and studied it herself. Her eyes flicked up and down the parchment, then toward Anetra.

“You look good in ink,” she said.

Anetra raised an eyebrow. “They didn’t get my jaw right.”

“No,” Sasha agreed, and folded the poster gently before tucking it under her arm. “They never do. But you know what I see?”

Anetra tilted her head.

Sasha leaned in, her voice low. Proud. Almost reverent. “I see a woman who scared the King of the Isles enough that he made her public enemy number one.”

The crew roared with approval.

Salina clapped Anetra on the back hard enough to nearly knock the air out of her. “You’ve made it, girl! They only print your face when they really know they can’t stop you.”

Luxx nodded, arms crossed and grinning. “That’s how you know you’ve officially joined the crew.”

“You’re one of us now,” said Robin, calm and steady. “Fully.”

Anetra’s smile lingered. She looked out over the sea beyond the ship’s rails, her hands resting lightly on the hilt of her sword. It wasn’t that she liked being hunted. It wasn’t that the King’s wrath made her proud.

But the poster meant something else.

It meant she had chosen. Fully. No going back now. No more split loyalties. No more quiet doubts.

She had turned her back on the man who made her a weapon, and become someone of her own choosing.

Sasha came to stand beside her, their shoulders touching.

“Not bad for the King’s best hound,” Sasha said softly.

Anetra glanced at her. “Not bad for a pirate captain’s lover.”

The crew behind them was still passing the poster around, trading jokes about who would hang it on their wall first, or who’d pretend to try and ‘cash it in’ for a free drink at the next port.

But for Anetra, it was something deeper.

It was proof that she had become herself, finally, and completely.

It was a quiet night aboard the ship, the kind of quiet that only came after long days of wind and motion, a lull in the chaos when the crew had finally eaten, laughed, teased one another half to death, and drifted into the corners of the ship to sleep, write, or stare up at the stars.

Anetra stood alone at the bow, one hand resting on the warm, polished wood of the railing. The sea was still, gentle, lapping against the hull with a rhythm that felt almost like a heartbeat. The stars above were sharp and brilliant, scattered like shattered glass across the ink-black sky. The moon hung low and heavy, a silver coin just above the horizon.

She breathed in deep.

The air tasted of salt and promise.

Behind her, the ship creaked and whispered, alive with soft sound, Luxx humming some old lullaby under her breath, Robin murmuring goodnight prayers, Sugar and Spice snoring in harmony somewhere near the hammocks. It had been months since the battle. Since she’d stood between Kerri and a blade, since she’d looked into Sasha’s eyes and felt, for the first time in her life, wanted. Chosen. Not as a weapon. Not as a tool.

But as a person. As someone worth something.

Her fingers curled tightly around the railing as she thought back.

To the early days, when she was still locked in that damn cell, refusing food and glaring at every crew member who came too close. When she hated how much the sun on her skin and the sea on her face reminded her of freedom.

To Jax, with her easy attitude and quiet strength, who never mocked Anetra’s silence, never pushed her too far.

To Marcia, who always had something ridiculous to say, but who could swing a sword like no one’s business.

To Amethyst, who sang quietly at night, keeping her voice low but soft enough for even the sea to listen.

To Kerri. God, Kerri.

Anetra’s throat tightened.

She’d been so small when they first met, not physically, but in presence. Kept away, shielded, a name whispered behind doors. A symbol of Sasha’s love and terror both.

Now?

Now Kerri was bold. Clever. Warm. Unapologetic. She laughed loudly. She asked questions. She sat at Anetra’s side during meals, nudging her with her elbow and sharing half her bread when Anetra forgot to grab her own.

She wasn’t just Sasha’s daughter anymore.

She was hers, too.

Maybe not in blood, maybe not in name, but in the way she looked to her when she was scared, in the way she sought her out during storms, in the way she trusted Anetra to protect her without question.

And Sasha…

Anetra smiled.

Sasha, with her impossible confidence and coiled strength, her dry wit and blazing passion. The woman who had once been her target, her mission. The woman who now shared a bed with her, tangled in sheets and warmth, their fingers laced beneath the covers long after the lanterns had gone out.

She was hers, too.

And Anetra, she belonged to them.

To all of them.

The sound of footsteps behind her was soft, careful. Not sneaking, familiar. She didn’t turn until she felt the gentle bump of a shoulder against her own.
Sasha stood beside her, eyes also on the sea.

“She’s asleep,” she murmured, voice warm and low. “Kerri. Took a while.”

Anetra smiled faintly. “Still having nightmares?”

“Less and less,” Sasha said. “You help.”

The wind swept gently through Sasha’s curls, lifting them for a moment before they settled again. She didn’t look at Anetra, just stood close, a steady presence.

“She asked me if we were going to keep you,” Sasha added after a moment, her voice laced with amusement. “Like you’re a stray cat she found.”

Anetra snorted.

“And?” she asked.

Sasha finally turned, eyes glinting.

“I told her no.”

Anetra blinked. “Oh?”

“I told her we weren’t keeping you,” Sasha said, voice soft and certain. “Because you chose to stay. Because you’re not a guest here. You’re not a prisoner. You’re family.”

That word hit something deep in Anetra’s chest.

She had never had one before. Not really. Her memories of childhood were smoke and frost and fists. Her time in the navy was full of cold steel, barking orders, and being used like a blade someone else held. She hadn’t belonged anywhere.

And now?

Now she had Sasha.

She had Kerri.

She had a ship of loud, strange, infuriating people who had risked their lives for her, who’d teased her about the wanted poster and asked if she’d sign it like it was a trophy.

She had a home.

Anetra looked down at her hands. Callused. Strong. Hands that had once only known how to fight. How to kill.

Now they knew how to hold. How to heal. How to stay.

She turned toward Sasha and, without a word, wrapped her arms around her. Sasha came willingly, slipping into the embrace like it had been carved for her alone.

The sea whispered below them. The stars glittered above.

And for the first time in her life, Anetra didn’t wonder who she was meant to be.

She knew.

She was a pirate now. A fighter. A lover. A mother. A sister.

She was theirs.

And they were hers.