Chapter 7

The docks had settled into their quieter rhythm by the time Sairion stepped onto the outer pier. Lanterns swayed over dark water, their light bending across the tide in long, unsteady lines, while rope and timber creaked beneath the weight of anchored ships. Voices carried in fragments—low laughter, the muted rhythm of cards—but nothing loud enough to draw attention. This was the hour for business that didn’t need witnesses.

The ship sat where it always did when she was in port, riding low and heavy in the water. The space around it was held not by overt claim, but by reputation. No flag worth naming, no markings that invited questions and just enough distance from its neighbors to suggest no one tested that boundary twice.

She was at the railing.

One boot braced against the wood, the leather high and close-laced along her calf. Her weight rested easy, balanced without thought. Her coat hung open, her tunic belted loose, the breeze lifting it just enough to hint at the shape beneath.

Her striking red hair caught the light first, pulled back in uneven braids threaded with small beads and bits of metal, the rest falling free in thick, wind-tangled waves. It made her easy to spot in a crowd and difficult to forget once you had. Freckles marked her skin, and her eyes—bright, intelligent, ocean blue—were already on him as he approached.

“Sairion.” She called out, her voice was sultry like a siren.

When his eyes lifted to meet hers, neither of them looked away.

The distance closed slowly, measured in quiet steps and the soft creak of wood beneath his boots. He didn’t hurry it. Neither did she. The space between them narrowed with a kind of inevitability, as though it had done this before and knew exactly how it would end.

Her posture shifted only slightly as he approached, the brace of her foot adjusting, her shoulders turning just enough to square toward him.

When he stopped, it was close. Closer than most would dare. Close enough that neither of them had to raise their voice.

“Captain.” He allowed a playful smirk to play across his lips.

Her mouth curved faintly at that, though it didn’t reach her eyes. She pushed off the railing and stepped into what little space he’d left between them, her shoulder brushing his arm as she passed. Not accidental.

Her gaze dropped briefly—there and gone—to the cut along his thigh.

“You’re bleeding.” She acknowledged.

“Not enough to matter.” Still, he shifted a hand over the bandage.

“Usually isn’t,” she said, already turning away. “Until it is.”

He followed her up the across the deck without invitation.

Two crew lingered near the stern, their conversation cutting off as they took him in. One straightened. The other didn’t, but his hand shifted closer to the knife at his hip.

Sairion noticed. He always noticed.

“He stays,” she said, not looking back. “Unless you’ve decided to be difficult.”

“I haven’t decided anything.” He murmured.

“Good,” she replied. “I’m not in the mood to entertain it.”

She crossed to a secured crate near the mast and dropped into a crouch, prying it open with practiced ease. The thread inside caught the lantern light as she unwrapped it—deep, rich gold, exactly what he had come for.

Sairion moved closer, stopping just behind her instead of across from her, close enough to narrow the space between them into something deliberate. He crouched only after a moment, his shoulder nearly brushing hers as he reached for the thread.

“Still sourcing the good stuff,” he said.

She turned, a full, throaty laugh spilling out. “When have you ever been interested in something so tame? Thread, Sairion? Really?”

His fingers brushed the thread, testing the weight, the weave. For a moment, that was all there was.

Then she shifted, just slightly, her hand passing close enough to his that her fingers grazed his as she adjusted the thread.

“Careful,” she said, her voice lower now. “You’ve always had a habit of taking more than you came for.”

Sairion’s attention dropped to where her fingers rested against his skin, then lifted back to her face. He didn’t pull away.

“Only when it’s worth it.”

Her grip tightened on the thread—just for a second—then released.

“Mmmm.” Her full lips pursed.

She handed him the thread.

“Not cheap,” she added, as if that were the part that mattered. She rose unhurriedly, settling into her stance as she turned toward him.

Sairion followed the movement without thinking, his attention catching on the line of her body—open, deliberate, and not without purpose.

Her mouth curved slightly, as if she knew exactly where his attention had fallen and had no intention of pretending otherwise.

“It doesn’t have to be,” she said.

The offer sat there, easy and unspoken. Sairion let the moment linger for half a beat—long enough to acknowledge it.

Then he reached for his coin.

“It does.”

Whatever had hovered between them dissolved as cleanly as it had formed. His attention settled into something cooler, more deliberate as he placed the payment in her hand without hesitation.

He stepped back toward the gangplank, putting distance between them.

“That it?” she asked.

“For now.”

She watched him as he turned, her arms folding loosely across her chest, her weight settling back into that same easy balance he had found her in.

“You’re predictable,” she said.

Sairion paused at the edge of the plank, just long enough to glance back over his shoulder.

“Only when it suits me.”

Then he stepped off the ship and into the dock’s low, restless rhythm, leaving her where she stood.

She didn’t call after him, and he didn’t look back.