"Barely any people down this hallway," Everson remarked. "Not much of a challenge."

Vallin noticed Silta watching Everson. She knew he was the threat to her skill, right off the bat. She turned around. "We have to get past a large mealroom to get out of this building. There'll be a lot of people in there. The Sirens are blind for now; they're not a problem. The rest have the advantage of numbers, but they aren't skilled."

Everson pushed past Vallin and Silta. "Then let's get down to it."

Vallin passed his pistol to Bates, knowing he needed it more. The dark hallway turned loud with shuffles as the crew followed Silta further into the building. The stones creaked. Vallin remembered the way the wind had whipped against his skin when they'd been on the roof. He hoped Visco and Tailsley would be able to make sail on their own.

Vallin doubled the size of his steps so he could reach Silta again. When he did, she glanced at him, noticed the lack of the pistol, and handed him her knife.

They ran into a few people, scattered around the building as they found their way out. Silta or Everson would get to them first, and they worked well together. They were both lithe fighters, with similar styles. Vallin found himself wondering which of them would win in a fight.

The sounds of silence ceased as the mealroom came into view. Candles had been lit in the absence of light, but the shadowing flickering did little to help the bundled people. As Silta had confirmed, the banished Sirens were almost all stumbling or bumping into things. The rest of the people were huddled, coming to some sort of consensus. Silta ordered the crew to stop before they were seen.

"Empty any pistols as fast as possible," she told them, clearly not trusting them to hold on to them. "Move quick. It's only a matter of time before they send someone to turn back on the gas." Then, she gestured forward, spinning and walking into the room.

She raised her voice, speaking clearly, "Weapons on the ground, hands in the air. No one moves; no one gets hurt." The room was eerily silent at the realization of who it was.

The crew of the Avourienne fanned out behind her, pistol aim swinging. Nobody shot yet. There was still a chance to get out of this by avoiding bloodshed.

One of the huddled people stepped out, raising a pistol and pulling the trigger. The bullet just missed Silta's head, leaving the crew of Avourienne to their instruction. The guns were emptied, leaving it up to knives and hands.

Vallin was rarely approached during a fight, so he had to find his own battles. He glanced over at Silta, doing the same. Her movements were a performance, delicately rehearsed and perfectly executed. He peeled his eyes from her, bringing his knife up.

Bloodshed wasn't exactly the word for it. There were only a few knives, and the rest of the fighting was done with nothing but the body. It wasn't bloodshed, but it was just as nasty.

Vallin was about to reach for someone else when the building hummed. The sound was deep and dark.

He whirled around at the sound, trying to find Silta. She was across the room, crouching down to speak to a someone who was sitting up against the door. Vallin fought his way over to her. As he got nearer, he heard their conversation. The blonde girl—thin and frail, was looking up at her with loving eyes.

"This is good for you," the frail girl whispered.

Silta was still kneeling, not speaking. From the stance of her body, she didn't want to hurt this girl. She glanced up as Vallin approached.

"There was a sound," Vallin told her, feeling too big above both of them. "Is the gas coming back on?"

Silta looked back down. She nodded, but she was looking at the blonde girl.

"You backed up the pipes," Vallin suspected, feeling out of place.

"Yes."

Vallin knelt next to her, confused. If she backed up the pipes, this whole place would be going down in flames in a matter of minutes. They had to get out.

The blonde girl's eyes were glued to Vallin, watching him tell Silta these things.

Silta ignored his words, just touched his shoulder gently once he was done. "Captain," she said softly, "this is Kiera."

The blonde girl—Kiera—smiled grimly. Her face was gaunt like she was wasting away. She looked at Vallin with admiration, happiness, something like that.

"What do you want from me, stunner?" Vallin said. "She's pretty, is that it? We're running out of time."

Silta glanced back at Keira and shared a smile with her. "I told you," she said.

Keira shrugged sadly. "I guess you did."

Silta closed her eyes for a brief moment. She held her hand out to Vallin. He glanced down at it, confused. Then he realized what she wanted, and he placed his knife in her hand. She clasped her fingers around it tightly.

"It's better than fire," Silta told the girl softly. He found the tone out of place on her.

Kiera nodded, eyes frantic. She was nervous about death, but she wasn't quite afraid.

Silta leaned forward and slid the knife over the girl's neck, so quickly it startled him as she slumped to the ground. Silta stood, and Vallin followed. He didn't know who the blonde girl was to Silta, but he suspected more than anyone else in this room.

"Straight through these doors," Silta told him, stepping close so he could hear her. "All the way down a long hallway, and we'll be out. The Avourienne is to the south down that way."

Vallin nodded, shouting orders to his crew to head to the doors. He covered them as they went, knowing the lights coming back on would pull the banished Sirens back into the fight—something they simply could not afford.

When only a few of them were left in the room, the lights came back on.

The room was silent. The banished Sirens—previously useless, began to glance around.

Silta pushed at Vallin's shoulder. "Run. Run."

He didn't need to be told twice. He made sure he was the last one out, then sprinted after her down the hallway.

The hallway was long as she'd said, the final doors propped open. The rest of the Avourienne crew was waiting just outside the door. Vallin ordered them to run down to the south port.

There was a light flare burst out of the port, down by the water—presumably let off by Tailsley or Visco. The crew moved towards the water, and Vallin found they looked awkward off the ship. They weren't meant for land; they were used to the rock of a ship and the movement of sails and lines.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Silta turning to look behind them. She glanced at Vallin and gestured to his face.

"You need moss!" she shouted. "In your ears. Sirens in the water."

Vallin called for his crew to get them to do the same. He took the moss from Silta's fingers, for she wouldn't need it. Another light flare went off, and they adjusted course.

There were shouts behind them as they finally reached the Avourienne. Vallin motioned them all on board before stepping on himself. And then, after weeks of starving and feeling like he was on the losing side, the Avourienne was under his feet.

There wasn't a need to shout orders, for the crew was deaf with moss. Only Silta was resistant to a Siren song—even Miller and Tailsley had plugged ears. Vallin took to the topdeck two steps at a time as he found the helm.

Relief washed over him at the feeling of the wheel under his fingers, but he didn't let it show. He whirled around and made a motion to drop the sails. Out of his peripheral, he saw men bringing up the anchor. They were invisible now, and the wind was blowing fiercely. He felt the ship budge, and all his worries drifted away. Finally. Finally.

He felt the Siren call tugging at his ears, so he kept himself busy. He pulled the Avourienne out of Canale's port and set her east. He felt life back in his veins again. Back where he belonged.

When the ship was a significant distance out of the port, Silta gave Vallin a sign, and the men began pulling the moss from their ears. Sounds descended into his silent world once more. Sea sprayed up from the hull, the wind whipping. He snapped his fingers at Everson, who passed a pistol into his hand.

They'd freed themselves and their ship from Sirens; now he had to deal with the one aboard his ship.